SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

Chapter 443: Not Tonight

The first thing Damien wanted when he returned to their base was silence.

The weight of the forest still clung to him — the smell of sap and blood, the echo of beastly roars — yet Delwig’s air felt heavier, not lighter.

The cobblestone streets hummed faintly with mana lines running beneath them, and every guard’s stare lingered a moment too long as he passed. Or maybe it was just paranoia. He couldn’t quite conclude which it was.

When he reached their quarters, the front door creaked open before he even knocked. Arielle stood there, her hair unbound, a rare sign that she hadn’t slept well. Lyone hovered behind her, his usual sharp tone softened by relief.

“Finally,” Arielle exhaled. “You’re back.”

Damien managed a faint smirk. “You sound like you doubted I would be.”

“I didn’t,” she replied, folding her arms. “Lyone did.”

The boy scoffed. “You were gone a whole day and night and then almost another day and night. That’s long enough to worry.”

Damien stepped inside, brushing the dust from his cloak before answering. “I had company on the way. That’s why.”

Arielle arched an eyebrow. “Company?”

He nodded and, for once, didn’t dodge the question. He told them everything. These were people he’d trust anytime and so he didn’t hesitate to answer their questions.

From the moment he’d been summoned by Ivaan that morning to finding Veyne’s corpse at the northern gate, to the child’s lifeless body that had nearly shattered his temper.

He recounted how he’d flown into the forest, blinded by rage, and how his first strike nearly killed a man who turned out to be innocent.

Then, as he spoke about the seven travelers — the terrified family, the mercenary who’d taken the brunt of his blow, and the blood trail they’d seen stretching from Delwig’s walls into the woods — the room grew still.

Even Lyone, usually full of interruptions, sat unmoving, wide-eyed.

Damien’s voice dropped lower as he described his return trip, how he’d checked the Gate again, fought through waves of mana beasts, and sensed something faint but eerily familiar radiating from that sealed structure.

When he finally finished, Arielle sat down slowly, pressing her palms against her knees. The candlelight flickered across her thoughtful frown.

“That means whoever killed Veyne,” she said carefully, “wasn’t some outsider. They came from inside Delwig, killed him, and dragged his body out most likely to the gate… probably to create a distraction.”

Lyone’s expression hardened. “To make you think the danger was out there.”

Damien nodded once, grimly. “And I fell for it.”

A heavy silence followed. Even the candles seemed to waver quieter.

Lyone was the first to break it. “If that’s true, then—”

“—then it means everything that’s been happening,” Arielle finished for him, “the impostor guards, the infiltration, the Gate… all of it traces back here. Inside the city.”

Her voice trembled, just slightly. She glanced toward Damien, who stood motionless near the wall, eyes distant.

His mind was already spinning through possibilities — faces of guards, officers, even merchants who had crossed his path in the past few days. Any one of them could be compromised. Even Ivaan, even Apnoch, even—

He shut his eyes. No. He couldn’t go down that road. Not yet.

“I don’t like this,” Arielle muttered, rubbing her temples. “If the rot’s inside Delwig, it means every move we make is being watched.”

Lyone turned to Damien. “What do we do, then?”

Damien looked between them, his expression colder than before. “We wait. We don’t move until we know who’s pulling the strings.”

Lyone frowned. “So we just… sit?”

“For now,” Damien replied. “If we act too soon, whoever’s hiding will vanish again. This time, I want them to make the first mistake.”

Arielle studied him for a long moment. His tone was calm, but she could see the strain behind it — the tension in his shoulders, the shadow in his eyes that hadn’t left since the forest.

“Damien,” she said softly, “you can’t fight the whole city on suspicion alone.”

His jaw clenched. “Then I’ll start with whoever comes for me first.”

That was the end of the conversation. Arielle didn’t press further. Lyone didn’t either.

Damien turned away, taking a slow breath to steady himself, and muttered, “I need some air.”

Before either of them could stop him, he left — the door closing behind him with a quiet thud that seemed to echo longer than it should.

Delwig’s streets were quieter than usual. The lamps along the main road flickered weakly, bathing the cobblestones in pale orange light.

The city had changed — subtly, but undeniably — since the night before. Damien felt it in the way people avoided meeting his gaze, in the way the guards along the walls seemed to watch more than patrol.

He walked aimlessly at first, hands in his pockets, mind tangled between exhaustion and fury. The memory of that dead child wouldn’t leave him. Nor would the image of Veyne’s body, throat slit cleanly like a sacrifice. Whoever had done that wasn’t sloppy — they were sending a message.

And the worst part was, he had no idea what that message meant.

The cool night air helped little. His thoughts were loud, circling in his head like caged birds.

If the trail started from Delwig… then whoever dragged that body left through the gate.

Which means they had clearance.

Which means they were one of ours.

He stopped walking.

A bitter laugh slipped from his throat. “One of ours,” he muttered. “Of course.”

It was the oldest trick — make the enemy look like the savior, and the savior look like the fool.

He thought about going back, about waking Arielle and Lyone and forming a plan, but the thought of sitting still again made his blood itch. He needed something to dull the noise in his head — something simple, physical.

He wasn’t a heavy drinker. Never had been. But tonight, a drink sounded less like indulgence and more like survival.

So he turned down one of the narrower streets, where the lanterns were dimmer and the scent of roasted meat and stale ale floated in the air. A small tavern’s sign creaked on its hinge — “The Copper Finch.”

He was halfway there when his senses tingled.

Mana. Three distinct signatures. Behind him.

He didn’t react outwardly, but his pulse steadied. He’d felt them for a while now, faintly at first — three presences moving when he moved, slowing when he slowed.

He sighed, muttering under his breath, “Not tonight.”

They kept their distance for another block, but when he turned into a narrower alley, the footsteps grew closer.

His lips curved slightly. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

At the end of the alley, he stopped beneath a hanging lantern and turned around. The three shadows froze.

“Let’s save us all the trouble,” Damien said calmly. “You’ve been following me since the bridge. Why?”

Silence.

Then one of them stepped forward — tall, armored lightly, wearing a city guard’s insignia. “Sir Damien,” the man said evenly. “General Ivaan requests your presence—”

Damien tilted his head. “At midnight?”

“—immediately,” the man finished, tone sharp.

The other two shifted subtly, hands near their belts. The glint of steel caught the light.

Damien exhaled through his nose. “You should’ve picked a better excuse.”

Before any of them could draw, he moved.

The first guard didn’t even see him vanish; his vision went black as Damien’s elbow slammed into his chest, driving the air from his lungs.

The second swung wildly — a short blade, probably poisoned — but Damien caught his wrist, twisted, and drove his knee into the man’s ribs. The crunch echoed down the alley.

The third froze, trembling as Damien’s hand closed around his collar and slammed him against the wall.

“Talk,” Damien said, voice quiet but sharp enough to cut glass.

The man’s breath came ragged. “We—we were told to make sure you didn’t leave Delwig tonight!”

“By who?”

The man hesitated. Damien’s grip tightened.

“By who?” he repeated, this time letting a flicker of his essence leak through — a cold, oppressive pressure that made the man’s knees buckle.

The guard gasped, eyes wide. “The A—Apostle… He said—he said you’d ruin everything if you kept digging—”

Damien’s heart stopped for a moment.

Apostle.

This was the first time he’d heard the ord since he first arrived at Delwig when Delwig’s corruption had first begun to stir.

He let the man go — not out of mercy, but calculation. The guard slumped to the ground, wheezing.

“You’ve just given me the only reason I need to keep digging,” Damien said, his tone ice-cold. He’d wanted to dig into the man’s memory but he was certain he wouldn’t get anything worthy so he let it be.

He straightened, stepping over the fallen guards, and pulled his hood higher.

As he emerged from the alley, the tavern lights ahead flickered faintly, and for a moment, the wind carried the faintest whisper of a familiar essence — the same trace he’d felt at the Gate.

He stopped, looking toward the distant line of the Verdant Verge forest.

Whatever was sleeping beneath that Gate wasn’t asleep anymore. And whoever this Apostle was, they were already inside Delwig.

He smirked darkly to himself. “Looks like I won’t need that drink after all.”