SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts-Chapter 297: Meeting At ElderGlow

At ElderGlow Academy, the rising sun painted the eastern sky in molten gold, casting slanted rays through the high arched windows of the Great Assembly Hall.

It was a magnificent structure—towering stone columns veined with silver-threaded runes, banners of navy and pearl fluttering from the ceiling, and rows of enchanted chandeliers that shimmered with light but never flickered.

The hall had not been this full in years.

Over seventy students stood in silent formations, each group of four belonging to a team—each team representing a year from ElderGlow and the other institutes. These group would all be participating in the contest.

They were the academy's pride: handpicked, battle-trained, and tested under fire and intellect. Today, however, they were not warriors, not students. They were hosts.

The Deans of the other three High Institutions—Crowgarth, Wyrmere, and Thornevale—were scheduled to arrive any minute now, and their presence would mark the opening of the Quadrial Convergence, an event held once every five years. It was both a political summit and a prestigious contest of strength, knowledge, and leadership.

This time, it was ElderGlow's turn to host, and no one was allowed to forget it.

Near the front of the hall, behind a single row of plush velvet chairs reserved for the visiting Guardians, stood the top four students from ElderGlow's current active year three—Damon, Anaya, Daveon, and Celeste.

They stood side by side with the effortless precision of a group that had trained together for years even though that wasn't true. Their faces did not mirror the stoic stillness of the others.

They were talking. Quietly. Too quietly for most to hear.

"Three minutes," Celeste whispered, brushing a hand through her moon-silver hair. "I bet they walk in precisely three minutes from now. Crowgarth's Dean is chronically punctual."

Anaya rolled her eyes. "You've been reading about them?"

"Studying," Celeste corrected. "Not reading."

Damon leaned slightly to one side, clearly suppressing a yawn. "You two can keep tracking ceremonial patterns. I'll entertain myself with something more fun."

Daveon smirked. "Oh no. It's happening again."

Damon rubbed his palms together and scanned the room slowly, his gaze sharpening. "Game of Ranks. Who's in?"

Celeste sighed with mock exasperation. "You're impossible."

"Agreed," Anaya said. "But if I lose, I'm not buying lunch."

"Same rules," Damon said. "I pick a student. Guess their strength tier, discipline focus, and best technique. Two agreements, I win. Three objections, I owe the group a round at the cafeteria."

He tapped his chin and pointed subtly toward a tall, quiet boy standing near the far right pillar. Short golden-blond hair, arms folded, scar beneath one eye.

"Him. Probably an upper-year. Mana control stance. Leans left—could be a wind user. Tier B+, borderline A. Fast style, short bursts. My guess: specialization in spatial shifts."

Anaya nodded slightly. "Hmm. His stance is stable, but his grip is too tight. You might be right on the spatial manipulation. I say B+, too."

Celeste hesitated, then agreed. "You win. But barely."

Daveon grunted. "I still think he's full B-rank. But you got two approvals, so enjoy your fake glory."

Damon bowed dramatically. "Another win for me."

"You won't be so smug tomorrow," Anaya said with a smirk. "Contest begins, you'll see." freeweɓnøvel.com

They were laughing under their breath now, the kind of low, relaxed laughter that only came when danger was far away—or when one was strong enough to ignore it.

But before Damon could begin a second round, the vast double doors at the far end of the hall began to creak open.

A low hum passed through the crowd as three distinct groups entered, each one ushering in a different kind of silence.

Crowgarth's students entered first—elegant, reserved, their uniforms stitched with pale gold and violet embroidery. Their movements were almost too perfect, like dancers trained since birth. Their dean, Dean Dethrein, walked among them, his steps utterly soundless.

Wyrmere's group followed—a sharp contrast. Clad in forest-green cloaks and armor-hardened leather, they moved like soldiers instead of scholars.

Their Dean was a broad-shouldered man with grey-streaked hair and a great axe slung across his back—an oddity at such a formal event, yet no one questioned it.

Last came the team from Thornevale. They were cloaked in silver and storm-black, robes woven with miniature runes that glowed faintly. Their Dean, a narrow-eyed man with a walking cane and gloves made of obsidian thread, walked ahead of them like a wraith in the fog.

All three groups crossed the wide marble floor of ElderGlow's hall in synchronized strides and took their places across the reserved first row.

These groups were here to watch and cheer for their students in the contest.

And just as they did, another figure entered quietly from the side hallway—her presence not grand or loud, but immediately commanding.

Miss Leana.

Her dark robe swirled behind her as she made a beeline straight for the second row where Damon's group stood. She stopped beside them, hands clasped behind her back, posture perfect.

She didn't speak loudly.

She didn't need to.

"I could hear you four," she said, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. "From outside the hall."

Damon straightened, eyes wide but playful. "We were whispering."

"You were distracting," Miss Leana replied, her tone unamused. "This isn't a tavern. This is a historic meeting of the Four Academies. I expect composure."

"Yes, ma'am," Anaya muttered quickly.

Leana's sharp gaze didn't soften, but her voice lowered. "This isn't the time to play games. Especially not today."

"Tomorrow is the contest," Celeste offered. "We're conserving our focus."

Leana gave her a flat look.

"And perhaps you'll conserve your voices as well."

With that, she walked back to the edge of the second row, arms folded as she resumed her watchful presence, like a hawk keeping guard over her flock of powerful, chaotic young birds.

Just then, the Guardians of the visiting teams began entering, each one a towering presence in their own right. Some wore heavy armor that clanked with every step, others drifted like mist, and a few carried weapons that pulsed with ancient magic.

The room grew impossibly quiet.

Every student stood straighter.

Every instructor turned attentive.

And ElderGlow, proud and venerable, stood ready to host what might become the most important convergence of talent and power in generations. But still, there was one person left…