SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts-Chapter 308: Back At Westmont

Damien said nothing.

But he understood.

He'd seen that awe before—in young soldiers, new scouts, even nobles shipped off to warzones for the first time. The stunned disbelief at how big the world really was.

Skylar glided lower now, approaching familiar terrain.

Ahead, nestled against the cliffs, the outline of Westmont came into view—high walls of dark stone, sloped rooftops, guard towers trimmed in black iron.

Home.

Skylar landed a few hundred meters out, wings folding as his clawed feet hit solid ground. The grass swayed gently from the gusts of his descent.

Damien climbed off first.

"We walk from here."

"Why?" Lyone asked as he slid down behind him.

"Skylar makes people nervous."

Lyone glanced at the wyvern—who was already stretching its wings like a bored cat and lowering itself to the earth.

"…Fair."

They began the final walk toward the gate, boots crunching against the gravel path. Westmont rose ahead of them, quiet and steady.

Lyone glanced sideways. "This where you live?"

Damien didn't answer at first. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

But then he said, almost to himself: "It's where I built something no one could take from me."

Lyone didn't speak after that.

He didn't need to.

The road sloped gently toward Westmont, framed on either side by whispering trees and wind-worn fences.

With every step, the town grew larger—stone walls rising with quiet authority, guard towers marked by black-iron trim and fluttering twin-feathered banners.

Midday light hit the upper walls, casting long shadows across the dirt path.

Westmont wasn't a capital. It wasn't meant to be. But it had a certain weight to it—solid and self-assured, like the people who called it home.

Lyone walked slightly behind Damien, squinting up at the walls. "It's… bigger than I thought."

"It's enough," Damien replied, his voice flat as always.

As they approached the main gate, two guards stepped forward automatically, their spears crossing in front of the entrance.

"Hold—state your—"

The taller one froze mid-sentence.

Recognition flashed across his face. "Oh. Damien."

The other relaxed immediately, lowering his weapon with a sheepish grin. "Didn't see your face under that hood at first."

Damien gave them a nod. "Afternoon."

Their eyes drifted toward Lyone.

"Who's the kid?"

"Picked him up on the road. He's staying under me for now. Got nowhere else to go."

That was all Damien said. He didn't offer any titles, excuses, or stories.

The guards exchanged a glance, but it was all the confirmation they needed. One gave a small shrug and stepped back. The other offered a more personal note. "Glad you're back safe. You've been gone awhile."

"Not as long as you think," Damien replied simply.

They passed through the open gate, the guards returning to their posts as if nothing had happened.

Lyone looked up at Damien once they were inside the town's limits. "You didn't even have to explain."

"I did explain."

"No, you just said something."

Damien glanced at him sideways. "Same thing."

The streets of Westmont buzzed with energy.

It wasn't overwhelming—this wasn't the chaos of a noble city—but there was a rhythm here. A pulse. People moved with purpose.

Bells chimed softly from shops. Mercenaries in worn gear leaned against walls or bartered for supplies.

Lyone caught stares—some curious, some cautious—but most of them weren't for him.

They were for Damien.

"Welcome back, Damien!"

"Finished another job, huh?"

"Don't act like you're too good to stop and talk, silver-hair!"

Damien didn't stop. He waved once or nodded at the familiar voices, but his pace never changed.

Lyone trailed beside him, glancing from face to face.

"You know all these people?"

"Some."

"Seems like everyone here knows you."

Damien's answer was a shrug. "Its more like they worship me. They shouldn't."

That wasn't arrogance. It was fact.

They turned a corner and the Mercenary Guild came into view—its familiar silhouette rising like a stone giant among shorter rooftops. No matter how much changed, that building stayed the same. Strong. Rooted.

But Damien slowed his steps just slightly.

Lyone didn't notice. But the change was there—a subtle shift in posture, in breathing.

And then, as if summoned by the weight in the air, she stepped outside.

Arielle.

She moved like she belonged to the place—tall, confident, arms crossed, her long braid swinging against her back. Her dark leather gear fit like a second skin, worn and familiar.

Her eyes locked on Damien immediately.

They stared for a second too long.

Then—

"You're late," she said, voice steady but edged with something else. Not irritation. Not surprise.

Something unspoken.

Damien gave the faintest smirk. "And you're standing in the sun like you've got nothing better to do."

Arielle rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched. "Was wondering if you were dead."

"Not yet."

She stepped forward—and for a moment, the sarcasm faded from her face. Just a flicker.

"I mean it," she said more quietly. "You took longer than usual."

"I had business."

"With Raegon?"

Damien nodded. "It's done. He won't be bothering the resistance again. No mess. No name."

Her shoulders relaxed a little. "That's a relief. Westmont's safer without him breathing."

Damien looked at her then—really looked. Her face was the same, but there was something tired in the edges. Worry, maybe. Or the stress of waiting too long.

A pause stretched between them, not quite awkward.

Familiar.

But then—

"…And the kid?" she asked, finally shifting her attention to Lyone.

He stiffened under her gaze, fidgeting slightly.

Damien sighed. "Long story. Picked him up on the outskirts of Velthorne. He's staying under me for now."

"Another stray?" Arielle raised an eyebrow. "How many is that now?"

"This one talks back more."

Lyone raised a hand halfway. "I'm right here, by the way."

Arielle blinked at him, then gave a soft chuckle. "At least he's got a mouth. You sure you're up for the babysitting, Damien?"

He gave a tired breath. "That depends entirely on how many more questions I'm expected to answer out here."

She smirked. "Fair."

Then she turned, already moving toward the guild doors. "Come on. You can explain properly inside. And I want the whole report this time. No one-word answers."

Damien fell into step behind her.

Lyone followed last, his eyes drifting between the two of them—something unspoken hanging in the air. Something old.

It wasn't affection, not exactly.

But it was something.

And Lyone could tell—Arielle wasn't just a guild officer to Damien.

She was someone who'd waited for him to come back.