SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts - Chapter 489: Battle On The Sea I
Chapter 489: Battle On The Sea I
“Well I’ll be damned,” Torren muttered. “That’s a beast.”
Jessa leaned forward, eyes bright. “Is that a Fenrir?”
Damien nodded once.
“You selling?” someone joked.
Fenrir growled—low, dangerous.
“No,” Damien said flatly.
That settled it.
Despite the initial surprise, the crew’s reaction shifted quickly to admiration.
“That wolf could tear a demon apart,” one deckhand said.
“Look at the size of it.”
“And the slime—what is that thing?”
Luton pulsed proudly.
Friendly comments. Curious questions.
Damien answered very few.
He moved to the side of the deck, resting a hand on the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon. Fenrir remained close, body tense, tail stiff.
The ship soon began to move.
Ropes were loosened. Sails unfurled. The Grimhorn pulled away from the dock with a creak of wood and a chorus of shouted commands.
The city slowly receded.
The moment the ship fully left the harbor, Fenrir’s agitation intensified.
The wolf’s claws scraped against the deck as he shifted restlessly. His growls became more frequent, his ears pinned flat.
He hated this.
Waves slapped against the hull. The ship rocked gently, but even that subtle motion was enough to irritate the great beast.
A deckhand made the mistake of approaching too quickly.
Fenrir snapped his head around and snarled, teeth flashing inches from the man’s face.
The deckhand froze.
“Easy!” someone shouted.
Damien turned immediately. “Fenrir.”
The wolf hesitated, eyes burning, then slowly looked back at Damien.
Damien sighed. “That’s enough.”
He raised a hand.
White light wrapped around Fenrir’s form, drawing the massive wolf inward. Fenrir let out one last frustrated rumble before vanishing completely.
The deck felt… emptier.
Several crew members stared.
“You dismissed it?” Lysa asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
“Just like that?”
Damien nodded. “He doesn’t like the ocean.”
Torren blinked. Then laughed. “Fair enough.”
Jessa whistled. “Still—sending something like that away so casually…”
Damien didn’t reply.
Luton floated back onto his shoulder, clearly pleased to have more space.
As hours passed, the coastline shrank until it was nothing more than a dark line against the horizon.
The sea grew deeper. Darker.
And strangely calm.
No wind. No waves beyond a gentle roll. The sails hung heavy but full, catching a breeze that no one could quite feel.
The crew noticed.
“So… where’s the storm?” one deckhand muttered.
Garrick stood at the helm, eyes narrowed. “Too quiet.”
Lysa joined him. “I don’t like it.”
Damien felt it too.
The mana around them was… still. Not absent—but held. As though something vast lay beneath the surface, breathing slowly, waiting.
Luton pulsed once, then again.
The slime was excited.
Damien rested a hand on the railing, eyes fixed on the endless stretch of dark water ahead.
Unnaturally calm.
For the first few hours after leaving the coast, the journey felt almost… ordinary.
The Grimhorn cut through the darkening waters at a steady pace, her reinforced hull groaning softly with every wave she parted. Crew members moved freely across the deck—adjusting sails, checking runes etched into the wood, laughing too loudly to hide their nerves. Someone cracked a joke about dying gloriously before sunset. Someone else answered that they’d prefer dying after dinner.
Damien stood near the starboard side, arms resting on the railing, gaze fixed on the endless water ahead. Luton sat comfortably on his shoulder, occasionally bubbling with quiet excitement as sea mist brushed against its surface.
The calm was deceptive.
It always was.
The air grew heavier first—not with pressure, but with intent. Damien felt it before the crew did, a subtle tightening in the mana around the ship, like invisible hands slowly closing.
Then… they stopped moving.
Not willingly.
Crew members froze mid-step. A sailor reaching for a rope found his arm refusing to obey. Another, halfway through a laugh, felt his throat tighten as though something unseen had wrapped around it.
The wind died.
The sea beneath the Grimhorn went still for exactly one heartbeat and then everything erupted.
A violent crash thundered beneath the hull as waves surged upward, slamming against the ship from below. The deck tilted sharply, sending loose crates skidding. Thunder roared overhead as black clouds spiraled into existence, lightning tearing through the sky like cracks in reality itself.
“Storm formation—unnatural!” Lysa shouted, gripping the mast.
Rain lashed down instantly, not falling so much as attacking. The ship groaned as waves rose higher and higher, each one smashing against the hull with bone-rattling force.
And beneath the chaos, the water moved.
Not like waves.
Like something breathing.
Damien’s eyes narrowed. “Here they come.”
The sea split open near the bow.
A massive shape burst upward, scales glistening with seawater and blue-tinged mana. Rows of jagged fins lined its back, and its maw crackled with condensed water essence.
“Aqua Razorfish!” someone yelled. “Grade Five!”
Another followed. Then another.
Three sea magic beasts lunged toward the ship, screeching as water blades formed along their fins.
Before Damien could move, the crew did.
Torren barked commands, his voice cutting through the storm. “Formation three! Don’t let them board!”
Jessa moved first—her crossbow thrummed as bolts of condensed essence tore through the rain, striking one beast directly in the eye. It shrieked and fell back into the water.
Two deckhands charged forward, weapons glowing faintly as they slashed in unison. Their blades cut through mana-enhanced flesh, forcing another beast to recoil before it could leap fully onto the deck.
Efficient. Coordinated.
The third beast managed to latch onto the hull, claws digging into the reinforced wood. It opened its mouth, water swirling, and a spear of compressed wind slammed into its skull, snapping its head back.
The beast fell.
Dead.
Damien’s eyes flicked from one crew member to another.
Grade Five sea magic beasts, dangerous even for trained soldiers had been dealt with in seconds.
He reassessed silently.
These weren’t ordinary sailors.
The sea didn’t like being challenged.
The water churned violently, forming a massive vortex off the port side. From within it, a larger shape emerged—thicker scales, broader fins, mana radiating in heavy pulses.
“Another Grade Five—stronger!” Lysa shouted.
This time, the crew didn’t rush individually.
They moved together.
Two mages—barely noticeable until now—channeled energy into the deck runes. The wood glowed faintly as a barrier formed around the ship’s edge.
Torren and three others launched chains tipped with hooked essence cores, anchoring the beast mid-leap. Jessa’s bolts followed, pinning it in place long enough for a coordinated strike that tore straight through its skull.
The body sank.
Damien felt something click into place.
They weren’t reckless. They were experienced.
Then the sea split again.
This time, the pressure alone made several crew members stagger.
A massive serpentine form rose from the depths, its body covered in thick armored plates etched with natural mana channels. Its presence warped the water around it, waves bending inward as if drawn to its core.
“Grade Four!” someone screamed.
And only then did Garrick move.
The captain stepped forward, coat snapping violently in the wind.
His presence changed the air.
Mana surged around him—not explosive, but dense, controlled. He drew a massive curved blade from his back, the weapon humming as runes along its edge ignited.
“Hold the ship steady!” Garrick roared.
The Grade Four sea beast lunged.
Garrick met it head-on.
He leapt across the deck, striking the beast’s skull with a blow that echoed like thunder. The impact sent shockwaves through the water, cracking its armor and forcing it back.
The battle between captain and beast raged, waves exploding upward with every exchange.
Damien watched closely.
Strong. Very strong.
Garrick fought like someone who had survived things no man should. Every movement was precise, every strike calculated.
Damien was still scaling him when the sea went silent again.
Too silent.
The water behind the ship bulged outward.
Then something enormous rose.
A colossal shape broke the surface—a hulking sea demon, its form twisted with demonic essence. Jagged horns curved backward from its skull, and its eyes burned with corrupted blue fire.
A Grade Four sea demon.
Larger than Garrick’s opponent.
More unstable.
More dangerous.
Panic rippled through the crew.
“That’s—!”
“We can’t—!”
Garrick turned, eyes widening for a fraction of a second.
Damien stepped forward.
“I’ll handle this one.”
No one argued.
Damien raised his hand.
Light flared.
Fenrir manifested mid-deck, massive paws slamming down as thunder cracked overhead. The wolf snarled immediately, hackles raised, eyes locked onto the demon.
The irony wasn’t lost on Damien.
The beast that hated the ocean… now stood upon it.
Fenrir didn’t hesitate.
He leapt.
The ship shook as Fenrir collided with the demon mid-air, jaws clamping down on its throat. Demonic blood sprayed as Fenrir tore into it, claws raking through corrupted flesh.
The demon roared, unleashing a wave of pressurized water…
Damien moved.
He dashed across the deck and launched himself upward, blade flashing as he struck at the demon’s core. Mana surged, his strike cutting deep into the heart of the creature.
Fenrir followed up instantly, tearing the demon apart with brutal efficiency.
The battle lasted less than a minute.
The corpse crashed into the sea.
Silence followed.
Damien landed lightly on the deck, Fenrir beside him, chest heaving.
