SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts
Chapter 328 - 328: The Trial of Divergence VI

The clone fighting Damon didn't breathe.

But it did bleed.

Damon staggered back, his shoulder searing from a shallow cut that nearly disabled his dominant arm.

"Haa-haa-haa…" Damon's breath came in ragged bursts, and blood seeped down his ribs beneath the fabric of his uniform.

Across from him, the mirror-Damon stood motionless—expression blank, silver hair stained crimson, its blade humming with the same energy as his own. It moved like him. Fought like him. Thought like him.

Except for one difference.

It was relentless. Mechanical. A perfected version of Damon—without hesitation, empathy, or restraint. A weapon, sharpened to a cruel edge.

And Damon was losing.

Not because he was weaker.

But because he hesitated.

That was the point of this final fight. Not just survival.

Confrontation.

With the one person who knew his every weakness.

Finally, the clone which had been silent ever since the beginning of their fight, opened its mouth. "Why are you stalling?" the clone asked, voice unnaturally calm.

Damon frowned. It was better when it didn't speak.

It circled him like a vulture. "Why do you keep holding back?"

Damon didn't answer.

But he felt it. In his bones. The reason he was slowing down. The instinct not to finish the fight. Because this enemy didn't feel like just a test. It felt like looking in a mirror and asking himself:

How far would you go to win?

The clone lunged.

Skrrrrrng…

Steel shrieked as blades met once more. Sparks exploded. The clash sent shockwaves rippling across the fractured tiles.

Damon bent backward to avoid a throat slash, then twisted and kicked the clone's knee, forcing it to stumble.

He took the opening—and hesitated. His sword hovered for half a second over its exposed back.

Too long.

The clone whipped around and slashed across his chest, sending Damon tumbling backward.

"Ughh…" He groaned, rolling to a crouch. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. Blood dripped onto the stone.

"You're pathetic," the clone said, walking forward.

"I'm... trying not to be you," Damon rasped.

The clone tilted its head. "But you need to be."

And in that moment, Damon made a choice.

He lowered his stance—not in submission, but focus. He closed his eyes, and summoned the echo of every spar, every battle zone, every loss he'd survived.

And one memory stood out.

Anaya lying wounded, bleeding out in a ruined city square. The same one he'd seen before. The fake memory he'd experienced at the start of the test.

Celeste, screaming as she fought off three stronger demons to buy them time.

Daveon, half-burned and still fighting.

None of those had happened but if he kept fighting like this, then it might really happen.

They'd survived this far because he led and because Miss Leana was always there to guide their paths.

Sometimes, you didn't get to protect everyone and stay soft.

Sometimes, to lead... you had to cut first.

Damon's eyes snapped open—icy. Focused.

"Alright," he said quietly. "No more games."

The air shifted.

Magic essence surged around him—tight, compressed. Not a showy outburst. A surgical one. The clone lunged again—faster, harder.

This time, Damon didn't block.

He sidestepped.

And plunged his dagger into the clone's side.

The phantom gasped, eyes wide. For the first time, an emotionless construct showed emotion. It was surprised.

Damon twisted the blade, kicked its chest, and followed up with a flash step—disappearing and reappearing behind it, sword drawn.

One clean strike.

Through the back.

Out the chest.

The clone froze.

And began to crack—like porcelain under heat.

"You're not who I am," Damon said, lowering his weapon. "You're who I could've been. That's not the same thing."

The clone shattered into a storm of violet shards.

Silence fell.

Then, light bloomed.

A massive sigil flared on the floor—gold, circular, and ancient. Lines of runes spiraled outward toward the walls, and a gentle hum replaced the ringing in his ears.

A voice—mechanical, deep, yet strangely neutral—echoed around him.

"Path complete. Candidate Damon—access granted. One summon permitted."

Damon exhaled shakily.

He was bleeding, barely able to stand straight—but his gaze was steady.

He didn't hesitate.

"Summon Daveon."

~~~~~

Daveon was still in the middle of his fight with the flaming figure he'd encountered.

At this point of their battle, he was half-dead.

His jacket was in tatters. His knuckles were bloodied. And the molten armor guardian in front of him had just disarmed him by hurling a spinning magma axe the size of a door.

He caught the axe—but the force knocked him into a pillar.

He coughed, heat pressing on every inch of his skin.

"I'm… going to die sweaty," he muttered.

Just then, a sigil flared under him.

A flash of blue.

Then nothing.

For one moment.

Then he was standing in a golden chamber, blinking.

And beside him—Damon.

"You summoned me?" Daveon wheezed, still hunched over.

"I found an exit and couldn't wait any further," Damon muttered, tossing him a healing pill from his side pouch. "Let's move."

~~~~~

Celeste's battle was almost on its last leg.

The final construct lunged toward her and Celeste let it fall into her trap—a ring of kinetic runes she'd slowly placed while dodging. It triggered the moment its foot landed, hurling it upward into an area with hundreds of invisible blades..

Swishh…

Swoosh…

The construct was sliced into hundreds and then it fell back down.

Crsssshhh!!.

Silence.

Celeste fell to one knee, gasping.

Then the path opened.

No celebration. No applause.

Only a soft tone—and a message:

"Path complete. Candidate Celeste—access granted. Summon permitted."

Her choice was already made.

"Anaya."

~~~~~

Anaya – Trapped in the Wild Hunt

She was bleeding from the leg. Her cloak was torn.

The forest Warden still chased her—tree to tree, branch to branch. It was faster, stronger, and angrier than any beast she'd ever faced.

She was losing ground.

Then—

A portal.

A voice.

"Get in."

She didn't hesitate.

She jumped in and then the portal closed.

In the final corridor of the trial, four figures gathered—burned, bloodied, but breathing.

Damon. Daveon. Celeste. Anaya.

The four representatives of ElderGlow Academy.

Before them, a golden archway pulsed softly with embedded mana lines. Floating above it were four small crystalline tokens—each engraved with a single rune.

They stepped forward.

One by one, their tokens lit.

"Completion confirmed. ElderGlow: Path Secured."

Up in the stands, the crowd stirred.

The floating projection screens turned from individual views to a full arena-wide announcement.

The voice echoed across every tier of the colosseum.

"The Trial of Divergence is complete."

"First to succeed: ElderGlow Academy."

A silence—shocked, breathless.

Then—

"Woahhhhh!!"

"Yayyyyy!!"

"Yessss!!"

Roaring applause.

Thunderous. Overwhelming. Students stood, instructors nodded, and alumni exchanged knowing looks.

In one corner, Miss Leana leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, a faint smirk on her lips.

"Good," she murmured. "They didn't die."

Back Inside the Trial Core

None of the ElderGlow team smiled.

They didn't need to.

They just stood there, facing the light of the exit portal, knowing what it meant.

Victory.

Not just in points.

But in survival. In learning.

"First trial down," Anaya murmured.

"Two more to go," Celeste said, brushing blood off her arm.

Daveon groaned. "We're gonna sleep after this, right?"

Damon was quiet for a beat.

Then he turned toward the light.

"Let's finish walking through."

They stepped through together.

Not as individuals anymore.

But as a team forged in trials.

"We all look horrible." Daveon commented under his unstable breathe.

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