Summoned Celestial Divine Beast

Chapter 4: The Three Truths Etched in Summoner’s Blood

Chapter 4: The Three Truths Etched in Summoner’s Blood

“The instructor’s coming!”

“He’s carrying a scroll that’s almost as long as a lamppost.”

“That has to be the announcement!”

The courtyard buzzed like a disturbed hornet’s nest. Students packed themselves in the central hall of Kuma Academy, their breath held tight in anticipation. Some had already slunk away—certain of their outcomes, whether due to overwhelming confidence or crushing certainty. But the bulk of them remained, shackled by hope, fear, and the need for confirmation.

Dan, the examiner with a sharp eye and a sharper tongue, strode into the room and, without ceremony, slapped the massive parchment onto the results board like it weighed nothing. He didn’t spare them a glance as he pivoted on his heel and exited the chamber with the kind of disinterest that only came with years of seeing the same damn thing over and over.

In his wake, the students surged forward, frantic.

“I got in! Holy shit, I actually fucking made it!” a boy cried, collapsing to his knees like he’d just been knighted by fate itself.

Another, eyes red and shoulders trembling, muttered, “But… I gave it everything...”

Out of the 130 hopefuls that dared to dream, only 86 had clawed their way through. The others—well, the academy was ruthless. Kuma did not accept the weak. This was no place for mediocrity.

Dan lingered near the doorway for a second, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t moved by their joy or sorrow. What lingered in his mind wasn’t the number of successful candidates—it was the anomaly among them.

Ryan.

The boy who no one expected to make it past the preliminary tests had done the unthinkable: summoned a creature so powerful that it bent the laws of bloodline dominance. Dan still felt the shock burning in his bones. The Vice Principal had all but claimed the kid on the spot.

But Dan’s eyes weren’t on Ryan now.

They landed instead on a smirking blond-haired youth standing arrogantly to the side. That smug look told Dan everything he needed to know: nobility. Entitled prick. If memory served, the kid’s father ruled over the land Ryan originally crawled out from. That... could get messy later.

Still, the boy didn’t seem too concerned with Ryan. His eyes were locked on his own name on the parchment. Good. Dan decided it wasn’t worth raising a fuss just yet. If anything sparked later, he’d step in. Maybe.

Meanwhile, Ryan was learning that reality came at you fast—and with fewer pages and more verbal ass-kickings than he’d anticipated.

He’d imagined he’d be buried in dusty tomes, flipping through enchanted diagrams and historical dogshit written in flowery prose. But Pearl, the so-called Forest Queen and his mentor, had different ideas.

She was sitting—no, lounging—on a polished desk right in front of him, her legs elegantly crossed, her sharp glasses glinting with menace.

He couldn't even look her in the eye without feeling like he’d combust.

“This is psychological warfare,” Ryan muttered under his breath, eyes darting anywhere but her thighs.

Pearl cleared her throat like a schoolmarm and leaned forward slightly. “You’re drained from the trials, I imagine. All new initiates are required to stay in their assigned dorms, but since full enrollment doesn’t begin until next week, you’ll be residing with me. Temporary arrangement. Understood?”

He nodded. Submitting to the inevitable.

“Good. Now, listen closely. There are three truths every summoner must carve into their bones,” she said, raising three fingers like casting a minor spell. Her tone shifted—less sardonic, more sacred.

“One: Never refer to the beings you summon as ‘creatures’ or ‘monsters.’ That shit’s insulting. They’re familiars—partners in power. You call them by name, or at the very least, by their proper titles. Respect earns loyalty. Disrespect earns death.”

Ryan swallowed hard.

“Two: You already know that dioki is the core ingredient in any summoning—our essence, our inner fire. But intention matters. When you make an offering during a ritual, you can steer the result.”

She stood and began pacing. “This is what we call Sacrificial Biasing. For instance, if you use a silver root in a moonlit forest, you increase the chances of attracting lunar elves, dryads, or druids. A bone placed atop a battlefield altar? You’re beckoning a warrior’s spirit.”

“But...” she held up a hand, “your first summon doesn’t work that way. No offerings. No biases. Your own body is the fucking sacrifice. Your soul becomes the lodestone—an anchor for the realms beyond. That’s why the first summon often reveals a summoner’s potential. It’s raw, unfiltered, and dangerous.”

Ryan’s chest tightened. Sphinx had answered his call. A divine beast. A living myth.

Pearl leaned closer. “And three: Your summons may do the heavy lifting in battle, but if you can’t throw a punch, dodge a blade, or break a nose, you’re already dead. This week, my familiar will drill you in close-quarters combat. You’ll bleed. You’ll curse me. And if you’re lucky, you’ll survive.”

“I understand,” Ryan murmured.

“Questions?”

He hesitated. “How many familiars can a summoner maintain? And... what happens if they die?”

She blinked once. “I expected the first question. The second one… not so much.”

“There’s no hard limit,” she said. “Your dioki reserves are the only barrier. Summoners craft their own paths—some raise undead armies; others form contracts with singular titans. In the east, there’s a bastard who rides a draconian beast the size of a cathedral. In the central plain, a man has aligned himself with an Archangel. And there’s a lunatic in the frozen north who commands an army of a million bonewalkers.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “So... most duels come down to your strongest familiar?”

“Usually,” she shrugged. “Quantity means shit if quality slaps it across the face.”

“But can’t familiars evolve? Get stronger over time?”

“Sure. But feeding their growth requires absurd resources. Remember this: some respond to our call out of kindness, others for power. Contracts aren’t always pure. We’ll get deeper into that later.”

“And if one of them dies?”

Pearl’s expression darkened. “Then that bond is severed. Gone. The dioki you invested? Burned. The connection? Dead weight. And sometimes... they don’t die. Sometimes, they’re just gone—torn back into their world with no way to return.”

A cold weight settled in Ryan’s chest.

“I see.”

Pearl tossed him two slim volumes. “Study these. ‘Foundations of Summoning Theory’ and ‘Combat Flow for Newbloods.’ You’ve got a week. No excuses.”

A whisper of wind curled beside her, spiraling into a figure—slender, elven, graceful.

Franca.

Pearl gestured. “Take him. Get him fitted with decent clothes. Then back to the estate.”

“Of course,” Franca said with a bright, knowing smile. She extended her hand toward Ryan. “Come along. The world doesn’t wait.”

He nodded and followed her out, trying not to think about how everything in his life had changed in the span of a single summoning circle.

Behind him, the air shimmered as Sphinx, his divine companion, sat in silence.

Lucky bastard, the celestial beast thought with a twitch of his tail.