I Was Summoned as the Weakest Hero, But I Awakened a Military System

As dusk settled over the valley, the settlement transformed into a lively festival grounds.

Floodlights powered by portable generators illuminated the square, casting a warm glow over long makeshift tables. American soldiers manned row after row of field grills, flipping seasoned beef, hot dogs, and barbecue ribs that sizzled over charcoal. Beside them, beastkin hunters roasted spiced boar over open fire pits, stewing wild root vegetables in massive iron cauldrons and cracking open clay casks of sweet mountain wine. Music from portable speakers mixed with the rhythmic beating of tribal drums and boisterous laughter.

John stood along the edge of the terrace, watching the joint celebration with a satisfied smile.

Beside him, Elenore stood quietly, a cold soda can in her hand as her pointed ears twitched to the festive noise. Her emerald eyes wandered from the cheerful crowds down to the black SCAR-H slung across John’s shoulder.

”Commander John,” Elenore spoke up, her voice clear despite the bustling noise.

”Something on your mind, Elenore?” John asked, turning to her.

”During the battle... I saw how easily your men struck down flying beasts from hundreds of paces with those metal staves,” she began, pausing as she searched for the right words. ”My bow is reliable, but it lacks the speed, range, and sheer power of your weapons. If I am to help you navigate this world and fight alongside your forces... I want to learn how to wield them.”

John looked at her earnest expression, then chuckled softly. ”You want firearms training?”

Elenore nodded firmly. ”Yes. Please teach me how to shoot.”

”Fair enough, but after this celebration okay?

”Fair enough, but after this celebration, okay? Tonight is for letting your guard down,” John added with an easy, reassuring grin.

Elenore offered a faint, content smile, taking a small sip from the chilled soda can. ”Agreed. I can wait until tomorrow.”

Their conversation trailed off as the nearby crowd went quiet. Warriors and laborers turned their attention toward the path from the upper huts, stepping aside to make way.

John turned to look, and the sight immediately caught his attention.

Lyra walked down into the square, having changed out of her torn combat leathers and dirt-stained tunic. She wore a long ceremonial dress woven from black and deep purple cloth, lined with simple gold embroidery along the hem and collar. The dark fabric fit her tall frame cleanly, complemented by a thick fur wrap around her shoulders and a high slit along the side that allowed for easy movement.

Her dark hair was combed back and pinned in place, leaving her wolf ears clear against the evening sky. Her tail swayed gently behind her with calm, steady strides. Under the warm glow of the floodlights, she carried the unmistakable air of a seasoned, mature leader who had weathered a severe storm and come out the other side intact.

John stood quiet for a moment, genuinely surprised by the transformation. Seeing her clean of the battlefield grime and carrying herself with such refined poise gave her a striking, imposing presence that was hard to ignore.

Beside him, Elenore noticed his silence immediately.

Her green eyes shifted from the approaching chieftain to John, watching the way he stayed focused on Lyra. Her long ears gave a sharp, involuntary twitch. She stopped drinking, her lips pressing into a clear, irritated pout.

Without a word, Elenore lowered her soda can, puffed her cheeks out slightly, and folded her arms tightly over her chest. She pivoted on her heel, deliberately turning her back to the square to stare out into the empty darkness of the northern hills.

John finally blinked, noticing the sudden silence beside him. He turned to find the elf standing stiff as a board, radiating quiet disapproval.

”Elenore?” John asked, confused by the abrupt shift. ”What’s the matter with you?”

”Nothing,” Elenore answered flatly.

”Are you sure?” John asked, tilting his head. ”You look upset. Is the noise getting on your nerves?”

”I said it is nothing, Commander,” she muttered without looking back, keeping her arms firmly locked together. ”I simply prefer the view of the quiet ridge right now.”

John rubbed the back of his neck, completely missing the cause of her sudden mood.

Before he could say anything else, Lyra reached the edge of the terrace and came to a stop in front of them.

”Commander John,” Lyra said, placing a hand over her chest in a formal greeting. Her amber eyes held a warm look as she noticed him standing ready. ”I hope I did not make you wait. It has been many seasons since I had an occasion to wear formal robes.”

John nodded politely. ”Not at all, Lyra. You look very distinguished. It suits you.”

A faint color showed beneath the white fur on Lyra’s cheeks, though she kept her composure. ”Thank you. A chieftain must show proper respect to the leader who helped save her clan.”

She turned her attention to Elenore and dipped her head in greeting. ”Lady Elenore, I hope the evening is to your liking.”

Elenore slowly turned around, giving a stiff, formal bow while keeping her posture completely rigid. ”The evening is fine, Chieftain Lyra. Your outfit is quite noticeable.”

Lyra offered a measured nod, quietly registering the elf’s guarded tone before shifting her amber eyes back to John.

”Commander,” Lyra began, her voice softening with genuine warmth. ”While the warriors and your soldiers share the open square, our tradition dictates that the chieftain hosts the most honored guest in private. My longhouse at the top of the ridge has been prepared. I have reserved our oldest vintage of spiced honey mead and a selection of our finest cured meats for us.”

She gestured toward the lantern-lit stone steps leading up the hillside.

”It would be an honor if you would join me there, away from the clamor, so we may speak of our future in comfort.”

Beside them, Elenore’s sharp ears flicked backward, her crossed arms tightening noticeably against her chest. Her amethyst eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced between John and the beastkin chieftain, though she kept her mouth firmly shut.

John glanced up toward the secluded wooden lodge overlooking the valley, then turned back to Lyra with an easy nod.

”I appreciate the hospitality, Lyra,” John said, resting a hand against the sling of his SCAR-H. ”Lead the way. It’ll be good to talk business without having to shout over the noise.

Lyra’s tail gave a single, satisfied sweep behind her gown as she stepped aside to guide him up the path. ”Follow me, Commander. Lady Elenore, the attendants at the lower tables will ensure you have whatever you require.”

Elenore puffed her cheeks slightly, lifting her chin with polite defiance. ”Do not mind me. Enjoy your... private vintage.”

John gave Elenore a puzzled look, still completely oblivious to the silent duel of glances, before stepping into stride beside Lyra up the winding stone steps.