Re-Awakened :I Ascend as an SSS-Ranked Dragon Summoner

The days following the cafeteria incident fell into a peculiar pattern. Noah would exit his classes only to find Lila materializing nearby with the persistence of a particularly determined ghost. His cold shoulder might as well have been a welcome mat for all the effect it had.

’Like trying to discourage a brick wall,’ he thought after the fifth time she ”coincidentally” appeared in his path.

The morning homeroom buzzed with the usual pre-class chatter when Miss Brooks strode in, her high heels clicking against the floor with military precision. The standard-issue instructor’s uniform did little to contain her generous curves, a fact that hadn’t escaped the attention of most male students.

’Good thing the uniform policy doesn’t apply to teachers,’ Noah mused, watching several classmates suddenly develop an intense interest in the morning announcements.

Miss Brooks planted her hands on her desk, leaning forward in a way that made at least three students drop their pens. ”Listen up, maggots!” Her voice carried the sharp edge of someone who’d seen real combat. ”We’ve got a special announcement regarding your upcoming field exercise.”

The class straightened instinctively. Miss Brooks had that effect – beneath her distracting appearance lay the steel of a veteran warrior.

”As you’re aware, this academy exists for one purpose – to train humanity’s next line of defense against the Harbinger threat and the beasts that plague our world.” Her eyes swept the room like searchlights. ”Today, we’re announcing a modification to the standard first-year expedition protocol.”

She paused, letting the tension build. ”You’ll be joined by representatives from the third-year class. Specifically, the top 25 students will be distributed among your teams.”

The room erupted in whispers. Noah caught fragments: ”Third-years?” ”After what happened last time...” ”The top 25?”

’Well, isn’t this interesting,’ Noah thought, exchanging glances with Kelvin. The presence of third-years would certainly add a layer of security to their excursions. But something about this felt... reactive.

”This decision,” Miss Brooks continued, her voice cutting through the chatter like a blade, ”is not up for debate. Consider it an opportunity to learn from those who’ve survived long enough to reach their final year.” Her lips curved in a predatory smile. ”Though survival is, as always, your own responsibility.”

After class, Noah and Kelvin found themselves cornered by Lila and Cora. The latter, barely reaching Noah’s shoulder, compensated for her size with enough attitude to fill the hallway.

”Well,” Cora announced, her tiny frame vibrating with barely contained energy, ”I hope nobody tries to play hero this time and almost gets themselves killed.”

”We’ll stick together,” Lila said, her eyes finding Noah’s despite his best efforts to avoid them. ”That’s the important part.”

While Kelvin and Cora launched into their usual post-mortem of the last hunt – a spiraling debate about who abandoned who and what went wrong – Noah’s mind wandered to the logistics of their upcoming expedition.

’Top 25 scattered across three classes,’ he calculated. ’Each class already has established four-person teams. So what’s the plan here? One third-year per team? Or are they rebuilding the whole structure?’

His thoughts drifted to the void domain where Nyx waited, hungry for more cores. ’A beast hunt means cores. Cores mean evolution.’ A smile crept across his face. ’And best of all, nobody needs to know why I’m suddenly so eager to face these monsters.’

The others continued their animated discussion as they left the classroom, none of them noticing Noah’s growing grin.

’Bring on the beasts,’ he thought, already imagining the possibilities. ’This time, I’ve got a few surprises of my own.’

---

The vast emptiness of space stretched before the Ark’s panoramic windows, an endless canvas of darkness punctuated by distant stars. The massive ship, humanity’s crowning achievement in space-faring technology, drifted silently through the void, its titanium-alloy hull bearing the scars of countless battles.

In the command chamber, a solitary figure sat motionless, his form partially obscured by the beast armor that encased his body. Iridescent scales crafted from the finest specimens covered every inch of the suit, each one catching and reflecting the dim light of the chamber. His helmet rested beneath his right hand on the armrest of his chair, its crystalline visor dark and lifeless.

’Another day,’ he thought, watching a distant nebula cast its purple hue across the observation deck. ’Another report of our failures.’

The pneumatic doors hissed open, and a soldier entered with practiced precision. His uniform bore the insignia of the Intelligence Division, creased and worn from long hours of service. He snapped to attention, right fist crossing his chest in the traditional salute.

”Supreme General, sir. I bring the quarterly report from the outer colonies.”

The Supreme General didn’t turn, his eyes fixed on the cosmic display before him. ”Proceed.”

”Yes, sir. The Centauri Front reports significant gains in the Proxima System. We’ve successfully established three new defensive perimeters on Nexus-7, though casualties were...” the soldier’s voice wavered slightly, ”substantial. The 42nd Battalion was completely wiped out defending the crystal mines.”

A moment of heavy silence filled the chamber.

”The Harbinger presence in the Arcturus Sector has intensified. We lost contact with the Helios Colony three days ago. Initial reports suggest it was a Class-4 invasion force, possibly led by a Four horned entity.”

The Supreme General’s armored fingers tightened on his helmet. ”The beast crystal production?”

”Down 23% across all sectors, sir. The Sirius Mining Operations have been particularly hard hit. We’ve lost access to two major veins, and the remaining operations are running at reduced capacity due to increased Harbinger activity.”

’Numbers,’ the Supreme General thought bitterly. ’Always numbers. As if we could quantify the weight of our losses.’

”Casualties?” he asked, though he already knew the answer would be grim.

”Seventeen thousand confirmed dead in the past quarter, sir. Another eight thousand missing in action. The medical facilities on New Eden are at 147% capacity, and we’ve had to convert three civilian structures into emergency treatment centers.”

The soldier paused, seeming to brace himself for the next part. ”Sir, regarding the Awakened Program... we’ve analyzed the combat data from all four quadrants. Despite the increased pressure of combat situations and our enhanced training protocols, we have yet to record a single instance of alpha-class awakening. The highest confirmed rating remains at Third gen class, and even those individuals are...” he hesitated, ”declining in frequency.”

Finally, the Supreme General turned. Though his face remained in shadow, the weight of his presence filled the room like a physical force. ”So, after nearly a century of war, humanity has failed to produce a single alpha-class awakened. Not one S-ranked soldier in any quadrant?”

”No, sir.”

”May I continue, sir,?” The lieutenant asked.

”Show me,” The supreme general answered.

The soldier pulled up a detailed hologram showing a rust-colored planet. ”However, the situation on Steel Heart is far more dire. The industrial planet’s manufacturing complexes – our largest weapons production facility in the outer rim – are under constant siege. We’ve lost the entire eastern continent.”

’Our greatest fortress world,’ the Supreme General thought, watching the holographic display of Steel Heart’s massive factory cities, now partially overrun with Harbinger corruption. ’Reduced to a battleground.’

”The agricultural sphere of Green Crown has been completely evacuated,” the soldier continued, his voice tight. ”Its vast farming domes now serve as Harbinger breeding grounds. The loss of its food production has put immense strain on our remaining colonies.”

The Supreme General’s armor creaked as he clenched his fist. Green Crown had been humanity’s breadbasket, its climate-controlled domes producing enough food to feed billions.

”What of Crystal Peak?”

”Our last remaining major crystal mining operation, sir. The mountain ranges are still producing at 60% capacity, but the Harbingers have begun targeting the transport vessels. We’ve lost seven shipments in the past month alone.”

The holograms shifted to show a fierce battle around a massive space elevator on an ice-covered world. ”The Dawn Fortress on Frost Shield continues to hold, but barely. The perpetual winter works in our favor, slowing the Harbinger advance, but our troops are suffering in the extreme conditions.”

’One fortress world after another,’ the Supreme General mused. ’Falling like dominoes.’

”And Blue Haven?” he asked, though he dreaded the answer.

”Our last resort colony? Still secure, sir. Its location remains classified, and the defensive fleet is at full strength. If... if the worst happens, at least some of humanity will survive.”

The Supreme General nodded grimly. Blue Haven represented humanity’s final fallback position – a carefully hidden world where they’d gathered their best and brightest, a last hope for their species’ survival.

”The mining operations on Thunder Storm have increased production by 15%, trying to compensate for our losses elsewhere. The constant electrical storms provide some natural defense against Harbinger forces, but the working conditions are taking their toll on our miners.”

Each planet’s name told a story – of humanity’s hopes, their desperate fights, their last stands. Red Haven was where soldiers fought and died in the dust. Steel Heart’s mighty factories now running day and night producing weapons for a losing war. Green Crown’s fallen paradise. Crystal Peak’s vital resources. Frost Shield’s desperate defenders. Thunder Storm’s determined miners. And Blue Haven – humanity’s final ace in the hole.

’Names we chose with such optimism,’ the Supreme General thought. ’Now they’re becoming epitaphs.’

The Supreme General rose, his armor whirring softly with each movement. He approached the window, his reflection a dark silhouette against the stars. ”We are losing this war, Lieutenant. Not slowly, not gradually, but with increasing momentum. Each day we lose ground, lose lives, lose hope.”

He pressed an armored hand against the reinforced glass. ”The Harbingers are evolving faster than we can adapt. Without an alpha-class awakened, without even an S-rank warrior to turn the tide...”

He left the sentence unfinished, but its implications hung heavy in the air. Humanity’s extinction wasn’t just possible – it was becoming increasingly probable.

”Sir,” the soldier ventured, ”the Academy’s new protocols—”

”Are desperate measures,” the Supreme General cut him off. ”Throwing our children into combat earlier and earlier, hoping to force an awakening through trauma and necessity.” His armored fist clenched. ”We’ve become monsters fighting monsters.”

He turned back to the observation window, dismissing the soldier with a wave. As the doors hissed shut behind him, the Supreme General watched a shooting star streak across the distant void – probably debris from another lost battle.

’When did survival become our only victory?’ he wondered, the weight of humanity’s future heavy on his armored shoulders. ’And how much longer can we even manage that?’