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

Noah drove his fist into the training post for what felt like the thousandth time, watching the impact spread across the wood in a mark roughly the size of a coin. Better than when he’d started, when his strikes left fist-sized dents. Still not good enough. Still not the fingertip precision Valen demanded.

Three weeks in this timeline, and he was no closer to understanding what ”Extinguish the Flames” actually meant.

He stepped back, shaking out his hand. The sun was climbing toward midday, heat beginning to build in the training yard where maybe fifty recruits worked at their posts. The sound of impacts filled the air, wood on wood, flesh on wood, magic on wood, a constant rhythm that had become background noise.

’Back home, it’s been three weeks,’ Noah thought, wiping sweat from his forehead. ’Three weeks since I walked into that gate. Sophie’s probably maintaining operations, keeping Eclipse running despite everything. Kelvin’s probably rebuilt KROME by now, or at least made significant progress. They’re not gonna look for me because they think my domain abilities mean I can come back whenever I want. But what if something happens? What if another threat shows up and I’m not there?’

The worry had become a constant companion, sitting in the back of his mind during training, during meals, during the few hours of sleep he managed each night.

He thought about Diana, still in the hospital when he’d left, her skull held together by pins while her brain slowly healed. About Lila and Seraleth managing what they could. About Mrs. Harper, who he’d been planning to visit before all this happened.

’And here I am, learning medieval combat techniques while the world keeps spinning without me.’

Noah struck the post again, harder than he’d intended. The mark was larger this time, anger disrupting his focus.

”Easy there,” Pip’s voice came from nearby. The smaller recruit was working his own post, practicing with a weapon that had become his signature over the past weeks.

It was a chakram, a circular throwing blade maybe a foot in diameter with a sharpened outer edge. Pip had explained during their first week that he’d grown up using them to hunt small game in the marshlands, that his precision magic worked better with circular motion than straight-line projectiles like arrows or knives.

”You’re thinking too hard again,” Pip continued, sending his chakram spinning toward his post. It embedded in the wood with a solid thunk, the impact point maybe an inch across. ”I can see it on your face. All scrunched up like you’re trying to solve the mysteries of the universe instead of just hitting a piece of wood.”

Noah almost smiled despite his frustration. Pip had a way of cutting through tension with casual observation that was both annoying and helpful.

”Just distracted,” Noah said.

”By what? The technique? Because honestly, you’re doing better than most. Your marks are getting smaller every day. Some people haven’t shown any improvement at all.”

That was true. The training yard had noticeably fewer recruits than three weeks ago. Maybe thirty people had washed out already, unable to handle the physical demands, the mental pressure, or the sheer repetitive grind of practicing the same strike thousands of times.

Nami approached from across the yard, her yellow armband dark with sweat. She’d been working on knife throws, trying to achieve penetration depth with precision. Her post showed dozens of knife marks, most of them still too broad.

”Water break?” she suggested, not waiting for an answer before heading toward the barrels at the yard’s edge.

They followed, joining the small crowd of other recruits taking a moment’s rest. The water was lukewarm but wet, which was all that mattered.

”Anyone heard about the color competition?” someone was asking nearby. ”When it’s supposed to start?”

”Instructor Sareth mentioned something about an announcement coming soon,” another recruit replied. ”Probably this week.”

Noah drank slowly, listening to the speculation. The competition had been mentioned on the first day but with no details, leaving everyone to wonder what it would actually involve.

”I heard it’s combat trials,” a red recruit was saying, a stocky guy named Werner who came from a dragon knight family and never let anyone forget it. ”My older brother went through training five years ago. Said they do mock battles, color versus color. Reds usually dominate because we’re the actual fighters.”

Several yellow and green recruits within earshot bristled at that comment, but nobody challenged it directly.

’There’s definitely a hierarchy forming,’ Noah observed, watching the body language. ’The instructors keep saying all colors are equal, that every role is critical, but the reds don’t believe it. They think they’re special because they’re the ones who fight dragons directly.’

Movement near the instructor’s platform caught his attention. Valen was setting up for a demonstration, which usually meant a new technique or concept.

”Gather up!” Valen’s voice carried across the yard. ”Break time’s over. We’re adding a new component to training.”

Recruits assembled quickly, forming rough groups by color without being told. The tribalism had developed naturally over the weeks, reds clustering together, yellows forming their own group, greens standing slightly apart from both.

Noah, Nami, and Pip stood together at the edge of the red section, not quite fitting into the color divisions since their trio crossed the categories.

Valen waited until everyone was settled before speaking.

”You’ve been working on force concentration for three weeks now. Some of you are showing progress. Others are struggling. That’s expected. The Vital Point Technique is difficult, and mastery takes time.”

He gestured to an assistant who brought forward training weapons. Swords, spears, staffs, various implements.

”But concentration alone isn’t enough. You need to apply it in combat situations, under pressure, while defending yourself and attacking simultaneously. Which means we’re adding sparring to your daily routine.”

Murmurs rippled through the assembled recruits, some excited, others nervous.

”You’ll be paired randomly,” Valen continued, ”regardless of color. The goal isn’t to win or lose. The goal is to practice applying concentrated force while someone is trying to hit you back. First blood or first solid strike ends the match. We’re not trying to injure anyone seriously.”

He paused, his scarred face stern.

”Green recruits, I know what some of you are thinking. You’re support specialists, healers, enhancement casters. Why do you need to learn combat? The answer is simple. If you can’t defend yourself, you can’t help anyone. A dead healer heals nobody. An unconscious enhancement caster enhances nothing. You will learn to fight because your survival depends on it.”

A green recruit near the front, a thin girl with nervous energy, raised her hand hesitantly.

”Yes?” Valen acknowledged her.

”But sir, isn’t our role to stay back from direct combat? To support from protected positions?”

”In an ideal situation, yes,” Valen replied. ”But combat is rarely ideal. Dragons don’t politely ignore the healers. Beasts don’t conveniently attack only the reds. You will find yourself in direct danger, and when that happens, you need to be able to defend yourself long enough for help to arrive or for you to escape.”

He looked at her directly.

”What’s your name, recruit?”

”Anya, sir.”

”Anya, let me tell you about a green knight named Petra who graduated from this camp eight years ago. Exceptional healer, could mend wounds that should have been fatal. Saved dozens of lives during her service. She believed her role was to stay protected, to never engage in direct combat. During a dragon hunt two years into her service, the dragon broke through the red line and came straight for the support team. Petra froze. Didn’t know how to defend herself. The dragon killed her in seconds.”

The training yard had gone completely silent.

”Her death created a cascade failure,” Valen continued, his voice hard. ”Without healing support, the reds couldn’t sustain the fight. Three more knights died that day because Petra never learned that her survival was just as important as her healing ability.”

He let that sink in.

”Everyone learns to fight. Everyone learns to defend themselves. No exceptions. If that’s a problem for you, there’s the gate. You’re free to leave anytime.”

Anya looked like she wanted to sink into the ground, but she nodded.

”Good. Now, pair up for sparring. I want to see focus, control, and application of everything you’ve learned.”

The yard erupted into chaos as recruits found partners and claimed spaces. Noah ended up across from a red recruit he vaguely recognized, someone who’d been training quietly without drawing much attention.

They took positions, both weaponless since this was basic sparring. The recruit nodded respectfully, and they began.

It was immediately clear this recruit had training. His stance was solid, his movements economical, his strikes coming from good angles. Noah defended easily, his enhanced speed making the incoming attacks feel slow, but he made sure to look like he was working for it.

They exchanged blows for maybe a minute before Noah saw an opening and delivered a controlled strike to the recruit’s ribs. Not hard enough to injure, just enough to establish the hit.

”Good match,” the recruit said, stepping back and nodding again before moving to find another partner.

Noah rotated through several sparring partners over the next hour. Some were skilled, others were clearly struggling with even basic combat principles. He held back carefully, making each match look competitive without revealing how easily he could have ended them.

Across the yard, Nami was doing well, her knife work translating into decent unarmed combat. Pip was struggling more, his smaller size and lack of pure strength putting him at a disadvantage, but he was fast and clever, using angles and timing to compensate.

The sparring continued until Valen called a halt, the recruits sweating and breathing hard.

”Better than I expected,” Valen admitted. ”Some of you clearly have prior training. Others need work. We’ll do this daily now, rotating partners so you face different styles and capabilities.”

He dismissed them for lunch, and the crowd dispersed toward the dining hall.

Noah walked with Nami and Pip, all three of them tired but in good spirits.

”Did you see that green recruit who actually landed a hit on Werner?” Pip was saying, his quick speech pattern accelerating with excitement. ”The look on his face was priceless. Werner’s probably still trying to figure out how someone half his size tagged him.”

”Werner’s all power, no technique,” Nami observed. ”Anyone with decent footwork can exploit that.”

They entered the dining hall and collected their food. The usual fare, stew and bread, but after three weeks Noah had stopped noticing the repetition.

Finding seats at their usual table, they ate while conversation flowed around them about the sparring, about progress with force concentration, about rumors of when the color competition would begin.

”I think I’m close,” Nami said suddenly, breaking into Noah and Pip’s discussion about sparring techniques. ”With the concentration technique. I can feel it clicking, like I’m right on the edge of understanding how to make it work.”

”Yeah?” Pip leaned forward with interest. ”What’s the key? What’s making it click?”

”It’s not about hitting harder,” Nami explained, her hands gesturing as she worked through the concept. ”It’s about hitting smaller. Compressing the strike down before impact, not during. I’ve been trying to concentrate the force at the moment of contact, but that’s too late. You have to set up the concentration before you even throw the knife.”

Noah listened, genuinely interested. That was a perspective he hadn’t considered, and it made sense. Maybe he’d been approaching the problem from the wrong angle.

Across the hall, a commotion drew his attention. A yellow recruit was standing, their face red with anger, while a red recruit sat at the nearby table looking unconcerned.

”It was fine this morning!” the yellow recruit was saying, their voice carrying across the hall. ”Someone broke into my room and deliberately damaged it!”

”That’s a serious accusation,” someone else said. ”Are you sure it wasn’t just wear and tear?”

”Wear and tear doesn’t snap a weapon in three places!”

Noah couldn’t see what weapon they were talking about from this distance, but the anger was real.

”Who’s that?” Noah asked Pip quietly.

”Yellow recruit named Cai,” Pip replied, his eyes sharp as he watched the confrontation. ”Came from the eastern provinces. Uses this weird chain-whip thing, supposed to be really good with it. Got the Vital Point Technique right two days ago, first person in our entire group to actually achieve proper fingertip concentration.”

Noah felt something click into place. The first person to get the technique right, and now their weapon was mysteriously broken.

”Interesting timing,” Nami murmured, clearly thinking the same thing.

Instructors intervened before the confrontation could escalate, separating the recruits and promising to investigate the damage. The dining hall slowly returned to normal noise levels, but the tension remained.

After lunch, they returned to training. Noah was working at his post when Pip appeared beside him, his expression thoughtful.

”It’s about pride,” Pip said without preamble.

”What is?”

”The broken weapon. Whoever did it, they’re making a statement.” Pip lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. ”Cai’s a yellow. First one to get the technique right. That’s embarrassing for the reds, especially the ones who come from dragon knight families. They grow up hearing that reds are the real fighters, the important ones. Their fathers and older siblings probably told them that yellows are just support fire, greens are just healers, but reds are the actual dragon killers.”

Noah considered that. It matched what he’d observed over the past weeks, the subtle ways reds positioned themselves as superior.

”So someone broke Cai’s weapon to... what? Remind them they’re not supposed to succeed first?”

”Basically,” Pip confirmed. ”It’s not about Cai personally. It’s about maintaining the hierarchy. Reds on top, everyone else supporting. Someone couldn’t handle a yellow showing them up, so they took action.”

”That’s petty,” Nami said, joining the conversation.

”Of course it’s petty. But it’s also effective if you’re trying to intimidate people.” Pip shrugged. ”And they did it smart. Broke the weapon, which is mean and sends a message, but isn’t directly violent. Hard to prove who did it. Won’t attract serious punishment even if they figure it out.”

Noah thought about that while he resumed training. The politics here were more complex than he’d initially realized. Different colors, different pride, different agendas all colliding in a space where everyone was already under pressure.

’Just like the military back home,’ he thought, remembering his time at Vanguard Station. ’Put a bunch of competitive young people together, add hierarchy and limited resources, and you get tribalism. Human nature doesn’t change across timelines.’

He also thought about Ares, his bonded dragon, somewhere out in the wilderness healing from their fight. Three weeks was more than enough time for a red death’s regeneration to handle the injuries he’d sustained. Molten Core ability alone would have repaired most of the damage within minutes.

’I should check on him,’ Noah thought, landing another strike that left a mark slightly smaller than before. ’Make sure he’s okay and not getting into trouble. But summoning a dragon here, in a camp full of dragon knights and recruits desperate to prove themselves? That’s asking for disaster. Someone would try to kill him, or capture him, or at minimum raise questions about how a tavern boy bonded a red death.’

No, better to wait. To find a time when he could slip away unnoticed, make contact with Ares away from prying eyes.

The afternoon wore on. More sparring sessions, more work at the posts, more incremental progress toward a technique that remained frustratingly out of reach for most recruits.

As the sun began lowering toward the horizon, Valen called everyone to gather at the central platform.

”I have an announcement,” he said once the crowd settled. ”The color competition begins next week.”

Immediate interest rippled through the assembled recruits, fatigue forgotten.

”The format is simple. Yellow versus Green versus Red. You’ll face a series of challenges designed to test everything you’ve learned. Combat trials, tactical scenarios, endurance tests. Each challenge awards points based on performance. The color with the highest total at the end receives privileges and recognition.”

He paused, letting anticipation build.

”The first challenge will be announced in three days. Use that time to prepare, to train with your color groups, to strategize. This competition isn’t just about individual ability. It’s about working together, supporting your teammates, functioning as a cohesive unit.”

Valen’s expression grew more serious.

”I’ll say this once. The competition is meant to build camaraderie and push you to excel. It is not an excuse for sabotage, for undermining other colors, or for letting rivalry override your training. Anyone caught engaging in conduct that violates the spirit of fair competition will be expelled immediately. Am I clear?”

Scattered acknowledgments came from the crowd.

”Good. Dismissed. Get some rest. Tomorrow we continue regular training, but I expect to see increased focus and dedication.”

The recruits dispersed, energy levels noticeably higher despite the long day. Conversations erupted immediately about strategy, about what the challenges might involve, about which color had advantages.

Noah walked back to the barracks with Nami and Pip, listening to them speculate.

”Yellows have precision,” Nami was saying. ”If there’s any challenge involving accuracy or ranged combat, we should dominate.”

”Reds have raw power,” Pip countered. ”Direct combat trials will favor them heavily.”

”And greens have support abilities,” Noah added. ”Any team-based challenge where healing or enhancement matters, they’ll have an edge.”

”So it comes down to what challenges they pick,” Pip concluded. ”Balanced challenges favor whoever adapts fastest. Specialized challenges favor whoever has the right color for that specialty.”

They reached the barracks and split up, Pip heading to his room while Noah and Nami continued to theirs.

Inside, Noah collapsed on his bed without bothering to remove his boots. His body ached from the day’s exertion, but his mind was still racing.

Three weeks in this timeline. Three weeks of training, of building relationships, of learning techniques that might or might not help him figure out what ”Extinguish the Flames” actually meant.

And now a color competition that would probably reveal more about the dynamics here, about who these people were, about what made this timeline different from his own.

’Somewhere in all this,’ Noah thought, staring at the ceiling, ’there’s a connection to the quest. There has to be. I just need to find it.’

Nami was already asleep, her breathing steady and even. Noah closed his eyes, letting exhaustion finally pull him under.

Tomorrow would bring more training, more progress, more pieces of a puzzle he still didn’t fully understand.

But at least now, with the competition announced, things were starting to move forward.