I Only Summon Amazon Giantesses

This also reminded him of the standing offer Hermione had made earlier. He couldn’t wait to actually join her for a real training session sometime, to see firsthand how she trained, or maybe even show her a thing or two about proper gym discipline himself.

He wanted to turn the whole thing into a lighthearted challenge between them, even though he already suspected, deep down, that she’d likely outclass him regardless.

Until then, his focus stayed locked on climbing into the competition’s top ranks. Honestly, he’d fight tooth and nail to reach the top, since the stakes here went well beyond simple class rankings or valedictorian potential.

Rumor had it the actual grand prize for the winners was something genuinely extraordinary, a dungeon core pulled straight from a high ranked dungeon.

That alone represented another real path toward growing stronger, assuming he managed to land somewhere around third or fourth place, and he’d already marked it as one of his top priorities going forward.

His thoughts kept circling back to these goals over and over, the weight of it all steadily building into real, tangible pressure. He knew carrying too much of that kind of stress wasn’t good for him long term, so he made a deliberate mental note to stay mindful of it.

Everything would kick back into motion tomorrow, once the competition resumed alongside the rest of the school’s regular activities, and he intended to keep pushing through every obstacle still standing between him and his goals.

An hour later, Mark slumped heavily against the door, chest rising and falling in slow, exhausted waves. His vision blurred at the edges, though he clung stubbornly to consciousness anyway.

He’d pushed through another three hundred diamond push ups, bringing his running total to four hundred and fifty, followed immediately by two hundred fifty incline push ups and three hundred fifty full squats.

Endurance had always ranked among his weaker attributes, so he’d been deliberately hammering away at it lately, and the results were finally starting to show.

A sheen of sweat coated his entire body, highlighting the increasingly defined muscle and physique steadily forged through weeks of disciplined, unrelenting consistency. Still, it wasn’t enough, not yet. He needed to keep pushing harder if he genuinely wanted to accelerate everything he’d set out to achieve.

He was simply done wasting time the way the powerless mundy version of himself once had.

Eventually, his body gave out under the sheer cumulative strain pressed against his nerves and senses. His breathing turned ragged and heavy as he rolled onto his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling above him.

Drowsiness crept in fast after that, though for some reason, both Tasha and his mother’s faces kept surfacing in his mind, lingering there right up until exhaustion finally pulled him under completely.

***

The next day arrived loud and chaotic, the competition resuming early, still riding the momentum of yesterday’s genuinely impressive battles. The stands surrounding the arena filled quickly with eager spectators, all hungry for another day of thrilling, high stakes matches.

Round after round rolled past in quick succession, each one drawing fresh waves of attention and reaction from the crowd, until the competition finally reached its knockout stage.

By this point, plenty of combatants had already been eliminated outright. This was easily the most frustrating stretch of the entire competition, especially given that a single decisive loss now meant total elimination, no second chances, no path back in.

That reality only cranked the tension and pressure higher, weighing visibly on the hearts of nearly every combatant still standing. It also made this particular stretch some of the most genuinely electric viewing for the crowd, every match crackling with a level of tension you could practically feel radiating off the platform itself.

Right now, on the active battle platform, Arya, a girl with loose, curly strands framing her round face, summoned her female elf, tall, sharp eared, armored head to toe in sleek black plating.

A full quiver of arrows sat strapped against the elf’s thigh, a finely crafted bow resting steady in her grip.

This was the ArrowElf Ranger, a 5.2 Elite Tier summon carrying genuinely strong potential. Her frame was built entirely around flexibility and raw agility, perfectly suited for devastating work at long range.

Her opponent was Maco, a boy with a familiar bowl cut hairstyle and round glasses, the very same student who’d once cowardly tapped out against Kai’s dragon during an earlier combat class session.

He summoned a massive centipede, coiling and slithering around him like some devious, living serpent.

Its segmented, crimson exoskeleton gleamed brightly beneath the sun, thin arcs of crackling electricity dancing restlessly across its surface like a contained storm. Dozens of spindly, arachnid like limbs extended from its body, each one tipped with a razor sharp bone blade capable of slicing clean through solid steel. The harsh, scraping clatter of its many legs against the platform floor filled the tense silence.

It had grown considerably since their last encounter, now sitting at a full 5.5, Low Level High Tier, more than capable of standing toe to toe against Mid Level, maybe even Top Level, High Tier opponents.

”So how’s your vision holding up these days? I’m guessing those are the replacement glasses, after you lost the last pair down the toilet,” Arya taunted with a sharp snicker.

”Forgive me for not keeping up with whatever random gossip you and your little circle are spreading this week,” Maco shot back, shaking his head as he adjusted the identical round frames perched on his nose.

The moment the match began, the Crimson Blade Centipede surged forward like a striking serpent, its countless legs thundering violently against the hard platform floor. Every blade lining its back, mouth, and limbs stood ready to carve straight through its opponent.

The ArrowElf Ranger responded instantly, drawing three arrows in one fluid motion, nocking them together against her bowstring before releasing in a single, perfectly timed pull.

All three arrows streaked through the air in a blur, only to ring harmlessly off the centipede’s hardened carapace, deflecting away with a sharp, useless clang.

The difference was stark, proof of just how much tougher that armor had become since its recent climb up a full tier, the weight of that growth impossible to ignore.

Refusing to waste even a heartbeat dwelling on it, the Ranger reached for another arrow from the quiver strapped against her thigh.

This one looked different immediately, its shaft longer, fletched with sleek feathers, its narrow head etched with fine, spiraling grooves that seemed to hum faintly with contained energy.

She nocked it, drew back in one smooth, practiced motion, and released, eyes locked unwaveringly on her target.

The centipede didn’t even bother dodging this time, fully expecting to shrug the hit off exactly like the last volley.

It was wrong.

The arrow punched clean through its thick carapace as though the armor were nothing more than wet paper, half the shaft bursting out the other side, quivering with the force still trapped inside it.

Arya winced sharply at the sheer brutality of her own summon’s attack, only now fully registering just how much raw force had been packed into that single shot.

This wasn’t some ordinary arrow either.

This was the Wind Streaker, an advanced technique forged directly from the elf’s own innate attributes, compressed wind wrapped tight around a spearpoint of pure momentum.

Maco’s expression cracked behind his glasses, disbelief written plainly across his face as he yanked them down the bridge of his nose, blinking hard, as though his eyes were somehow lying to him.

The centipede let out a shrill, piercing screech as two more identical arrows tore through the air, punching straight through its already weakened carapace with the same merciless precision.

It didn’t stop there.

More arrows followed in rapid succession, a relentless, driving hailstorm of wind wrapped death raining down without pause.

The wounds mounted fast, becoming unbearable, the centipede’s massive body writhing violently across the platform before finally collapsing in a shuddering heap. The arena’s automatic safety system activated instantly, whisking it away for emergency treatment before the damage could turn fatal.

Arya pressed both hands over her mouth, barely stifling a laugh at the utterly priceless expression frozen across Maco’s face.

A sharp whistle cut through the air as the referee’s voice rang out clearly. ”Maco Jardon loses the knockout round and is officially eliminated from the competition!”

----

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