CHAPTER 61: THE FIRST SUMMONS

Chapter 60 – The First Summons

Ethan’s eyes lingered on the glowing interface before him, the letters and numbers shimmering faintly in the air like strands of woven starlight. The update drew a small, wry grin across his face.

SYSTEM INTERFACE

Name: Ethan Cross (27)

Race: Human (Awakened)

Legacy: [Forgotten Empire] (partial unlock)

Title: [Goblin Slayer] – A title recognized by adventurers and commoners alike. Word of Ethan’s bloody rampage through goblin nests has spread across the villages and towns of the region. While low-ranked and offering no ability boosts, it marks him as one who has carved his place into whispered tales.

Talent: [Will of the Crown], [Tactical Reverie]

Elemental Affinities: [All Elements] (Affinities(Max) – Tier 10)

Class – Decurion Steelweaver

Level: 10 (10,669/117,352)

(Starting from level 10 to 20...xp requirement for next level will multiply by 1.5)

Unassigned Stat Points: 10

Base Stats (Average Human Male = 1)

Strength: 21.3

Vitality: 18.8

Constitution: 19.0

Agility: 18.1

Stamina: 21.4

Intelligence: 14.0

Mana: 10.4

(All stats boosted by 25%)

(Additionally, Strength and Mana are boosted by 50%)

[Not included in the stats shown]

Skills:

[Magic Arrow] – 92% Mastery (Basic)

[Basic Longsword Technique] – 99% Mastery (Intermediate)

[Fire Ball] – 1% Mastery (Basic)

Class Skills:

[Soldier Summons – 10]

[Undead Revive – 0/20]

[Netherworld Pocket Dimension (Soul-Bound)]

SP: 45,404

Balance: 6 Gold, 13 Silver, 89 Bronze, 43 Copper

---

Ethan exhaled slowly. "So... the title’s official now, huh? Goblin Slayer. Not the grandest, but... it has a ring to it." His lips tugged in amusement. "Better than being called ’that guy who kills goblins’."

His gaze dropped back to the glowing text. His heartbeat quickened when his eyes locked onto the skill that mattered most.

[Soldier Summons – 10]

Ethan’s thoughts raced. Ten soldiers. If they’re the same as the ones I fought before... armored, disciplined, tireless... His grin widened. Then I’ve basically gained an army for myself. Ten of them working under my command—hell, that alone could push me beyond A-rank.

A warmth of excitement surged in his chest, but he clenched his fists to steady himself. "No use celebrating before I even see them. Calm down, Ethan. One step at a time."

Beside him, Lirael tilted her head curiously. She had been quietly watching him, her ocean eyes narrowing at the vacant expression on his face. He looked as if he were staring at nothing, lips curling into half-smiles. "You’re... grinning like a fool. Are you peering into your status plate again?"

He snapped out of his trance and chuckled, scratching his jaw. "Caught me. Yeah, just checking something important."

Her gaze softened, though her curiosity lingered. "Important enough to look like you’re drunk on happiness?"

"More important than that." He crooked his finger at her, beckoning her closer. "Come here, Lirael. I want you to see this."

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, her long silver hair swaying with each step. The faint scent of her floral perfume brushed against him as she leaned closer, eyes fixed on his steady expression.

Ethan drew in a deep breath, centering himself. His voice dropped into a low murmur, almost reverent.

"Let’s see what the Steelweaver’s soldiers look like."

And with a firm thought, he activated his skill.

The world around them seemed to ripple. Mana surged outward from Ethan’s core in a rolling wave, the air trembling as sparks of azure and gold flared into existence on the ground before him. The atmosphere thickened, charged, as though an ancient war drum had begun to beat inside the very earth.

Lirael’s breath hitched. "Ethan... something’s coming."

"Yeah," he muttered, his lips curling into a slow, eager grin. "My soldiers."

The air vibrated with pressure as Ethan’s magic signature spilled outward, like invisible ripples across a still pond. The forest around them stirred—branches creaked, leaves quivered, even the soil seemed to hum as though it recognized the weight of power spreading through it.

Then, all at once, the mana streams pulled back, converging directly in front of him. A golden shimmer flared on the ground, wide as a battlefield banner, its glow pulsing in rhythm with Ethan’s heartbeat.

From that glimmering shadow, shapes began to rise.

It was slow—deliberate—like figures being pulled up from beneath an unseen ocean. Armor caught the light first: burnished silver plates, gleaming yet muted, as though polished long ago but dulled by years of silence. One by one, helms emerged—visors lowered, masking expressions, yet faint features still bled through the veil of shadow. Pale faces... almost too pale.

Lirael’s breath snagged in her throat. That’s... unnatural....some sort of summoning?...but didn’t he used a longsword?

The figures continued to rise until ten men stood, clad in identical iron armor. The sound of steel rattling softly accompanied their movements—like soldiers awakening from centuries of slumber. Their presence exuded discipline, yet there was something wrong about them. Their exposed skin, visible beneath the helmets and gauntlets, was drained of color—ashen, bloodless. They looked alive at a glance, but to an observant eye, there was no warmth. No breath. No pulse.

Ethan’s eyes widened in awe. His chest tightened with exhilaration as the soldiers, in perfect synchrony, reached for their swords.

Shhhk!

The sound of ten blades leaving their scabbards rang through the forest like a solemn hymn. In one motion, they plunged their weapons into the earth beside them.

Then, as if bound by an oath older than time, they dropped to one knee. Ten armored fists pressed over their chests. Ten heads bowed low. Their silence carried more weight than words ever could—it was the silence of an army saluting their king.

Ethan’s breath escaped in a shudder. "By the gods... they really are mine." His grin stretched wider, boyish wonder glinting in his eyes. "Soldiers. My soldiers."

Beside him, Lirael could only stare, her ocean eyes widening as each detail carved itself into her mind. She stammered, her voice trembling, "What... what sort of class summons this? Summons soldiers—actual human soldiers?"

Her gaze sharpened, the hunter’s eyes within her refusing to let details slip past unnoticed. She studied their stance, their armor, the faint stiffness in their movements. Then her eyes landed on a subtle truth most would miss. Their pallor. Their hollowness. Their absence of breath.

Her lips parted, whispering almost in denial. "No... no, wait."

Her eyes darted back to Ethan, voice cracking as she pushed the words out. "Ethan... they’re dead."

The word hung heavy in the air, clashing against the golden shimmer still fading into the earth.

Ethan turned his head slightly toward her, surprise flickering across his expression—but his excitement didn’t dim. Instead, he muttered with a thrill in his voice, "Dead... yet they kneel to me."

The soldiers remained bowed, silent, waiting—like ten statues of loyalty raised from the grave.

---

Lirael’s throat tightened as she forced the words out. "E–Ethan... is your class related to necromancers? Because this..." she gestured with a trembling hand at the kneeling soldiers, "this feels too close. And necromancers... they’re not banned, but they’re scary, you know."

Her voice carried the unease of someone who had seen far too much death to take it lightly.

Ethan finally turned to meet her eyes, his own expression steady. "No. My class isn’t necromancer. It’s..." he paused, letting the words hang with quiet weight, "Decurion Steelweaver."

Lirael blinked, frowning. "Decurion...? Deca... ten." Her eyes darted to the two rows of five kneeling soldiers. Understanding clicked, sharp and immediate. "Ten soldiers. That’s what it means. But..." her voice wavered again, "...why are they dead?"

Ethan exhaled slowly, gaze returning to the silent figures bowing before him. The glow of the golden summoning sigil still lingered faintly beneath their boots, shadows flickering across their pale visages. "Hmm... I think I can understand that."

Memories tugged at him—the system quest involving Lirael’s mother, the words etched into it: ’None alive remain to enact vengeance...’ He clenched his fist at the thought. Alive, it had said. But no one had ever mentioned the dead weren’t part of the count.

A wry smile ghosted his lips. "I can simply say it’s tied to my system. I’ll explain it in detail once I sort things out in my head."

Lirael’s gaze softened slightly, though her unease remained. The silence of the soldiers pressed against her nerves, like ghosts listening in.

Ethan tilted his head toward her, curiosity flickering in his voice. "By the way... about what you said. Necromancers. Are they treated as heretics? Outcasts? Or something worse?"

She was momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity of his question. But then she remembered—he wasn’t of this world. He wouldn’t know.

Lirael exhaled, adjusting her grip on her bow as she explained. "They aren’t exactly outlawed by kingdoms or the ruling authorities. After all, undead have their uses—scouts, soldiers, even labor. But among the masses..." she shook her head, her silver hair catching a stray glimmer of sunlight, "...their name isn’t good. People don’t trust them. If others knew you commanded the dead, they wouldn’t confront you openly—but in the corners of their hearts, they’d fear you. They’d whisper."

Ethan listened silently, absorbing every word. Finally, he gave a short, dry chuckle. "Figures. That was the main reason I came this deep into the forest, anyway. Out here, no one whispers."

He glanced back at his soldiers, their swords still driven into the earth, their helms bowed. A shiver of power crawled up his spine.

"Well," he said, straightening with a sharp glint in his eyes, "since we’re here... and we’ve got some time to kill, why don’t I experiment a little?"

The soldiers remained perfectly still, waiting for their master’s next command.

Lirael hugged her bow closer, torn between dread and curiosity. "...You’re going to test them?"

Ethan smirked. "Of course. I need to know what my little unit can do."

The air grew heavier again, anticipation humming like a taut bowstring.