The familiar summoning ground was a sight to behold. A vast open area with ancient stone slabs covering the ground, each etched with intricate runes that pulsed with a faint golden light. Surrounding the circular platform were seven towering pillars, each one carved with the image of a different legendary beast. The engravings were so lifelike that they seemed to move under the shifting glow of the arcane symbols. The air itself carried a strange energy, a tingling sensation running up the spines of the students gathered around the formation.

Professor Martha Eleanor stood at the edge of the platform, arms crossed over her well-defined frame. Her vibrant green hair framed a face that was both fierce and confident. She exuded an aura of absolute authority, making it impossible for anyone to take their eyes off her. The students had fallen completely silent, their excitement laced with anticipation.

“There are many kinds of familiars in this world,” Martha began, her voice carrying across the field. “It is a concept that we have barely scratched the surface of, even after nearly a thousand years of research and study.”

The students exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued.

Martha continued, “Despite the vast diversity, scholars have managed to categorize familiars into four major types: offense, defense, support, and multi-purpose. The last one is the rarest, as very few creatures are proficient in more than one area.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“Each type has its own value,” she pressed on. “Offensive familiars bring sheer firepower, defensive ones offer protection, support familiars can provide enhancements, buffs or even healing, and multi-purpose familiars… well, they are considered some of the most powerful in existence.”

Her words carried weight, and no one dared to interrupt. Even those who previously viewed support-type summons as weak were now reconsidering.

Martha smirked. “A familiar’s strength is not solely determined by its species or classification. It depends on synergy. A beast of great power is wasted on a summoner who cannot utilize it properly. As I mentioned earlier, even the most ferocious dragon would be useless in the hands of the incompetent.”

Many in the class gulped. Some were clearly hoping for a high-tier summon, but Martha’s words were a stark reminder that ranks alone weren’t everything.

“Most of you will summon unevolved familiars,” she continued. “Some exceptions exist, but in general, evolution is something you must earn. A familiar’s first evolution is guaranteed to happen at some point. But beyond that, things get tricky. Evolution requirements vary greatly—some may need rare resources, intense battles, or even life-threatening situations to trigger their next transformation.”

At this, some students visibly tensed.

“There have even been cases where a familiar required witnessing their summoner in a near-death situation before evolving,” Martha added, her gaze sweeping over the students. “Beyond the first evolution, the process becomes unpredictable. There has only been one recorded instance of a familiar undergoing four consecutive evolutions within the Seluvian Empire.”

A pause, then a name that sent a ripple through the crowd.

“Irene De’Luna.”

The reaction was instant. The Eldorian students’ eyes flared with pride, as if she were their personal savior, their admiration bordering on reverence.

Ignoring their excitement, Luke was lost in thought. What kind of familiar would I get? He was excited yet slightly apprehensive. He didn’t want a summon that had no compatibility with him. His ideal familiar would be something that fit his style perfectly—though if he somehow got a dragon, he wouldn’t complain, even if it wasn’t the best match for him.

Then Martha’s next words shattered his thoughts.

“Luke Raynott.”

His stomach dropped.

‘Fuck.’

Why me? He was not prepared to go first. He had wanted to observe at least a few summoning rituals before stepping in himself. It was just his luck to be thrown into an unfamiliar situation without a proper plan.

Martha’s voice held an amused edge as she repeated, “Luke Raynott, come and stand in the middle of the formation.”

She had intentionally called his name first. Since yesterday, she had heard much about him from Professor Vale—a man notorious for being as stingy with praise as he was with his money. If someone like Vale spoke highly of a student, Martha had every reason to be curious.

Jasmine and Trenton, who had been standing beside him, instinctively stepped back, as if afraid she might call their names next. They did, however, spare him a glance of pity—like soldiers watching a comrade march into battle alone.

“Fuck you, traitorous bastards,” Luke muttered under his breath before forcing himself to take a deep breath.

If he couldn’t change the situation, he could at least control how he faced it.

Straightening his posture, he walked forward with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. His footsteps were steady, unfaltering. If Martha wanted to test him, he would make sure he passed with flying colors. At least he hoped so.

He stepped onto the center of the formation, feeling a pulse of energy rush through his body as the ancient runes responded to his presence. The seven pillars surrounding him began to glow, their engravings shimmering as if awakening from slumber.

Martha studied him with keen eyes.

“Let us begin.”

As soon as Luke heard Martha's voice, he swallowed hard and steadied himself. He knew this was an important moment, and despite his usual sarcastic outlook, he forced himself to focus. Martha’s voice remained calm yet firm as she continued, her instructions precise.

"Close your eyes, Luke. Imagine yourself in the heart of nature. You could be soaring through the skies, submerged beneath the ocean, or deep within a dense forest—whichever place calls to you."

Luke exhaled slowly and did as instructed. Almost immediately, a vivid landscape took form in his mind. But it wasn't an endless sky or a grand ocean. Instead, he found himself in a vast underground cavern, stretching far beyond what his vision could comprehend. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and minerals, while countless veins of metal and glowing crystals wove through the cavern walls. The weight of the underground pressed upon him, yet he felt strangely at home.

'Of course, the first thing I think of is a fucking hole in the ground. Can I not escape from my own rat-like nature?' he mused sarcastically, though deep down, a part of him acknowledged the truth in it.

Martha continued, unaware of his internal thoughts. "Now, imagine the mana within you flowing outward, filling your chosen environment. If you haven't felt mana before, just visualize a slow, blue mist leaving your body."

Luke didn't need the full explanation. He had felt mana before, constantly using it in his crafting and abilities. Without waiting for her to finish speaking, he let his mana surge outward. A warm, blue-tinged aura burst forth from his body, swirling like liquid energy in the air around him.

A ripple of murmurs spread through the gathered students.

"Hoh, look at this guy," Martha muttered, her eyebrows rising slightly in surprise. She had expected to guide him step by step, but he was already executing the process with ease. Her lips curled slightly in amusement as she sensed the excitement building in the crowd.

The students watching Luke were equally astounded. The academy had been buzzing with rumors about him. Sponsored by Viscount Garhan, his stats and class weren't a secret. Everyone knew that he had a mere intelligence of 1 during his sponsorship and had received a non-magical class—a weapon-based class, one that had the worst possible synergy with mana. Yet here he was, radiating mana as if he had been trained since birth.

Some students whispered in disbelief, only to be silenced by Martha’s sharp glare. Even she had to admit that this level of control was far beyond what she had anticipated.

Luke’s brown hair began to rise slightly as if lifted by an unseen force. His mana output increased, causing the engraved runes beneath his feet to shimmer brighter. Despite the unnatural sensation, Luke remained composed, his focus unwavering.

Martha took a step forward, her voice steady. "Now, imagine a creature making its way toward you. Let your mana guide it. Do not resist. Do not fear. Raise your hand and call for it."

Luke’s trance-like focus deepened. It was as if Martha’s instructions were being engraved directly into his consciousness. He didn’t hesitate—his imagination, or rather, his instincts, took over. The massive underground cavern in his mind trembled. The very ground beneath him rumbled as he sensed something approach from the darkness.

Then, in the farthest depths of his vision, two massive silver eyes gleamed, their slitted pupils narrowing as they locked onto him.

Outside, in the real world, the summoning ground reacted violently.

The seven towering pillars flared to life, each glowing with a different color of the rainbow. The air vibrated with raw energy, distorting reality itself. Above, the sky darkened as thick storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast, swirling like an impending catastrophe. Thunder roared, and the wind howled, as if nature itself had been stirred awake.

Luke slowly stretched his hand in front of his chest. His mana intertwined with the ancient summoning circle, fueling an event that had not been seen in decades.

A stunned silence fell over the students. Their wide eyes reflected pure disbelief.

Martha could no longer maintain her usual cool composure. "Oh my god… I can’t believe this…" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

The academy professors began appearing one by one, their robes fluttering as they hastily gathered around the summoning circle. Some had used teleportation magic to arrive instantly, their faces a mix of awe and urgency.

Then, from the sky, a lone figure descended with an effortless grace that spoke of immeasurable power. His arrival alone silenced every voice, every murmur, as if the very air had acknowledged his presence.

Arthur Redvalor, the principal of the academy, had arrived.

Unlike the frail, wise old men often depicted in tales, Arthur was a commanding presence. His silver-white hair, though slightly unkempt, only added to his aura of controlled chaos. His piercing, golden eyes radiated intelligence, sharp enough to cut through deception with a single glance. He wore a long, deep-blue coat embroidered with golden runes, the fabric shifting subtly as if infused with living magic. His stance was relaxed yet exuded dominance, like a seasoned warrior who had long mastered the art of combat but rarely needed to lift a finger.

Martha turned to greet him, her body stiffening instinctively. "Principal si—"

Arthur raised a hand, cutting her off with a single gesture. His gaze remained locked on Luke and the phenomenon surrounding him. There was something in his eyes—something beyond just surprise. It was an emotion far more profound.

As lightning cracked overhead, Arthur Redvalor, a man who had witnessed countless summons in his lifetime, stood still, watching in silence.

For he knew, without a doubt, that this was no ordinary summoning.

The moment the summoning ritual reached its climax, the seven rainbow-colored pillars erupted, each one shooting out a distinct beam of light. The beams surged skyward, their hues blending seamlessly into one another until they converged into a blinding white radiance that bathed the entire summoning ground in its glow.

The sky trembled.

Dark clouds, heavy and brooding, churned above the academy, the occasional streak of lightning illuminating their depths. A deep, resonant rumble followed, rolling across the heavens like the growl of an awakening beast. And then, amidst the swirling tempest, a colossal shadow took form—a serpentine figure, its titanic frame coiling through the storm-wracked skies as if it ruled them.

Arthur’s breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, his voice escaped in a hushed murmur, tinged with reverence.

“‘The Prismatic Descent’...”

His words struck like a hammer against the silent awe of those around him. Martha and the other professors stiffened, their eyes widening as realization set in.

It couldn’t be.

'Prismatic Descent’ was a myth. A legend spoken in hushed voices among the highest circles of Eldorian society. Even Arthur, a man whose lifespan stretched across centuries, had doubted its authenticity—until the day he witnessed it with his own eyes. And now, before him, the phenomenon had returned, this time accompanied by a spectacle far beyond what he had seen before.

His body trembled, shivers racing down his spine as he grasped the sheer magnitude of what was unfolding before him. To witness such a phenomenon twice in a lifetime—how many men could claim such fortune?

But it did not end there.

The radiant white light, born from the union of the seven beams, pulsed with a newfound intensity, its brilliance near unbearable. The energy in the air grew denser, almost suffocating, as if the very fabric of reality was bending under the weight of something ancient, something beyond mortal comprehension.

Then, amidst the deafening silence, a voice—calm yet resounding, soft yet unignorable—broke through.

“Szeth.”

Luke's voice.

He stood at the heart of the formation, his hands stretched before his chest. Though he had barely whispered, his words carried across the entire summoning ground, etching themselves into the minds of all present.

The light, as if answering his call, began to shift. No longer static, it moved—descended—toward Luke, enveloping him in its ethereal embrace. His body lifted, feet rising off the ground as he hovered three feet in the air, suspended like an offering to the heavens.

The glow twisted, morphed, coalescing into a new form. It shrank, sculpting itself into something tangible. The light faded, revealing a being unlike anything Luke would have seen before—a serpent, nearly a meter and a half long, its body sheathed in gleaming metallic scales that shimmered with a faint iridescence.

Its tail ended in three distinct crystalline formations, each one a different color, pulsating with untapped energy. Upon its head, a luminous blue fang emblem pulsed, a sigil of unknown origin. Its silver eyes, slit like a predator’s, gleamed with intelligence, adorned by sharp, metallic protrusions that gave it a regal, almost otherworldly presence.

This was no ordinary serpent. It was thick, its proportions perfectly balanced, neither grotesque nor frail. It embodied something both futuristic and arcane, a seamless fusion of fantasy and advanced, unknowable design.

Then, a roar.

The colossal shadow in the sky bellowed, a guttural, bone-shaking sound that forced many to clasp their ears in pain. The air vibrated with raw power, a primordial force that recognized the birth of something extraordinary.

A second roar followed—a near mirror of the first, but quieter, controlled.

Szeth’s roar.

The metallic serpent opened its maw, revealing two fangs glowing with the same luminescent blue as the symbol on its forehead. Then, without hesitation, it moved, gliding effortlessly through the air toward Luke, coiling around him with a familiarity that spoke of a connection deeper than simple summoning.

Luke, still suspended in midair, began his descent. The light faded, the storm clouds dissipated, and the rainbow-colored beams from the pillars vanished, as if they had never existed.

The summoning was complete.

As his feet touched the ground, Luke’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked, momentarily disoriented. The weight of reality returned, yet he was still unaware of what he had just caused.

He turned, taking in his surroundings, and then—

Silver eyes met his.

Szeth’s slit pupils shifted, the once-predatory gaze softening into something else. Happiness.

Luke did not flinch, did not recoil in fear. Instead, he smiled. A slow, breathless smile, as though the puzzle pieces had just clicked into place.

“Szeth,” he murmured, his hand reaching out. His fingers brushed against the metallic yet strangely soft head of the serpent, trailing gently over its smooth form.

The world returned in full force.

Gasps. Murmurs. Whispers.

Dozens of figures stood encircling him—professors, students, and at the forefront, an old man whose mere presence exuded overwhelming authority.

Luke's gaze sharpened. He knew who this was.

Immediately, he straightened, his voice steady as he addressed him.

“Greetings, Principal Arthur, sir.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Laughter.

Arthur’s oppressive aura lifted, his sharp eyes crinkling as he broke into hearty laughter. He clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder, his amusement barely contained.

“Good, very good.”

A low hiss followed. Szeth, still draped over Luke, flicked his tongue in irritation, shifting his body to cover the exact spot Arthur had patted.

Luke sighed. “Sorry about him. He’s not people-trained... yet.”

The words were lighthearted, yet a subtle edge lingered on that final word—yet.

Arthur caught it. So did the professors around them.

Arthur’s grin widened.

“Good. I like your attitude, young man.” He took a step back, hands clasped behind him. “I am Arthur Redvalor, the principal of this academy.

Tell me—”

His gaze locked onto Luke’s, sharp and unyielding.

“Do you want to be my student?”

The world around them erupted.

Even more gasps. Shocked whispers. Disbelieving murmurs. Professors and students alike stared, their faces a mix of awe and envy.

Luke, still standing in the eye of the storm, smiled quietly.