Chapter 97: Summoner Head generals

Chapter 97: Summoner Head generals The three generals that governed all of Titanfang Academy had gathered in one room—a rare event in itself. Although they all served under the same banner, it was uncommon for them to cross paths. Each governed a different section of the base, each burdened by responsibilities too massive to leave their post for anything less than critical. General Albert was the first, a man known for his strict adherence to rules and order. He governed the entire academic sector of Titanfang, ensuring that both discipline and training remained unparalleled. Next was Shia Vantress—the Head General. The true power of Titanfang. She was infamous across the base for her appearance as much as her reputation. With countless battle scars covering her body, and an eyepatch masking the left side of her face, she bore the marks of survival. Her skin-tight military outfit barely concealed the raw aura of strength she radiated, and her long, snow-white hair fell all the way down to her knees, an eerie contrast to her youthful energy. Rumors often circulated through the base—many claimed she was ruthless, even monstrous. A tyrant with no mercy. But the other generals, those few who had truly seen her beyond her battlefield mask, knew differently. She was powerful, yes—but playful, unpredictable, and never truly malicious. In her own strange way, she was the glue holding Titanfang together. The final member of the trio was Vareon, the man responsible for the entire base’s security. A behemoth of muscle and menace, his towering frame and stern gaze sent shivers down the spine of anyone who crossed his path. In his early thirties, he wore his short black hair and dark goatee like a badge of intimidation, giving him a clean yet foreboding look. It was Vareon and Albert who entered the meeting room first. Neither spoke a word. Each took a side of the room, standing in silence—tense and deliberate. The tension between them was well known; Vareon barely masked his disdain for Albert. If circumstances were different, he would have likely tried to kill the man without hesitation. Then came Shia Vantress, bursting into the room with her signature loudness. "Hey boys! Long time no see! I baked cake!" she yelled, grinning from ear to ear. In both hands she held separate nylons, which she offered without hesitation to each of them. Vareon gave a soft grunt, slightly nodding in appreciation. Albert, on the other hand, took the gift with barely concealed contempt. He eyed her with a mixture of disgust and envy. That this eccentric woman—this loud, overly playful swine—had been chosen over him as the Head General of the base. The thought alone boiled his blood. Yet, he never dared speak out. No one did. Because despite her childish exterior, her power was unmatched. She had earned her place—not through charm or politics—but by surviving wars that would have broken the strongest of men. "Now now, it’s been so long since I saw Zhendeya," she giggled, bouncing slightly with excitement. "That girl is making me so proud!" Her voice rang with the excitement of a teenage girl meeting an old friend. Her behavior would seem almost comedic, if not for the terrifying strength she possessed beneath the surface. Suddenly, a knock came at the door. A voice followed, firm and clear. "My liege, the portal has begun to open. They will be coming through shortly." All three generals froze momentarily. Their expressions shifted—eyes narrowing, postures straightening. Something serious had begun. Shia’s eyes lit up with an excited gleam. Without hesitation, she bolted from the room, laughing as she sprinted toward the portal chamber. "Let’s go!" she called behind her. Vareon and Albert followed, but unlike Shia, they maintained a steady, calculated pace. After a short walk, they arrived at the massive portal room. It was twice the size of the student portal facility, built to accommodate a high number of dignitaries. At the center stood the glowing portal, humming with energy and wide enough to allow twenty people to pass through simultaneously. Soon, the guests for the upcoming festival began to arrive. The first to emerge were the representatives of the Thorne family. At their head was the first son, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Rivet Thorne—only larger and bearded, his presence just as commanding. He approached with dignified authority. Each general greeted him formally, and he returned the gesture with a respectful nod, even passing on greetings from the Thorne family’s head. Behind him came other military officers—some representing allied bases, others famous figures from the last war. Heroes who had played crucial roles in preserving humanity. Then, after what felt like a long minute, the main guest appeared. Zhendeya. Tall and formidable, with long black hair cascading behind her, she walked through the portal with calm confidence. Scars covered her visible skin—badges of valor that testified to her status. Her black military uniform was crisp, marked with emblems denoting her rank. Behind her, a few others dressed in similar attire followed. At the sight of her, Shia Vantress broke protocol and ran forward with open arms. "Zhen, I see you got taller!" she shouted with glee. Zhendeya smiled and reached out, embracing her friend tightly before giving her a soft pat on the head. "No, you just got shorter," she teased. The two laughed together. Fire and ice, yet blended perfectly in harmony. Their bond had been forged in the crucible of youth and strengthened by war. Only those who had faced death together could understand such a connection. Meanwhile, General Albert stood back, his expression tightening as he watched the interaction unfold. To him, it all felt wrong. While he had fought endlessly for the salvation of mankind, these two paraded around like old friends at a reunion. Laughing. Smiling. Being playful. ’One is a bumbling idiot with raw power, and the other pretends to be a hero while people still suffer,’ he thought bitterly, his jaw clenching. His fists curled at his sides, nails digging into his palms. If only I were in that position, he seethed. If I had that power, this world wouldn’t be the hell it is. Just then, a low whisper drifted to his ears. "You still take orders from that thing?" He turned to see Rodrics Thorne, the first son, standing beside him. His tone was mocking, eyes gleaming with menace. "Not for much longer," Albert responded coldly. Rodrics chuckled, a low rumble of amusement in his chest. "I hope you’re right," he said. "Because at the rate you’re going, your military won’t even be a threat to the other factions in three more years." With that, he turned and walked away, his words lingering like poison in Albert’s mind. Albert stood frozen, boiling with rage. Just wait, he thought. You bastard... Just wait until I get all my cards right. His mind drifted to Ravin Elteth—and the mysterious ability to steal summons. If he could harness that power... if he could master it... Then he would finally crush this weak military structure. He would rise, conquer, and unite all Earth’s forces beneath his rule. No more games. No more incompetence. He would rebuild humanity—by all means necessary.