Others Summon Dragons, I Summon Legendary Knights Chapter 2: Summon Awakening Ceremony

"Are you alright?" Isolde spoke calmly, her face showing almost no feeling. But her voice held far more meaning than her expression ever revealed.

"Man, I expected him to break out of it eventually, but he would’ve really fallen. Tsk. Pathetic." Siegfried mocked Godfrey with a pointing finger, while Snow took his tray to a table like tossing someone from the third floor was just like flicking away an irritating bug.

"You’re laughing? At nearly killing me?" Godfrey clenched his jaw, narrowing his ocean-blue eyes in a glare at Snow. Fury boiled inside him, chest heaving as he forced his way through the crowd to the cafeteria’s center.

Isolde glided beside him with her typical elegance. At sixteen, matching Godfrey’s age, her golden-white hair and golden-orange eyes lent her a heavenly presence. The cafeteria’s tension seemed to part around her.

"You still run that mouth of yours!" Siegfried snarled, lunging ahead with a direct punch. It packed power, yet it was sloppy, full of flaws.

Godfrey’s reflexes kicked in. He grabbed Siegfried’s arm, wrenched the elbow, spun around, and hurled him over his shoulder. The sophomore slammed into the floor with a thud that rattled bones.

"I’ll kill you!" Siegfried bellowed, leaping up. Now his punch unleashed his real power, enough to shatter concrete barriers. Yet Godfrey lifted his forearm and stopped it cold.

The blow that ought to have shattered bone hardly fazed Godfrey.

Siegfried went rigid. His link to his beast had vanished, taking his power with it. In that moment, he felt utterly ordinary, like any weak human.

Godfrey’s fist smashed right into his face. A follow-up uppercut hoisted Siegfried airborne, flinging him skidding across the cafeteria floor.

"Did you see that?" one student whispered in shock, dropping his uneaten tray. Another paused mid-bite, mouth agape in disbelief.

"He beat Siegfried. That’s... impossible!" Cecil, the short-haired girl at Dale’s table, scowled intensely.

Dale just laughed softly, arms folded, his gaze shifting tauntingly to Snow, who stood unusually still for once.

Suddenly, another thug charged in, moving too swiftly for Godfrey to track. Despite his defenses, the attacker’s punches slipped past, pummeling him relentlessly. A revenge uppercut rocketed him upward, smashing him into the wall. He collapsed motionless.

Stunned quiet gripped the cafeteria.

Snow rose to his feet. Disgust twisted his features, and wordlessly, he marched away. Students trailed after him hastily, fleeing like frightened flock. Losing composure didn’t suit Snow—it felt wrong. Dale maybe, but Snow? Unthinkable.

Once the room cleared, Isolde alone stayed behind. She positioned herself before Godfrey’s fallen body, eyes icy.

"Giving you an opportunity for a fair fight was stupid," she stated bluntly. "You were doomed from the start."

"Even then..." Godfrey murmured lowly yet firmly. He hauled himself up, locking eyes with her. "I gave him what he deserved."

Isolde’s golden eyes sharpened, though she remained silent.

"Thank you," Godfrey went on, breathing raggedly. "He got to taste what it’s like, calling to your soul and hearing nothing in return. For a minute or two, he lived what I’ve lived for sixteen years."

He clutched his chest, grimacing. "Something’s broken," he grumbled, stumbling toward the door.

Shortly after, Godfrey rested on a bed in the academy’s infirmary. Manhattan High’s "sick bay" wasn’t for sickness—it served the bruised, the fractured, those who survived brutal clashes that tested limits.

Conflict bred growth. Maiming or killing was banned in theory. Godfrey questioned if rules held weight. Snow had almost finished him.

The nurse, clad in a spotless white coat over light blue clothes, reached out her hand. A shining magical array appeared behind her, summoning a brilliant dove. Its beak and claws shone gold, wings broader than a Steller’s sea eagle, the biggest bird known before the cataclysm a hundred years back.

One wing flap sent soothing warmth flooding Godfrey. His ribs mended, bruises vanished, and sleep tugged at his eyelids.

"You took quite the beating," the nurse sighed gently, her look kind. Not even a full day since transferring, and he was already here. This wasn’t for normals. Manhattan High housed monsters and their followers. Dominate or submit.

Godfrey appeared too defiant to submit, too feeble to dominate.

Before Godfrey could reply, a knock echoed.

Moments later, Isolde’s voice floated through as she talked to the nurse, who had answered the door.

"He couldn’t have his lunch. I put together some food for him. Ensure he eats it, please."

Deep furrows etched Godfrey’s forehead as a subtle warmth flickered in his heart. Why... just why was she showing kindness?

The nurse came back carrying a tray, answering his silent wonder. Hidden under the plate sat a folded sheet of white paper. Elegant handwriting graced its surface:

I just like your face. Don’t overthink it.

Godfrey gawked at it, a blush heating his face.

'You tell some guy you like his face and then say don't overthink? How is that even possible?' he grumbled quietly to himself.

The nurse leafed through her folder. "Rest is my advice. You're Godfrey Daniels, correct?"

He nodded.

"The awakening ceremony awaits tomorrow. Rest well, or you won't be ready. Bear in mind, skip this shot and low tier might be your limit forever—so rest for real."

Come morning, the academy grounds sparkled under the climbing sun. Freshmen packed the area alongside droves of outsiders, who forked over hefty sums for access to Manhattan’s renowned Awakening Platform, celebrated globally for sparking stronger awakenings than any other spot.

Godfrey lingered in the throng, hands jammed in pockets, fists gripped hard. Here it was. His one shot. Natural awakening had slipped away from him. Failing again would seal the bitter fact: no summon hid in his soul.

Without a summon, no path forward existed. In this era, a summon measured a man’s value. Emptiness equaled insignificance, a mere bug in a realm of hunters. To make matters dire, Manhattan High’s enrollment came with a stipulation: secure at least an Elite-tier beast or leave.

Five tiers defined them: Low Tier (1.0–3.4), Elite Tier (3.5–5.4), High Tier (5.5–7.9), Lord Tier (8.0–10.0), and the mythical King/Queen Tier (10.1–12.9). Dragons, despite their grandeur, seldom climbed to King-tier, potential or not.

From overhead classrooms, pupils craned out windows to spectate. At the heart of the stage rose a lofty platform pulsing with radiant runes, driven by six dungeon cores.

The headmaster advanced, lean and stern in his pinstripe suit, aura pulsing with order. His sharp eyes raked over the masses.

"As you all know," he launched in, tone perfectly tuned for the audience, "today shapes your futures. No wasted words. We start now."

His sight shifted to the note in his grasp.

"The first name is..." An eyebrow lifted as he cleared his throat, eyes swinging back to the crowd to pinpoint the sole kid sporting Manhattan’s jacket.

"...Godfrey Daniels."

....

A/N: Hope this novel’s kickoff hooks you. Boost it—add to library, toss a power stone or two. Thanks!