I Can Summon Legendary Figuress

"That’s four clans in a matter of two weeks. The Dragon God Clan is pissed."

"But they aren’t making a move. They’re just barking orders at others."

"So many misfortunes are befalling this great territory..."

Across the vast Demi-human and Beast Territories, rumors spread like wildfire. For the past two weeks, an inexplicable nightmare had been moving systematically from one realm to another.

It always began in the middle of the day. A massive carriage bathed in roaring flames would suddenly descend from the sky, its presence accompanied by an oppressive aura that forced even seasoned warriors to look toward the heavens in dread.

No warning. No declaration of war. No negotiation.

The carriage would simply appear above a clan or powerful establishment, and the first move was always identical: communication was severed instantly.

Barriers rose around the territory, cutting off every form of contact with the outside world. Messages could not leave, reinforcements could not enter, and even long-distance communication techniques completely collapsed.

Then, the strongest individual within the territory would be suppressed. Only after that absolute lockdown did the real nightmare begin.

Four figures would descend from the sky, and wherever their boots touched down, blood was sure to follow.

The attacks had already devastated four major clans, yet the underlying reality was far stranger than the rumors suggested. The attackers weren’t trying to conquer land, occupy strongholds, or exterminate whole bloodlines.

They were hunting for specific items: treasures, weapons, artifacts, and ancient resources connected to the ancient Son of Nezha. Once they reclaimed what belonged to the Angel, they simply withdrew.

To the survivors left kneeling in the ruins, however, that distinction made little difference. The result was still a catastrophic massacre.

Inside that very carriage, Ethan sat quietly, running a soft cloth along the edge of his dark sword. The polished steel gleamed with a faint crimson sheen beneath the ambient glow of the cabin’s thermal windows.

"Are you ready?" The voice of the Son of Nezha echoed beside him.

Ethan glanced toward the ancient entity before returning his attention to his blade. "Yeah."

He stood up after a few seconds, rolling his shoulders. The plan remained straightforward: the Son of Nezha had been betrayed and sealed away thousands of years ago when several prominent clans joined forces against him. Now that he had reclaimed a physical vessel, he intended to systematically take back everything that had been stolen.

And he had zero interest in mercy.

The Maqaue Clan had already been dragged into the storm, the Blood Serpent God Clan had suffered humiliating losses, and rival bloodlines that had profited from his downfall were prime targets. They were all going to pay their overdue debts.

Still, they hadn’t crossed the final line by slaughtering true leadership, which was the only reason the Dragon God Clan had restrained itself from launching a full-scale retaliation.

The moment a sovereign Demi-god was slain outright, the conflict would escalate beyond containment—a boundary Ethan understood completely.

Ethan gripped the heavy latch and pushed open the carriage door.

Instantly, violent, freezing gales howled into the cabin. The vehicle was cruising at an altitude where ordinary mortals would have suffocated within seconds, yet Ethan stepped calmly toward the edge.

Then he jumped.

His body plummeted through the dense cloud bank, wind whipping violently past his face as the sprawling territory of the Demon Wolf Clan opened up below.

This clan had actively participated in the sealing of the Son of Nezha a millennium ago. Although their founding ancestor had perished during that ancient war, they had retained a core relic belonging to the Angel—and that was precisely what Ethan had come to claim.

"Mine." His murmur was instantly swallowed by the rushing air.

A massive, shadowy silhouette materialized directly beneath him: the Mind Dragon.

Ethan landed securely onto its scaled spine just meters above the tree line. The instant his boots made contact, his sword cleared its scabbard with a crisp hiss.

Behind him, spatial portals tore open in rapid succession.

Drakes poured out first, followed by colossal black-flame basilisks that crashed violently into the Demon Wolf Clan’s perimeter defenses, shattering wooden palisades and stone watchtowers.

"Enemy attack!"

"It’s him, the Blade Wielding Demon!"

"Sound the alarm!"

Panic erupted instantly across the compound. The Demon Wolf Clan had heard the gruesome reports from neighboring regions and recognized the burning carriage on sight, but knowing their doom was coming did nothing to help them stop it.

Moments later, three veteran Demi-humans dropped from the sky. Servos landed smoothly beside Ethan, flanked by Lorn and a subjugated operative from the Blood Serpent Clan.

They didn’t waste breath on words; they drew their weapons and charged.

Ethan pushed straight through the center. A massive Demon Wolf warrior lunged forward, swinging a colossal battleaxe with bone-crushing momentum, but Ethan simply sidestepped the heavy arc.

His blade flashed in a clean, horizontal stroke.

A spray of dark blood painted the stone, and before the warrior’s corpse hit the dirt, another wolf lunged at Ethan’s blind spot.

*Clang!*

Ethan pivoted, intercepting the strike with minimal movement. A sharp flick of his wrist severed the attacker’s forearm, followed by a swift thrust that pierced the creature’s chest.

One after another, defenders swarmed the breach. One after another, they were cut down.

By now, Ethan had grown completely accustomed to fighting heavily outnumbered. His Blood Pact passive continuously circulated vitality into his limbs as blood spilled across the stone, while the chilling aura of Fear Monger weighed down the surrounding atmosphere.

The longer the warriors watched him dismantle their ranks, the heavier their bodies felt. Some froze in terror, others shook violently, and those who broke rank to flee were swiftly intercepted by the drakes circling overhead.

"Protect the central vault!" an elder screamed from the courtyard.

Ethan instantly adjusted his heading. The treasury was the only objective that mattered.

He carved a path through the inner guard and kicked open the heavy iron doors. Inside lay centuries of accumulated wealth: enchanted weapons, spirit stones, beast cores, refined metals, and ancient scrolls.

To the Son of Nezha, these mortal resources were little more than scrap, but to Ethan, they represented immense utility.

"Gilgamesh."

The towering bronze giant materialized within the vault, raising his colossal hammer without hesitation.

*BOOM!*

The reinforced vault door blew inward in a shower of twisted iron and splintered runes. With Gilgamesh’s Divine Forge trait, standard mortal craftsmanship stood no chance against his blunt force.

Ethan stepped into the inner chamber and began sweeping entire shelves into his spatial storage. He didn’t waste time appraising items individually—if it carried mana, historical value, or an exotic aura, he took it. Sorting could wait for later.

Near the back of the chamber, resting atop a silk cushion, a dusty crimson ribbon caught his eye. It looked utterly ordinary on the surface, but Ethan felt an ancient, dormant heat vibrating within its weave.

He crouched down, picked it up, and felt the fabric pulse against his fingers. "This is it."

Securing the relic in his ring, Ethan turned and exited the shattered vault.

By the time he returned to the courtyard, the skirmish had concluded. The Demon Wolf Clan was broken, its surviving members kneeling in the dirt, helpless as the burning carriage descended from above.

One by one, Ethan and his companions boarded the vessel. The doors sealed shut, and within moments, the vehicle surged through the cloud layer, leaving behind ruined walls and an unmistakable warning to every rival faction across the territories.

Elsewhere, the tension was rapidly reaching a boiling point.

"What can we realistically do about it?"

"He’s systematically exacting vengeance!"

"Vengeance?! Do you have any idea how many elite disciples have been crippled?!"

"Your clans struck his soul first a thousand years ago!"

"That history doesn’t justify slaughtering our territories today!"

"Furthermore, no sovereign entity has been slain yet—he has intentionally spared every Demi-god so far."

Fierce arguments reverberated through an enormous council chamber perched atop a mountain that pierced the upper atmosphere.

Inside sat rows of towering, shadow-draped thrones representing the supreme powers of the Demi-human and Beast Territories: sovereign clan masters, ancient bloodline patriarchs, and high-ranking sect leaders. All had convened because the escalating crisis was spiraling out of their control.

A single carriage raid could be brushed aside as an isolated incident, and two could be dismissed as coincidence. Four targeted strikes within a fortnight was a systematic declaration of war.

Yet none of them wanted to be the first to mobilize their main forces. The Son of Nezha was a genuine Angel, and engaging a divine entity without absolute preparation was suicidal.

"You cowards..."

A venomous voice echoed from the base of the dais as a scarred Demi-human commander stepped forward, trembling with suppressed rage. "He slaughtered my sons at the gate!"

The figures on the high thrones barely shifted their gaze.

"That is your personal failure," a voice replied from the highest seat—cold, absolute, and detached. "They died because they lacked the strength to survive."

The commander gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white, but he dared not utter another word. The law of the territories was absolute: weakness invited death.

The great hall lapsed into a tense, suffocating silence until a relaxed, amused voice broke the stillness from the shadows.

"What if his next target happens to be Divine Beast Mountain?"

The casual question landed like a thunderclap, instantly freezing every lord in the chamber.

Divine Beast Mountain was not merely another clan stronghold—it was the sacred bedrock of the entire region’s spiritual authority. An assault on that sanctuary would leave the supreme factions with no political choice but to retaliate with their full might.

The sovereign on the highest throne leaned back, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the stone armrest as a chilling smile crossed his face.

"Then..." The patriarch’s voice dropped to a low, lethal hum. "...we will finally have our justification."

Silence fell once more. Every power in the room understood the unspoken reality: they weren’t searching for a way to negotiate with the Son of Nezha, but rather waiting for him to overstep so they could legally unite and erase him from existence.

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