I Can Summon Legendary Figuress

The Under Mountain

Ancient legends held that the founding ancestors of the Bastion had fought a catastrophic war against a primordial demonic horror that had crawled out from the subterranean abyss beneath this very peak.

It was said that the apocalyptic clash had raged for weeks without pause, with humanity’s greatest progenitors throwing every forbidden spell, divine artifact, and sacrificial technique against the encroaching nightmare. Even the absolute strongest among them had bled profusely to suppress its malevolent advance, and countless sovereign heroes had perished on the slopes, their names lost to time.

In the end, however, mortal resolve had triumphed.

The ancient entity was shattered, sealed, and bound beneath the mountain’s roots, and the Bastion was erected directly atop its subterranean prison as a grand monument to humanity’s indomitable will—proof that mankind had stared into the jaws of absolute extinction and forced the dark to bend.

It was far more than an impenetrable military fortress.

It was an eternal symbol.

Every soul who looked up toward the colossal bastion piercing the clouds was reminded of what mortal blood and steel could achieve against divine horrors.

However, the Under Mountain remained.

Even after uncounted centuries, it was regarded as one of the most perilous regions across the civilized world. The abyssal abominations, toxic miasmas, and spatial distortions slumbering within the deep trenches had never truly vanished; they had merely been contained beneath layers of primordial runic wards.

As such, traversing this subterranean crucible served as the ultimate trial of the grand selection.

The objective was brutally straightforward: enter the mouth of the Under Mountain, navigate its subterranean horrors, survive the descent, and emerge onto the elevated courtyard of the inner citadel above.

"Go on in," Bartholomew announced coldly, his commanding voice rolling across the stone platform as his sharp gaze swept over the roughly sixty survivors of the destructive evaluation.

Despite the massive sea of applicants that had initially flooded Ascension City, the trials had ruthlessly culled the herd down to this handful.

Those who remained standing were already recognized as peerless talents across the four kingdoms: Bark, Lumberg, Senos, and the Cryptic Empire.

Yet personal accolades and noble lineage meant nothing in the dark. The Under Mountain did not care about reputations; it only cared for bone and blood.

The candidates began mobilizing without delay, immediately fracturing into tactical formations.

The Pureblood Faction alone commanded an entourage of over twenty candidates. They formed the largest and most cohesive power bloc on the dais, radiating an aura of absolute aristocratic supremacy. Most of their members were heirs of ancient dukedoms, royal academies, and founding dynasties who had secured alliances long before setting foot in the city.

The second-largest cohort gathered under the banner of the Vanguard Faction.

The Vanguard was the undisputed military backbone of the Bastion. They operated with ruthless discipline, structured ranks, and uniform dress codes, commanding legions stationed across every hostile border. Even prestigious law-enforcement institutions like the Punishment Hall of Bark traced their doctrines to Vanguard command. Their aspirants immediately formed an interlocking phalanx, locking shields and matching strides as they prepared to breach the subterranean gates.

Ethan observed the maneuvering with total calm, his hands resting easily at his sides.

"So it’s really just the two of us?" Meng asked, casually adjusting the straps of his floating wooden container while scanning the surrounding formations.

Nearly every group had assembled a balanced vanguard. Some possessed high-tier abjuration mages, others fielded dedicated frontline tanks, and several relied on specialized beast-type summons engineered to detect ambushes and counter subterranean stalkers.

Entering the Under Mountain without an organized retinue was considered suicidal.

"No," Ethan replied with a faint smirk. "We aren’t alone."

Two figures approached from the edge of the pavilion, their steady footsteps carrying an unmistakable pressure that cut through the surrounding noise.

Tier 5 combatants.

Hela and Ella.

The two women had not remained idle while Ethan was waging covert war across the Demi-human territories. For Ella in particular, breaking through to Tier 5 had demanded grueling effort, pushing her through a punishing evolution trial that tested her limits. Yet she had endured, consolidating her foundation until she stood on equal footing with the realm’s premier talents.

Now, both women took their places at Ethan’s flanks, their expressions composed and sharp.

Meng’s eyes darted between the two women before locking onto Ethan in utter bewilderment.

"These are your...?"

Meng didn’t need to finish the sentence. The absolute trust and effortless intimacy radiating from the pair made the dynamic undeniable.

"Yes," Ethan nodded smoothly, a subtle trace of pride coloring his tone. "These are my wives, Hela Dracontis and Ella Dracontis."

They were not merely powerful partners sharing his path; they had been his companions since youth, growing alongside him through every brutal transition.

Yet beyond their martial poise, their names carried an unmistakable resonance. In the high dynasties of the human realms, the paired names *Hela* and *Ella* were ancient shorthand for twin prodigies.

Meng stared at the trio for several seconds, his jaw slightly slack, before aggressively scratching the back of his head with a loud groan.

"You’re really out here living the absolute dream," Meng sighed, looking down at his plain traveling robes in mock defeat. "Meanwhile, I’m hauling a heavy wooden trunk across a mountain range."

His sheepish grumbling faded into practical assessment as he looked toward the yawning subterranean entrance. While having two Tier 5 combatants bolstered their combat effectiveness, the Under Mountain operated on an entirely different scale of lethality.

"Even so, four people is cutting it dangerously close," Meng noted, his voice dropping into serious analysis.

The layout of the Under Mountain was well-documented by the senior factions.

The first stratum began immediately past the gates, teeming with swarms of subterranean beasts and lethal terrain traps capable of butchering careless Tier 6 combatants. While the beasts here weren’t inherently invincible, their overwhelming numbers and hive-mind aggression made the entrance a grueling meat grinder.

The second stratum deepened the horror, pushing Tier 5 warriors and summoners to their absolute limits. The ambient mana turned corrosive, high-tier abominations roamed the caverns, and the shifting spatial anomalies could permanently isolate isolated wanderers from their parties.

Then lay the abyssal third stratum—the domain of authentic Demi-god horrors.

The true problem, however, was that these three subterranean tiers were not neatly partitioned by physical barriers. They were interconnected caverns within the same hollow mountain.

Nothing stopped a rogue Demi-god entity from migrating upward into the shallow tunnels. Nothing prevented ravenous swarms from collapsing onto an isolated squad. And, most dangerously, nothing prohibited rival factions from settling political grudges under the cover of total darkness.

An entire expedition of twenty prodigies could be erased in minutes if an apex sovereign caught their scent. To guarantee safe passage, an expedition needed an anchor capable of clashing with the absolute peak of the cavern ecosystem.

"That won’t be an issue either," Ethan smiled.

A figure stepped forward from the shadow of the pavilion.

A slender man with a glowing lotus mark etched into his brow walked into the light, his posture relaxed and hands tucked casually into his sleeves. Yet the instant his boots touched the stone, the surrounding air warped with suffocating heat.

He approached the main registry desk before the Under Mountain, entirely indifferent to the sudden silence that swallowed the platform.

He raised his chin toward the abyssal gates and spoke clearly:

"I would like to challenge the Under Mountain."

For human aspirants, the path to the Bastion followed established channels: clear the formal trials, earn recognition through military expeditions, or gain direct sponsorship from a founding faction.

For a Demi-human, however, the doors were sealed shut by generations of blood and prejudice. They could not simply petition for entry, nor could they purchase a seat through noble wealth.

If a Demi-human wished to force the Bastion to acknowledge their existence, the founding charter demanded an ancient, bloody rite: they had to conquer the Under Mountain alone.

That was precisely why the Son of Nezha had accompanied Ethan to the citadel.

Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed into cold slits as his gaze locked onto the lotus-marked youth. The surrounding proctors shifted their stances, their hands hovering near their weapon hilts as they recognized the immense threat standing before them.

The Son of Nezha merely sneered at their apprehension, his crimson eyes flaring with ancient, unbridled amusement.

Ethan exchanged a brief, knowing glance with the Angel. With a living divine entity walking the same subterranean path, the dangers of the deep caverns were no longer an obstacle—they were a hunting ground.

Ethan turned towards Barthalemew noting the trace of malice in his gaze as he looked over at the son of Nezha.

The pureblood faction hated Demi humans to be bones, every Demi human serving under the dawn faction was constantly targeted by them.

The thought of another one, especially one this strong was a nerve racking headache not just to him but to his higher ups too.

"Tell the guys inside to turn up the volume, I want that that beast at least crippled" Barthalemew said to one official looking over at the group from the dawn faction.

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