The brick rested on the shattered ground, flawless in form and utterly indifferent to the chaos around it. Its surface was smooth yet subtly textured—every tiny detail revealed a structure compacted with meticulous care.
Its color was a deep, slightly reddish brown, the hue of refined clay treated with unusual precision. No cracks, no flaws.
For a moment, Kurtis tried to keep a straight face—tried to act like the serious, focused soldier the moment demanded. There were still wounded to save, debris to clear, and a colossal monster retreating in the distance, leaving terror in its wake.
Then he looked at the brick again.
And he simply couldn't hold back the laughter.
It started as a low, choked snort but quickly grew, bursting from his throat in uncontrollable fits.
"Holy crap…" he gasped between laughs, wiping his face and shaking his head. "In the middle of this hell, you summoned a brick."
He glanced at Marcelo, trying to catch his breath, but the sight of Marcelo's sheer despair only made him laugh harder.
"I can't believe this!" He pointed at the brick. "People summon beasts, warriors, all sorts of battle creatures… and you? A brick!"
Marcelo hovered between absolute shock and a burning desire to disappear.
Kurtis leaned against a chunk of rubble, clutching his stomach, trying to compose himself.
Marcelo opened his mouth, confusion and frustration swelling inside him.
"I'll change it," he declared, pushing down the panic. "This can't be my monster. There has to be a way to fix it."
Kurtis raised an eyebrow, arms folding.
"Change it?" He gave a short laugh. "That's not how it works."
Marcelo frowned, waiting for an explanation. Kurtis nodded toward the brick.
"I can feel it from your monster's mana level. It's Iron rank—the lowest."
He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
"Monsters are capped by the summoner's rank. An Apprentice like you can keep only one monster. Specialists get two, Masters three, and so on. At the top, Emperors can maintain six."
He paused, sizing Marcelo up.
"And if a monster dies, that slot's gone for good. A Master with three summons who loses one is stuck with two forever. At your level you get one slot—period."
Marcelo felt the weight of it settle on him.
"So that's it? This brick is my only summon?"
Kurtis shrugged.
"For now, yes. If you want something better, you'll have to rank up."
Marcelo closed his eyes a moment, absorbing his new reality.
Kurtis, sobered up, gave Marcelo's shoulder a light tap.
"If you need to recall your monster, it's simple. You just re-establish the mana link that sustains it."
Marcelo looked up, doubts swirling, while Kurtis continued:
"Remember opening the gate? It was like carving a shortcut in the world's fabric, channeling energy outward. Now we reverse it. Close your eyes, quiet your mind. Feel the residual energy—the same current that summoned the brick."
He paused, sketching a gentle curve in the air with his hand.
"Visualize the brick not as a random object, but as your personal summon. Focus on the bond you formed—the tether that anchors it here. Then draw it back."
Demonstrating, Kurtis raised a hand toward the brick, murmuring words under his breath. To Marcelo it looked like tiny sparks flickered, the energy itself flowing into Kurtis's palm.
"It's not automatic, mason," he said. "When you need it back, pour your attention into it. Think of it as part of you—even if it's just clay. You're reconnecting it to your mana."
He fixed Marcelo with a steady gaze.
"This isn't theory. It's about feeling the energy run through you and re-sealing what was released. Focus, and the brick will answer, returning under your control."
The devastated scene contrasted with Kurtis's precise instruction. Amid bodies and anguish, a new spark of possibility glimmered—mastery over his own summon. Marcelo inhaled, clinging to every word, while a faint pulse of light seemed to throb around the brick, waiting for its master's command.
Kurtis finished calmly:
"That's the art of summoning. Even at the lowest rank you're responsible for your mana bond. Master it, and you'll grow. But remember: every summoner has a limit. Lose that link, and the slot is gone."
The words hung in the dust-laden air. Marcelo shut his eyes, focusing on that subtle energy thrumming around him. He knew climbing ranks meant strengthening that bond.
He raised his hand confidently, guided by the sergeant's teaching. In his mind he pictured the brick—not inert, but the lifeline of his summoner's essence. A bright fissure opened before him, channeling energy into his palm.
With a near-imperceptible gesture, a flash swallowed the brick on the ground; in a blink it reappeared, fitting neatly into Marcelo's hand.
"Come on, mason. We still have wounded to rescue."
Marcelo followed Kurtis, weaving through wreckage while carrying a casualty. Heat from lingering fires mingled with the stench of blood and dust. The ground—once firm and ordered—was now a maze of rubble and ruins from what had been a vibrant city.
Silence, broken only by groans and faint cries for help, weighed heavier than any explosion. Bodies lay scattered, some half-buried, others abandoned in desperate flight. Marcelo's gaze drifted over pallid faces, each sight striking his heart anew.
Kurtis kept moving, eyes hard but holding something beyond exhaustion—an understanding that this wasn't his first city leveled to dust.
He drew a slow breath, reading the ruins like silent testimony. His gaze swept over every fallen structure, every corpse, absorbing it into experience.
"I've seen this before," he murmured, voice flat. "Cities wiped out, villages turned to dust."
A chill crawled up Marcelo's spine.
"And it always ends like this?" he asked, the words fragile in such devastation.
Kurtis let out a humorless laugh.
"Not always. Sometimes it's worse."
The wind carried that truth through the wreckage. Marcelo glanced at the survivors—hurt, exhausted, trying to stand again amid a world collapsed on top of them.
Kurtis pressed on, steps sure even over broken ground.
"But this is how you survive," he muttered, more to himself than to Marcelo.
His words lingered, mingling with the scent of dust and blood. Marcelo moved beside him, absorbing each syllable like pieces of a truth he was still struggling to grasp.
The path through the debris revealed the tragedy's full scope—heaps of shattered concrete, remnants of lives once sheltered, now silent witnesses to a merciless attack. The smell of burning lingered, and the sight of motionless bodies among the rubble reminded him brutally that not everyone had a chance to escape.
Marcelo clenched his fists, a lump tightening in his throat. He wanted to say something—wanted to find words that would soothe the choking sense of helplessness—but nothing felt right.
Kurtis broke the silence, his voice firm yet lacking its usual edge.
"What happened here… was a catastrophe for us," he murmured, the weight of bitter experience behind every syllable. "But to that monster? It was nothing—just an insignificant moment. It wasn't attacking with intent, wasn't here for us. We were simply… in its way."
A chill crawled up Marcelo's spine. The thought was suffocating: all that destruction, all those deaths—yet to the creature that caused it, none of it mattered.
Kurtis exhaled softly, as though rearranging old memories before going on.
"And there are things in this world… things that make even that monster look small."
His gaze drifted to the horizon, as if seeing beyond the smoke and rubble.
"Some of them don't just pass us by. Some of them choose to destroy."
Marcelo swallowed hard.
He wanted to ask "what," wanted to know exactly what kind of beings Kurtis meant. But deep down, a part of him feared the answer.
The sky—once only a gray shroud of smoke and ruin—began to vibrate with a deep, rising hum. The wind whipped up spirals of dust and debris as the first giant aircraft appeared on the horizon, imposing and majestic, like colossi carving through the firmament.
Marcelo looked up, stunned by the incoming fleet. The airships were enormous, each one heavily reinforced and armored, their flanks bearing emblems that gleamed in the chaos-filtered light. Some resembled metal dirigibles with rotating thrusters and open hatches for rapid deployment; others—true flying fortresses—wore thick plating and cast blue beams of light that sliced through the clouds, heralding their relentless advance.
But what truly captured his attention were the flying creatures escorting the fleet.
Monsters of staggering size glided through the air around the ships, their bodies clad in scales, feathers, or bare hide, each carrying a warrior in its saddle. Shapes varied—some were dragons with vast wings and blazing eyes, others resembled colossal birds with iridescent plumage and razor talons. There were even hybrids of reptile and mammal, their roars echoing among the aircraft like living thunder.
Kurtis let a small smile slip at Marcelo's expression.
"Impressive, huh? Those are high-rankers… Gold, Champion, maybe even Supreme. These guys aren't here to play."
Marcelo only nodded, still absorbing the sight.
Survivors began to stir—some raising their arms for rescue, others simply collapsing to their knees, spent beyond measure.
The aircraft lined up to land, while the flying mounts circled the ruined field, surveying the damage and securing the perimeter.