SSS-Ranked Summoner: Only I Summon All Heroes And Heroines Of Legend-Chapter 8: A Family Dinner from Hell

Polished silver and crystal glittered under the low glow of candlelight. On the walls, the Elfender ancestors, clothed in elite finery and guarded by their Godkin Knights—loomed over the hall. Their expressions remained fixed in a look of permanent, soul-piercing judgment.

Lord Godric sat at the head of the table like a king on his throne. Michael to his right, proud, yet sharp and attentive. Lady Helena to his left, beautiful and silent. The trio formed the apex of power, radiating authority.

Zara occupied the first seat down the left side, she sat erect, keeping her hands folded in her lap.

The extended kin occupied the final places at the table. Lord Octavius, the most ancient of the living Elfenders, carried the stately mien of a veteran who lived through hundred internal wars. Across the linens, older cousins Ethan and Mohrwen shared low-voiced conspiracies, while the arrival of Aunt Ilith and Serene added a final, somber weight to the assembly. The stage was set for a pronouncement that would echo through their history.

Altair arrived last.

Every eye tracked him as he crossed to his seat, the one farthest from the head of the table. His position said everything about his place in this family without a single word spoken.

He sat regardless, without comment, keeping his head straight.

In the shadow of Lord Godric’s throne, the Sentinel Commander kept its eternal vigil. Clad in twelve feet of celestial gold, the guardian stood as the living testament to the Elfender bloodline. It was the physical embodiment of their sovereign might, a relic of old-world power that had shielded the house through an eternity of succession.

Everyone felt it’s Aura, and it was this energy that kept all in line.

They ate in relative silence. Servants glided between seats, refilling wine and replacing courses. The clink of silverware was the only sound.

Then...

Ting. Ting. Ting.

Lord Godric struck his knife against his crystal goblet. The sound cut through the room like a blade.

Everyone stopped immediately and looked up.

"Thank you all for attending tonight." Godric’s voice carried the authority of absolute command. "I know it’s unusual to gather the extended family for a simple dinner, but circumstances require... clarity."

He set down his goblet, surveying the table.

"Noble kin, our house faces a pivot point in history. The Summoner’s War draws nigh, and the ties that once bound the realms are severing. The other kingdoms watch us with the predatory hunger of circling wolves. In such times, might is the supreme law, and our absolute unity is the bedrock upon which we must stand."

His eyes brushed past Michael, lingered on Altair for a beat, and then cut away. It was a short, a sharp glance that said more than a thousand words.

"It is time we address the... unfortunate turn of events."

A sudden chill settled over the room.

"Altair," Godric began, his gaze fixed on some distant point. "For eighteen years of anticipation, only for his true nature to be revealed in the most disappointing fashion. What he manifested that day..." He trailed off, the silence heavy with judgment.The gathered kin began to murmur. Uncle Octavius kept his face a mask of iron, while Aunt Ilith and Serene shared a look of stinging pity.

"He stood before the high lords of House Thalcross, House Moon, and the Royal Court, and in a single moment, he embarrassed the family beyond measure," Godric continued, his voice tight. "The whispers that have shadowed his name for years are no longer mere rumors; they have been confirmed to the world."

Beneath the table, Altair’s hands gripped his knees until his knuckles turned ghost-white. He held a mask of rigid silence against their judgment, even as his blood burned with the sting of their collective disdain.

"However," Godric continued, "we must also recognize success where it flourishes."

He turned to Michael, and his expression warmed.

"Michael graduated from Gran-lusia Academy at sixteen. Top of his combat class. Sir Rahnadel has already achieved Third Resonance. He represents everything the Elfender name stands for. The peak of excellence, power, legacy."

Michael inclined his head modestly, but his smile was satisfactory.

"Which brings me to the purpose of this gathering." Godric stood, commanding absolute attention. "I will be naming my successor soon. The official ceremony will take place after the Summoner’s War. My will has been drafted and everyone will receive what they deserve."

Michael’s eyes flicked to Altair. One eyebrow arched in a subtle taunt.

You hear that, brother? What you deserve.

"Furthermore," Godric said, voice hardening, "I’ve made a decision regarding Altair’s future."

Here it comes.

"You are forbidden from registering at any academy. Gran-lusia or whichever. You’ve brought enough shame to this family. I won’t have you embarrassing us further on a public stage."

The words hit like physical blows.

"Father.." Altair’s voice came out strangled.

"That’s not fair!" Zara pushed back from her seat. "He finally has his seal, he should at least..."

BOOM.

The air shook. Lord Godric’s aura exploded outward with a pure, crushing pressure that slammed both of them back into their chairs.

"My words," Godric said quietly, his voice laced with absolute authority, "are FINAL."

And immediately there was silence.

No one moved and none breathed.

Altair’s hands trembled. Rage, humiliation and helplessness flooded inside him. Every eye at the table carefully avoided his. Even Lady Helena kept her gaze fixed on her plate, though her knuckles had gone white around her silverware.

"May I be excused?" Altair forced the words out through his gritted teeth.

Godric waved a dismissive hand.

Altair stood slowly, chair scraping against marble. Without a word, he turned toward the exit,

"Altair..." His mother half-rose from her seat.

"Sit. Down. Helena."

Lady Helena froze. Turned only to meet her husband’s iron gaze. And slowly, she sank back into her chair.

No one else as much as flinched. They’d all stay until Lord Godric decreed the dinner finished, because that’s what obedient Elfenders did.

Altair reached the door.

His hand touched the handle, but something made him look back.

Then he noticed, the Sentinel Commander was staring at him.

The ancient being’s helmet concealed any expression, but that gaze, it wasn’t hostility.

It was interest.

As if the primordial entity that had served the Elfender line for centuries had just noticed something different.

Their eyes held for a moment that stretched like eternity.

Then Altair turned and left, closing the door behind him with careful control. He stood in the hallway, breathing hard.

Voices drifted through the door, muffled but audible.

"What are we going to do about him?" That was Uncle Octavius, his voice was heavy with concern.

"I’m handling it," Godric replied. "There are options. The merchant fleet needs oversight in the eastern provinces. Or perhaps a clerical position in one of our subsidiary holdings. Somewhere he can be... useful without being visible."

It was exile dressed in bureaucratic language.

Altair didn’t wait to hear more. Each word was like a cut, and he’d taken enough wounds tonight.

He walked away, footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

Altair was going to Gran-lusia Academy whether they approved or not.

There were several mage and summoner academies across Valthoria, regional schools tied to specific kingdoms or noble houses. But Gran-lusia was different. The biggest academy among all four kingdoms, unaffiliated with any single power. It accepted students from every major house, granted scholarships to promising commoners, and operated under its own authority.

It was where Michael had graduated with honors.

And it was where Altair would go. Away from his father’s direct influence, to a place where he could begin to make his own mark.

Altair ascended the stairs toward his chambers, his stride gaining a steady, newfound conviction with every step.

The countdown had begun: seventy-two hours until his return.

Three days to sharpen his edge.

They believed they had shattered his spirit this evening, leaving him a ruin of a man.

They couldn’t have been more wrong. By casting him out, they had inadvertently severed his chains.

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