Rakshas: Tales of the Summoned Lord

The morning light filtered through the narrow windows of Allen's office, casting long shadows across the wooden floor.

The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of parchment and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Stroud and Hilter sat on opposite sides of the desk, each of them giving Allen space but eager to witness what was about to unfold.

Today was the day. Today, Allen would make a summon—a summon that could potentially reshape the dynamic of their group.

It was a risk, a gamble, but Allen knew he must act with resolve. The family's future rested on his shoulders, and the mysterious power within him could be the key to their survival.

"Lets begin..." Allen closed his eyes. After his breakthrough, he didn't need to be on the whims of his ability anymore, he had control over the it.

Allen internalized himself and he could feel something. It was subtle at first, like a whisper on the wind, faint and almost imperceptible. Over time, it had grown louder, more insistent. His connection to it deepened, and with it, the power to reach across the boundaries of the known world to summon entities, beings, and forces not native to his realm.

Allen could feel the pull of the purple tint as he focused on the silver Mark of the Styles, his consciousness hovered over the mark as his mind delved deeper into himself, sinking into the core of his soul, seeking the power that lay dormant there.

For a brief moment, there was nothing. No sight, no sound, no sensation. Then, a sudden rush of warmth spread through his body, starting from his chest and flooding outward. It was as if the very air around him began to hum, vibrating with energy. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the power coursing through his veins, the invisible tether pulling him forward, urging him to act.

Allen's eyes closed, and he let the power fill him, expanding beyond his consciousness, reaching out to a realm he could not see but could feel. The purple tint—an energy born of growth, possibility, and transformation—began to gather around him, swirling like a storm just beneath the surface. His breath slowed, his heart steadying as he began to focus all his will, all his intent, into one single act: summoning.

There was no incantation, no verbal command. It was as if the act of summoning was simply a part of his being, an extension of his soul, a primal act of willpower. His consciousness reached out, grasping at the threads of power that lay beyond, pulling them into his own realm. He felt something stir, something ancient, something vast—a presence beginning to materialize just beyond his reach.

The air in the room grew thick, charged with the weight of the summoning. Stroud and Hilter watched in silence, sensing something was happening, but unsure of its true nature. Then, with a sudden crackle of energy, the room was filled with a blinding flash of light. Allen's eyes snapped open, and he could see a figure taking shape before him. The power he had summoned, the force he had called into being, was no longer a vague presence—it was real.

The light dimmed, and standing before him was a young woman, her features delicate and finely sculpted. She had long, flowing blonde hair that shimmered in the dim light, and her eyes—piercing blue—held an air of confusion and uncertainty.

Her body was draped in a simple white and grey robe, the fabric flowing elegantly around her figure. Her beauty was undeniable, almost otherworldly, but none of that mattered to Allen. This was not about appearance. This was about power—real, undeniable strength.

The woman blinked, her eyes wide as she looked around the room, clearly startled. She staggered slightly, as if adjusting to the reality of her surroundings, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She raised a hand to her forehead, as if to steady herself, and then, with a sudden shock, her gaze dropped to her palm. A purple glow spread across her skin, marking her hand with the unmistakable sign Mark Of Styles.

She looked at it in disbelief, then at Allen, her confusion turning into quiet panic then understanding followed by an acceptance.

She bowed immediately, and called out, "Master."

Allen remained calm, his voice steady. "What is your power level?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he observed her. "What is your ability?"

The woman hesitated, clearly trying to process the situation. Then, in a soft, uncertain tone, she replied, "I... I'm a magician. My power is Fourth-circle."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The room went silent as Stroud and Hilter exchanged startled glances, unable to fully comprehend what they had just heard.

A magician? Magic was a myth, a story from the distant past. There were no real magicians anymore—only charlatans who played tricks with illusions, feigning power to deceive the gullible. No one in their right mind would claim to be a magician in this world.

Allen's heart skipped a beat. He rose slowly from his chair, the shock evident on his face. Magic. Real magic. The very thing he had believed to be a fable. His pulse quickened as he stepped closer to her, his mind racing. Magic had vanished from the world millenniums ago, but here it was, standing before him in the form of this young woman. She was a living relic, a force that had been lost to history. A true magician. His magician.

He couldn't believe it. The weight of the revelation pressed down on him, and for a moment, he felt like laughing, the ground beneath him was shifting. "How is this possible?" he whispered under his breath.

The woman, still stunned, seemed not to hear him, her hand shaking as she looked at the mark that had appeared on her skin. But Allen could feel the truth in her words, a truth that shook him to his core.

Real magic was here. And it was his.

The Styles Family had just gained something far greater than they could have ever hoped for. Whether this power would be a blessing or a curse, Allen could not yet say. But one thing was clear: the family's fate was forever intertwined with this woman.

Allen's excitement was evident as he leaned forward, his sharp gaze fixed on the woman standing before him. He hadn't expected much from this summoning, but now, hearing her words, he realized he had gained something invaluable.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the anticipation in his voice. "What is your name?"

The woman kept her head bowed in deference. "Master, my name is Seraphina."

"Seraphina…" Allen repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. It had a regal quality to it, fitting for someone who wielded a power long thought to be extinct. "Tell me more about your magic. What can you do?"

"Yes, Master." Seraphina's voice was calm, yet filled with humility. "I specialize in enhancement magic—buffing allies, healing wounds, and weakening enemies through curses and debuffs. My magic can bolster one's physical and magical abilities temporarily, making them stronger in battle. Likewise, I can drain an opponent's strength, dull their reflexes, or sap their endurance. It is not offensive magic in itself, but it turns the tide of any battle."

Allen couldn't help but grin. This was far better than anything he could have hoped for. His summons were strong, but many were shackled by their rank limitations. If Seraphina could enhance them even temporarily, their combat potential would skyrocket.

His mind raced with possibilities. A well-placed buff at the right moment could make a decisive difference in any battle. And debuffs—weakening his enemies before they could even fight back? That was nothing short of a strategic advantage.

"And your power level?" Allen pressed further. "You mentioned fourth circles. What does that mean?"

Seraphina lifted her head slightly, meeting his gaze with her deep blue eyes. "Magicians are classified based on their mastery of magic. The hierarchy starts from the First Circle, with each progression marking an increase in magical strength and understanding. One to three circles are considered junior magicians. Four to six are intermediate. Six to nine are senior magicians. Beyond that is the Grand Magus, followed by the Arch Magus, and at the pinnacle—the Magus Emperor."

"So you are at the beginning of the intermediate stage?" Allen clarified.

"Yes, Master. A Fourth-Circle Magician."

Allen exhaled slowly. This was better than he had expected. A Four-Circle Magician wasn't just strong—they had immense potential for growth. In terms of raw power, she was likely equivalent to a Silver-rank warrior. And since she could continue improving, she could surpass that level over time.

Allen clenched his fists, barely able to contain his satisfaction. He had just summoned a true magician, something that hadn't existed in this world for thousands of years. No tricks, no illusions—real, tangible magic. A power that could change the very balance of the battlefield.

Looking at Seraphina, he felt a surge of ambition. "You will be invaluable to me, Seraphina. Your magic will elevate my forces beyond what I had imagined possible."

Seraphina lowered her head again in obedience. "I exist to serve, Master."

Allen smirked. With her by his side, the game had changed.

"From now on, you are my personal assistant. Hilter take her under your wings, tell her about our group and our future. Take her to meet everyone."

"Yes Milord."