Reincarnated With A Summoning System-Novel

“That Aura is ridiculous. I mean, wow. Just wow.” Mythryll has been reduced to incoherent ramblings by the aura given off by Misha’s [Apostolic Form]. For a good reason, too, 50 percent more spell power is completely broken. Her entire armor set barely gives that much in additional spell power bonuses. 

Cain looks over the Apostolic Form closely, noting that it still seems to be half Misha, not a completely different species. Like it’s a personal blessing more than a regular transformation spell. 

“Should we go see how everyone is doing, learning to surf?” Misha asks, her voice unchanged despite the beaked transformation. 

“Sure thing. I wonder if I can use the exit portal as a Dragon or if I’ve got to change back?” Cain tries sticking his enormous paw through the portal and finds himself transported to the other side without incident.

“Well, that solved that.” He says happily as Misha and Mythryll follow him after transforming back to their standard forms, hiding their laughter at his idiocy.

The Elves in the area are freaked out, not expecting an enormous dragon to appear in the village. Fortunately for them, the beach is nearby, and the Dragon researchers have spotted his golden scales shimmering in the sunlight. 

“I knew it; they were Armored. And look at those tail spikes.” One of the Elves cheers, running over the second Cain lands on the beach. In moments they’re climbing all over him, pulling on scales, measuring, and taking notes. 

“I guess that kills the theory that they evolved up from smaller flying lizards. Or maybe it’s only the Gold Dragons that started so large? We’ve got a real live Proto Dragon, and we still don’t have enough information.”

Vala comes over to see what the Elves are up to, seeing them climbing all over Cain, one even trying to polish a scale to see if it’s really metal. “What are you now, a jungle gym?”

“If he extends his tail out flat, I bet he’d make a great slide down into the water.” Mythryll points out, and a few of the Elves look at him hopefully. 

Cain obliges, the top of his tail ending in waist-deep water. The first Elf sliding down his tail tickles, making it twitch and throwing the Elf a dozen meters out to sea. 

“Sorry about that. The tail is ticklish.” Cain laughs, the rumbling noise shaking the sand around him. 

“Noted. Tail too dangerous to use as a slide.”

They’ve had their fun studying him, so Cain transforms back into the Waves Rider male Form he was using earlier, equipping a set of swim trunks to relax on the beach. 

“Your species says Ancient when I do a full inspection of you; what does that look like? It’s not a form of Dark Elf, is it?” One of the researchers asks, and it finally dawns on Cain that he’s never actually seen his default Ancient Form. He started in human shape, and it just slipped his mind. 

Cain opens the transformation screen of his interface, searching for Ancient appearances. Only the default Ancient Form is available as he hasn’t seen another member of the species. And it’s definitely not the sort of thing you can just show people at random. 

Ten meters tall, bipedal with a long whip-like tail and enormous leathery wings. One arm splits at the elbow into three giant tentacles that easily reach the ground, while the other ends in a clawed hand. The head looks like an Octopus has been set on the shoulders, with six eyes giving it a strangely human appeal. At least until it lifts the front webbing between the tentacles in what he assumes should be a smile and reveals a mouth with three rows of sharp teeth, long and spiky like a Dragon’s or an Orcs tusks. 

Forget showing others; that thing would give him Nightmares if it weren’t his own body. What sort of Lovecraftian horror has he become? 

“No, it’s not a Dark Elf. But I don’t think it’s wise to change into that form in public.” Cain explains, hoping they’ll drop it. 

Fortunately, they do, under the mistaken belief that he keeps his proper form hidden so he can’t be recognized later. It doesn’t look like Misha and Mythryll will accept that answer forever, though, so Cain is going to have to come up with something. Maybe he can modify it to be a bit less terrifying? 

In the interface, Cain can modify small features of the form he wishes to shift into, though he had found it’s easier to do them after transforming. He focuses on making the Ancient Form less intimidating, finding that he can shrink it to just over 2 meters tall, nearly human-sized. Like that, it’s almost friendly looking. 

They’ve relaxed, napped, and snacked the afternoon away when bright gold sails nearly block out the sight of the setting sun over the water on the horizon. The locals seem ecstatic, but Cain has no idea what army that is. 

“The Serrah Woods Royal Navy,” Sven whispers to him, and Cain watches in awe as they come towards the village in a perfect formation. 

“I wonder what they’re here for? Are they headed for the border to prevent the Landis Civil War from spreading south into Elven lands?” One of the researchers ponders out loud. 

The Elves will get their answer soon enough; two vessels have broken from the armada and are coming in to anchor close to shore. They appear to be the flagship of the Elven fleet, plus another ship with three decks of guns, their hulls made of some unidentified composite material and not wood or metal. 

The older man from the surfboard shop is the one headed out to meet them. Cain doesn’t bother to move from his spot in the setting sun, knowing his hearing is good enough to pick up on most conversations even from this distance, as long as those nearby are quiet. 

The old surfer is met with four well-dressed Elves and twenty guards in full ceremonial regalia, medals and all, but only turns to lead them back to the beach silently. The honor guard marches right up to Sven and stops with a polite salute.

The group leader nods to Sven, who bows in return, so whoever it is outranks him at the moment. “Prince Sven, I’m sorry to say that we bear ill tidings. Landis has fallen; your father’s attempt to appease the mob failed. New Senators have been appointed, and as of now, the entire county is a human-only territory.”

“What of my family?” Sven asks sadly, and Laura, in a Neko transformation, moves to hold him from behind so he doesn’t collapse.

“Your younger sister, Gurda, still lives. She was rescued by Knight Commander Lancelot, who still had trained Gryphons at his farm in the countryside, and Royal Blacksmith Lukas. Our informants tell us they’re headed northwest into the desert to hide. The rest of the Royal Family, as well as all other noble branches with a possible claim to the throne, have been eliminated. Most of the nobility has fallen, and nonhumans are fleeing the country as fast as possible, but the revolutionary army kills them if possible whenever they find them.”

“Should have let us call the Dragons and burn the place to the ground,” Mythryll mutters, and the Elven Royal smiles at her. 

“We suggested the same thing, but until the very last, the Landis Royal Family still believed the people were on their side. The mob killed the King while he was giving the public announcement of Sven’s death. It wasn’t until our retired Royal Seneschal recognized him here that we realized Sven was alive and diverted the fleet to see to his safety.”

The Elf turns to address the Foxkin directly. “With your leave, we will escort you to the capital, where the Queen has a marriage proposal in mind for you. Princess Lauren, I believe.”

The note of amusement in his voice can’t be hidden, and even Sven gives a small smile despite his distress. “After fifteen years of begging her grandmother to give her the fluffy tails, it seems she’s won the argument.”

The leader of the Elven force laughs at Sven’s announcement. “She’s been obsessed with your tails since she was a little girl. But she does like you, and her territory is near the middle of the Serrah Woods. You would be safe there, with many other Foxkin around you.”

Laura nods in complete understanding of the obsession, rubbing her face in his tail as she hugs him, and Sven sighs.

“I accept your proposal, General Pew. Darklight Host, thank you for all your kindness and hospitality on our journey, and feel free to come to visit me anytime. I’ll send you all invitations to my wedding. By tradition, it will be in four months, during the first full moon of spring.”

General Pew? That’s an odd name for an Elf, so Cain inspects the leader of the Elven forces, finding that his name is PewPewDie. An actual transfer, not an Elf born in this world. 

“What of the armada? Surely it’s not all necessary to escort a single willing husband home?” Cain asks, curious. 

“Border forces. The humans have gone berserk and are attacking all up and down the border, chasing demihumans into our lands, but they’re not stopping there. The Queen believes they might try to take over the Eastern half of the continent.”

If that’s the case, they’ll likely head into the desert eventually, even as bleak and barren as it is. Lukas should be warned if he’s still alive and on the run. 

[Lukas, if you need refuge, come to Blood Sands Castle. We’ve got a sizeable underground fortress there, perfect for hiding away from any type of search, as outsiders are not allowed anywhere near it.] Cain sends the message to the Smith, along with a set of directions.

[We had thought of messaging you for assistance. Most of the castles and cities in the desert have either aligned Wave Rider or Human at this point, and we’re not particularly welcome in either. Only Assah and Behar are still open ports in the desert east of the mountains. We were running out of options, thank you.]

Cain informs Maggie and Sora to expect the visitors and hide them away along with their Gryphon, not telling anyone but trusted Guild members that they’d seen them. The underground might not be finished, but it’s a good hiding spot for fugitives, and once things calm down, they should be able to return to nearly normal everyday lives under new identities. Their names aren’t too unique for that, other than Lancelot.