I Summon Female Knights

The morning sun had barely cleared the high-rises surrounding the Bureau’s tactical facility when Raphael stepped through the heavy glass doors of the main administrative complex.

His left arm remained tightly bound beneath a black, long-sleeved compression shirt, but he had discarded the heavy sling. Every movement of his shoulder sent a sharp reminder of yesterday’s near-disaster through his nerves, yet he forced himself to walk with a steady, relaxed posture. He couldn’t afford to look like an invalid, not today.

The facility was already humming with activity. Fully geared Awakened operatives moved through the wide marble corridors in small tactical squads, their high-grade armor gleaming beneath the recessed lighting. Weapons clicked, mana scanners hummed, and casual conversations about rift stability and monster drop rates echoed off the polished walls.

Raphael felt like an imposter walking among them, a civilian wearing a borrowed uniform. But as he summoned his silvery-violet system interface with a brief, internal command, the floating numbers reminded him why he was there.

[SOVEREIGN QUEST ACTIVE]

- Time Remaining: 29 Days, 16 Hours, 08 Minutes.

He dismissed the interface with a thought, turning down the corridor that led toward the private tactical training sectors.

He had spent the early morning hours planning his approach. Going directly to Director Cole or requesting official combat training through standard Bureau channels was out of the question. A formal application would trigger a complete medical and physical re-evaluation, exposing his lack of baseline mana and inviting unnecessary questions about how an unclassified civilian managed to clear an F-Tier gate.

He needed an off-the-books arrangement. He needed someone who possessed elite combat experience but wouldn’t immediately report his incompetence to the higher-ups.

Raphael stopped outside the heavy double doors of Training Sector 4. Through the reinforced observation glass, he spotted them.

Captain Adrian Vale stood near the central ring, holding a digital clipboard and reviewing telemetry data. In the center of the padded arena, Elena was running through a high-intensity swordsmanship drill against three automated combat droids. Her movements were a blur of terrifying precision. Her broadsword arced through the air, silver mana trailing from the blade like liquid light as she parried a mechanical strike, pivoted instantly, and delivered a devastating kick that sent a two-hundred-pound droid skidding across the floor.

Raphael swallowed hard, adjusting his stance before pressing the access button.

The pneumatic doors hissed open. The droids immediately powered down into standby mode, and Elena lowered her weapon, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand.

Captain Vale turned, his sharp gaze locking onto Raphael. ”Mr. Matthews. I expected you to be resting in your quarters today. Dr. Moss reported your arm required at least forty-eight hours of recovery.”

”It’s feeling much better, Captain,” Raphael lied smoothly, keeping his posture rigid. ”The mana salve worked wonders.”

Vale eyed him critically, his expression inscrutable. ”Is there a reason you’re in the training sector?”

Raphael took a breath, looking directly at Vale before turning his gaze to Elena, who was watching him with a mild, curious arch of her eyebrow.

”I want to request basic combat instruction,” Raphael said clearly. ”Off the record.”

The training bay went dead quiet for a moment.

Vale raised an eyebrow. ”Basic combat instruction? You are a civilian technical asset attached to an experimental evaluation team, Mr. Matthews. Combat operations are handled by certified Bureau operatives.”

”Yesterday, an F-Tier boss bypassed two A-Tier threats and came straight for my head,” Raphael countered, keeping his tone calm and grounded.

”Whether I’m a civilian or not, the monsters in those gates don’t seem to care about my job title. If I’m going to be dragged into future gate evaluations, I refuse to be a liability who has to be dragged out by my collar.”

Elena leaned against the hilt of her broadsword, a faint, amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

”He’s got a point, Captain. Yesterday was messy. If he hadn’t stepped out of the way at the last second, we would have been scraping him off the subway tracks.”

Vale didn’t smile. He tapped his finger against the digital clipboard, his eyes narrowed in thought. ”Official Bureau training programs require three months of foundational coursework and clearance from the medical board. I cannot authorize official training time for an unclassified asset.”

”Then don’t make it official,” Raphael pressed gently. ”An hour or two after standard duty hours. Just basic footwork, defensive parries, and survival techniques. Enough so I know how to handle myself when things go wrong.”

Vale looked from Raphael to Elena, silent for a long, heavy moment. He was a pragmatic man; Raphael knew that much. Vale cared about mission efficiency and minimizing casualties, and yesterday’s report had undoubtedly highlighted Raphael’s utter lack of physical preparation.

”Elena,” Vale said finally, his voice flat. ”Your schedule.”

Elena straightened up, sheathing her broadsword with a smooth, practiced motion. ”My official shift ends at five. I usually stay until seven for personal conditioning anyway.” She looked at Raphael, her blue eyes glinting with a sharp, mischievous light. ”I can spare an hour. If he can handle it.”

Vale closed his clipboard with a snap. ”Understood. This is strictly informal, Mr. Matthews. It will not be logged in your official Bureau record, nor will it grant you combat certification. If your injury worsens, the arrangement ends immediately.”

”Understood, Captain. Thank you,” Raphael said.

Vale gave a single, curt nod before turning and exiting through the pneumatic doors, leaving Raphael alone in the vast, echoing training bay with Elena.

Elena picked up a towel from a nearby bench, drying her face before tossing a padded wooden practice shortsword directly at him.

Raphael reacted purely on instinct, catching the hilt with his uninjured right hand. The weight of the dense oak was surprisingly heavy, pulling at his shoulder.

”We have forty-five minutes before my morning briefing,” Elena said, stepping into the center of the ring and picking up a matching wooden blade.

Raphael blinked. ”Wait, now? I thought we were starting after five.”

”Consider this a diagnostic,” Elena said, flashing him a dangerous, brilliant smile as she raised her weapon into a high guard. ”Let’s see just how terrible you actually are, Mr. Matthews. Try not to break your other arm.