Awakening with two legendary Summons
Chapter 145: Summoners Truce with the alien race

Chapter 145: Summoners Truce with the alien race

In the desolate wastes of another planet, one that seemed to have a total of only three moons lighting it up, the world bore a crimson hue that painted the landscape with a touch of eerie majesty.

If not for the planet being a wasteland of desert, devoid of terrestrial beasts and habitats, it would have surely been considered a spectacle to behold—something otherworldly, something unforgettable.

On the desert ground of the planet, there were two large ships seated on its soil. The red sand beneath was scattered violently into the air by the heat and wind from the thrusters, still active and roaring, distorting the scenery with waves of rising heat.

And then... they went silent. A sharp hush overtook the valley of silence. Each party within the ships had finally decided to stop—perhaps they had come to talk... or maybe to end what remained.

The two ships were colossal, towering structures that reached up to five stories in height and extended more than fifty meters wide in their span—steel beasts resting on a crimson graveyard.

From the side of one of the ships, a large entrance opened, the sound of mechanical chimes echoing through the dry wind. The doorway was massive—wide enough for three military tanks to drive side-by-side into battle. A gateway built not just for utility, but for intimidation.

But only three individuals stepped out of it.

From the other ship, the same scene unfolded. Despite the vessel appearing jagged and somewhat foreign in design, echoing alien craftsmanship and hostility, three representatives still emerged.

Each of them bore the appearance of a Nyxaris from that ship.

Tall and muscular—yet paradoxically appearing lean, sinewy. Their bodies were both sleek and deadly. Each had three eyes glowing faintly with hidden intent, and two mighty horns arched over their heads, like sentinels of wrath. Predators in regal form.

One of them wore blood-red armor that seemed to shimmer with strange energy, while the others were clad in more practical, battle-worn silver armor—silent watchers behind their leader.

On the human side, two wore the standard military general uniforms. Stiff, formal, precise. But the last man stood out.

He wore no shirt—his towering frame bare to the winds. His physique was built like a colossus forged by war itself. Around his neck hung a necklace adorned with skulls, the bones charred and scarred, their origin ambiguous... perhaps intentionally so.

The two groups met at the midpoint between the ships, the air thick with tension and the unsaid weight of history. The head general of all military forces, Grant, walked forward toward the Nyxaris, every step filled with deliberate purpose. His presence was a silent roar.

His action was mirrored. The Nyxaris in red armor stepped ahead from his own ranks, matching the stride of the human general, meeting him in the center of blood-red soil.

"I heard of the attack on the academy," the Nyxaris said, each word forced out like iron grinding against stone. There was discomfort in his voice—not just of regret, but restraint. Heavy restraint.

Grant’s expression was unreadable. He wasn’t thrilled to see the face of the Nyxaris leader, but this meeting... it was necessary. A cost of keeping the fragile thread of peace from snapping.

"The truce?"

The Nyxaris leader stiffened his stance, straightening with defiance as if armor wasn’t enough to guard him from what he truly wanted to do. His hands were clenched subtly at his sides. He so desperately wanted to strike, to rip the human in front of him limb from limb.

But he didn’t. There would be consequences. Ones the other Nyxaris leaders would not be pleased to endure.

"The truce will remain. We will pay you for the damage we caused you."

His words, meant to show compliance, instead drew ire. The bloodshot glare of the man wearing the skull necklace pierced him like a spear.

If the Nyxaris leader did not tread carefully with his next words... war would erupt here and now.

"Those Nyxaris were rogue... from before the truce. They must have still believed we were at war. Even if you don’t believe us, we have brought a double shipment of what we usually give to honor the truce."

That seemed to soften the tension between the two factions—just slightly. Like a string pulled back before the bow is released.

But Grant was not easily swayed. He had lived through enough battles to know deception wears the skin of diplomacy. If he accepted their words too easily, they would try again—maybe not tomorrow... but eventually.

"No. Make it triple from now on."

The moment the words left his mouth, he could feel the Nyxaris’s anger spike. The alien leader grunted and took two thunderous steps forward, stopping directly in front of Grant. Their proximity now emphasized the difference in size—the alien was enormous.

But Grant did not flinch.

He glared back, chin raised, standing tall even as his eyes had to look up to meet the Nyxaris’s. His spine refused to bend.

The Nyxaris leader normally would have refused. His pride and blood demanded it. But his people were not yet ready for war... not just yet.

He nodded begrudgingly.

"We’ll bring the third shipment next month. Any complaints?"

Grant considered the words, pausing deliberately. The moment stretched long. He wanted them to wait. To feel the weight of hierarchy. A reminder that humanity did not kneel... not anymore.

He knew his generals wanted war. His people wanted the Nyxaris gone—forever. So did he.

But Grant had seen war... and he had seen peace. He knew what it meant to lose everything in the name of pride. He wanted this generation to experience something different—to know peace, to understand it.

Because only when you know peace, can you truly understand what’s worth fighting for.

If it meant swallowing the bitter pill, he would do it. At least... for now.

"We’ll accept that for now," Grant said at last, and then raised his hand to the communication device in his ear.

"Bring the soul core shipment."

And just like that, the pressure in the air seemed to ease. Not dissolve... but fade enough for the guns to remain holstered.

This was the price of peace.

The payment of the truce that was made. The Nyxaris would bring in special cores to the humans. In exchange, the Military would do the same. These items were unknown to the public—only the generals and Grant’s most trusted knew of their true nature.

Few knew the real conditions of the truce. Most didn’t care.

All they wanted was peace.

But that peace... came at a dark, haunting cost.

And that cost, if ever known publicly, would shatter the truce.

It would shatter the human race.

There would be a great civil war. And amidst that chaos... the aliens would strike. They would exploit the weakness... and finish what they started.

Because Soul Cores—which they traded for peace—could only be gotten from killing a human.