SSS-Ranked Summoner: Only I Summon All Heroes And Heroines Of Legend-Chapter 54: Lord Godric Elfender Is Dead

Altair stood alone in front of the gates, his trunk at his feet.

He looked up at the manor, its windows glowing faintly with lamplight.

He took a deep breath.

Then he picked up his trunk and walked through the gates.

It had been six weeks since he’d received his mother’s letter.

And he’d chosen to stay.

He’d made that choice consciously.

He’d finished his training with Master Oz. Spent three months in that pocket domain pushing himself to his absolute limits. Then he’d studied for two weeks, taken his exams, and passed with a score that proved he wasn’t a failure anymore.

He’d put his own growth first.

And now, standing here with that choice weighing on him like a physical thing, Altair wondered if he’d made the right call.

Altair picked up his trunk and walked through the gates.

---

The grounds were exactly as he remembered them.

Pristine. Manicured. Every hedge trimmed to geometric perfection, every stone pathway swept clean. The kind of beauty that came from rigid control rather than natural growth.

The front door opened before he reached it.

A servant stood in the doorway—an older man Altair recognized as Marcus, one of the butlers. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was something in his eyes. Something Altair couldn’t quite figure out.

"Master Altair," Marcus said, bowing slightly. "Welcome home."

"Marcus." Altair stepped inside, letting the butler take his trunk. "How is he?"

Marcus hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "Your father is... stable. For now. Lady Helena has been with him most of the evening."

"And Michael?"

"Lord Michael is in the study. He asked to be informed immediately upon your arrival."

Of course he did.

"I’ll see my father first," Altair said.

Marcus nodded. "Of course, young master. He’s in his chambers. Lady Helena will be pleased to see you."

Altair walked deeper into the manor, his footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. Everything was exactly as he remembered—the dark wood paneling, the ancestral portraits lining the walls, the cold, formal atmosphere that permeated every corner of the Elfender estate.

He’d spent eighteen years here, and it had never once felt like home.

He climbed the grand staircase to the second floor, then turned down the east wing toward his father’s chambers. The door was closed, but light spilled out from beneath it.

Altair stopped in front of the door.

His hand hovered over the handle.

Six weeks ago, he’d made a choice. Now he had to confront the aftermath.

He knocked softly.

"Who’s there?," his mother’s voice called.

Altair pushed the door open.

---

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the night. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The air smelled faintly of medicine and something else—something stale.

Lord Godric Elfender lay in the massive four-poster bed that dominated the room, propped up on pillows. He looked... smaller than Altair remembered. Thinner. His face was pale and drawn, his cheekbones sharp beneath skin that seemed almost translucent. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and labored.

Lady Helena sat in a chair beside the bed, her hands folded in her lap. She looked up as Altair entered, and her expression transformed—relief flooding her features so completely it made Altair’s chest tighten.

"Altair," she breathed, rising quickly. "You’re here."

She crossed the room in three quick steps and pulled him into a tight embrace. Altair returned it, feeling her tremble slightly against him.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly. "I should have come sooner."

Helena pulled back, shaking her head. "You’re here now. That’s what matters."

She glanced back at the bed. "He’s been asking for you. Every day."

Altair followed her gaze. His father looked so fragile. So unlike the imposing figure who’d loomed over his childhood like a monument to disappointment.

"What’s wrong with him?" Altair asked.

"We don’t know." Helena’s voice was tight with frustration and fear. "The healers can’t identify it. It started as fatigue, then weakness. Now..." She gestured helplessly at the bed. "He can barely stay awake for more than an hour at a time."

Altair moved closer to the bed. Up close, he could see the fine tremor in his father’s hands, the way his chest rose and fell with visible effort.

"Father," he said quietly.

Lord Godric’s eyes opened slowly. For a moment, they were unfocused, distant. Then they sharpened, locking onto Altair’s face.

"Altair." His voice was a rasp—rough and thin, barely audible. "You... came."

"I did."

Godric’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile. "Good. Good."

He tried to sit up straighter, but the effort left him gasping. Helena moved forward immediately, adjusting his pillows, but he waved her off with a weak gesture.

"Let me... look at you." Godric’s eyes traced over Altair slowly, taking in the changes. "You look... different."

"I’ve been training," Altair said simply.

"I heard." Godric’s voice carried a note of something Altair had never heard from him before. Pride? Approval? "The reports... said you summoned, something different."

"I did."

"What... did you call forth?"

Altair hesitated. This was the moment. The question his father had been asking indirectly for eighteen years.

"A Man," he said carefully.

Godric’s brow furrowed slightly. "A... Man?"

"Yes." Altair met his father’s gaze steadily. "A man who’d lived at a time long before ours."

Godric stared at him for a long moment. Then he let out a weak, breathless laugh. "Of course. Of course you would... summon something... no one’s ever seen before."

He closed his eyes briefly, gathering strength.

"I was... wrong about you," he said finally, opening his eyes again. "For years. I thought... you were weak. A cursed seed."

The words hit harder than Altair expected, even though he’d heard them before—spoken in anger, in frustration, in cold dismissal.

But this time, his father wasn’t done.

"But I was... the fool." Godric’s hand moved slightly, as if reaching for something. "You weren’t cursed. You are... My son. And my heir."

Altair felt something crack open in his chest. Something he’d kept locked tight for years.

"I wanted to prove myself," he said quietly. "To you. To everyone."

"You did." Godric’s voice was fading now, growing quieter. "You... did."

He closed his eyes again, his breathing evening out into the slow rhythm of sleep or unconsciousness.

Helena moved forward, touching Altair’s shoulder gently. "He needs to rest. This is the most he’s spoken in days."

Altair nodded, stepping back from the bed.

"He meant it," Helena said softly. "What he said. He’s been talking about you differently. With... regret, love, and respect."

"After eighteen years," Altair said, unable to keep the bitterness entirely out of his voice.

"I know." Helena’s expression was pained. "I know it’s not enough. But please."

She guided him toward the door. "You should rest too. You’ve had a long journey. Your old room is ready."

Altair glanced back at his father one more time. The old man looked so small in that massive bed. So fragile.

"Will he...?" Altair couldn’t finish the question.

Helena’s eyes glistened. "I don’t know. But he saw you. That’s what he was waiting for."

---

Altair left his father’s chambers and made his way down the hall.

His old room was exactly as he’d left it—sparse, organized, devoid of personal touches. The bed was made with military precision, the desk clear, the wardrobe empty of everything except a few old clothes he’d left behind.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his mind racing.

His father had acknowledged him. After years of disappointment, of being dismissed as a failure, Lord Godric Elfender had looked him in the eye and said he was wrong.

It should have felt like vindication. Like victory.

Instead, it just felt... hollow.

Because it had taken his father on a deathbed to say it.

Altair pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Ryka.

---

Altair: Made it home. Thanks again for the ride.

---

Her response came almost immediately.

---

Ryka: Glad you’re safe. How is everything?

---

Altair stared at the message for a long moment.

How was everything?

His father was dying. His brother was somewhere, scheming for succession. His mother was afraid.

---

Altair: I’ll explain later.

---

He set his phone aside and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, he’d have to deal with Michael. With the family politics and the succession crisis his mother had warned him about.

But tonight, he just needed to breathe.

He closed his eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

---

Somewhere deep in the manor, in the east wing chambers, Lord Godric Elfender opened his eyes one last time.

He looked at the ceiling, his breathing shallow and labored.

He’d seen his son. His eldest. The one he’d dismissed for so long.

And the boy had become a man. Strong and Worthy of the Elfender name.

Godric smiled faintly.

Good, he thought. The family will survive.

His breathing slowed.

And then it stopped.

---

Lady Helena felt it the moment it happened.

She’d been sitting in the chair beside her husband’s bed, her eyes closed, half-dozing in exhaustion. But something shifted in the air—a change so subtle and yet so final that it jolted her fully awake.

"Godric?" she whispered.

There was no response.

She reached for his hand. It was still warm, but there was no pulse. No movement. Not even a shallow breath.

Helena’s hand trembled as she pulled it back.

"No," she whispered. "No, please..."

But she knew.

He was gone.

Lord Godric Elfender, head of the Elfender family, had passed.

Helena sat there for a long moment, tears streaming silently down her face.

Then she stood, composed herself with visible effort, and walked to the door.

She opened it and found Marcus waiting in the hallway, as he always did.

"Inform the family," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tears. "Lord Godric has passed."

Marcus bowed deeply. "Yes, my lady."

Helena closed the door again and returned to her husband’s side.

She sat down in the chair, took his hand one last time, and wept.

---

Altair woke to knocking.

He sat up groggily, disoriented for a moment. The room was dark. The clock on the nightstand read 3:47 AM.

The knocking came again, urgent and insistent.

Altair stood and opened the door.

Marcus stood there, his expression grave.

"Master Altair," he said quietly. "Your mother requests your presence. It’s... it’s about your father."

Altair’s stomach dropped.

"When?" he asked.

"Just now, young master. Perhaps an hour ago."

An hour.

His father had died an hour after Altair had left his chambers. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

He’d held on long enough to see his son one last time.

And then he’d let go.

Altair nodded slowly. "I’ll be right there."

Marcus bowed and withdrew.

Altair stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at nothing.

His father was dead.

Lord Godric Elfender was gone.

And now, everything was about to change.