Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

The leader board appeared inside the Dungeon, hanging on the sky, big enough for Lancet and Renan to see the top ten students.

[ 1. Lancet Leogardt : 650 Pts ]

[ 2. Renan Falconhart : 250 Pts ]

[ 3. Frieda Castleloft : 100 Pts ]

[ 4. Sienna Starbridge : 100 Pts ]

[ 5. Deron Darc : 97 Pts ]

[ 6. Min Tu Akaran : 90 Pts ]

[ 7. Amira Vineheart : 88 Pts ]

[ 8. Baroq Chairhead : 82 Pts ]

[ 9. Luke Travers : 80 Pts ]

[ 10. Kallan Kallahan : 77 Pts ]

Lancet let out a breathless, euphoric laugh. It wasn’t even close. He looked up at Astensia. ”Look at that. We’re completely lapping everyone else.”

Astensia read the names. Most of it meant nothing to her, but the joy radiating from her Master’s face made a soft, genuine smile break across her own.

It was a fascinating, endearing realization for her.

In her previous life, she had done unbelievable things for the people, the Elders, the kings that Lancet said didn’t even exist anymore. All those great achievements brought her respect, honor, and gratitude.

It wasn’t like she wanted anything back, but it felt so different here. With Lancet.

Here, pointing at a stone under a cup or swinging her sword once at a horde of frail, green fodder made him look at her like she had handed him the stars themselves.

She couldn’t explain how happy that made her.

”It barely took a speck of effort, Lord Lancet,” she said warmly, the wind lightly catching her golden braid. ”I do hope we meet greater threats soon, so that I might truly earn this praise you lavish upon me.”

”Oh, don’t worry,” Lancet chuckled, looking out across the desolate wasteland. ”The real threats are coming right up.”

”Excuse me.”

The heavy clanking of high-grade silver armor announced Renan Falconhart’s approach. The Knight walked over, stepping cleanly over the dissipating pixels of the Lesser Orcs.

He completely ignored Lancet, his striking silver eyes locking directly onto Astensia.

Lancet raised a brow, folding his arms. ’What is this guy trying to do?’

Renan stopped a perfectly polite distance away and offered a flawless, courtly bow. ”I am Renan Falconhart. It is an absolute honor to stand on the same battlefield as the Ironwill of Mortality. That ability of yours, it was... breathtaking.”

Astensia paused to take a good look at him, then nodded once, polite enough for a knight such as her. ”I accept your greeting, Renan Falconhart. It is a pleasure.”

Renan waited. He stood there, his chest puffed out slightly, the ambient light naturally catching his strong jawline.

Lancet raised a brow. ’Fuck is he doing?’

Clearly, Renan was waiting for her to reciprocate. He had just elegantly dismantled ten Lesser Orcs with perfect, holy swordplay! Surely, the legendary Specialist had noticed his flawless form?

When Astensia said nothing, Renan offered a modest, boyish smile. ”I hope my own swordplay wasn’t too distracting during the vanguard clash. I managed to take down ten of them before your sweeping strike.”

”I saw,” Astensia nodded simply.

Renan’s smile widened.

”Good job,” Astensia added, her tone carrying the exact same encouraging warmth one might use when a toddler successfully stacks three wooden blocks. ”For your age, you are quite impressive with the sword. Keep practicing your forms, and you could become a very powerful Awakener one day.”

”Thank you.” Renan said with a rigid smile. ’Is that it?’ he said in his mind.

Instantly, Astensia turned her back entirely on the protagonist and looked down at Lancet. ”Where do we go next, Master Lancet?”

Lancet had to bite the inside of his cheek so hard just to keep from bursting into laughter. He pointed toward the hazy horizon, where the massive, bleached-white ribs curved out of the cracked earth and other bones scattered around.

”There are giant bones littered far ahead,” Lancet said. ”I’m sure the Middle Orcs and High Orcs might be nesting there. They’ll give you a much bigger challenge than the Lesser ones, I hope.”

Astensia smiled, though her eyes glinted with deep skepticism. ”Alright, let us go.”

”To battle!” Lancet shouted.

”To battle!” The golden Knight playfully echoed.

Behind them, Renan Falconhart just stood there, completely paralyzed by the impossibility of what had just happened.

He was being shunned. By a female character. This has to be some kind of joke, right?

In Renan’s entire life, women fell into two distinct categories: they either drooled over his power and charm, or they aggressively hated him to mask their deep, underlying attraction.

Either way, they gave him their absolute, undivided attention. But Astensia had just dismissed him with polite, agonizing indifference.

Like she didn’t give a shit.

But she has to. Right? She has to give a shit!

Renan stared at her back. The silver plating hugging her athletic, Amazonian figure, her blonde beautiful hair, the way her waist swayed with each step despite that armor, the intoxicating weight of her Grace.

She was, without a single doubt, the most breathtakingly hot woman he had ever laid eyes on.

Why isn’t she giving him attention? Why is she calling that guy ’Master’?

It made no sense to him genuinely, almost like there was a subconscious within him that knew he was the main character and everything had to go in accordance with his benefit.

This ignited a new, burning conviction in Renan’s chest. He didn’t care that she was technically a summon made of Grace. He had to find a way to get her. To make her... like him or something.

That is how he came to the conclusion of impressing her. Renan was going to put in his all in this Dungeon. He’ll kill every beast, including the boss!

Besides, it’s always the Hero that gets to get the girl.

Twenty minutes later, the trio was crouched behind a massive, calcified skull the size of a carriage.

Just beyond the bone structure lay a sunken crater filled with fire torches. A pack of twelve Middle Orcs grunted and snarled around the flames.

They were twice the size of the Lesser Orcs, their green skin thick with muscle and scar tissue, wielding heavy iron axes and crude, spiked maces.

Lancet peeked over the eye-socket of the skull, calculating the EXP yield.

Renan, eager to reclaim his wounded pride and display his tactical brilliance to Astensia, slid over to them.

”Alright, listen closely,” Renan whispered with a commanding and authoritative tone. ”They have a tight formation. I will flank them from the right ridge. I’ll use my Silver Gale technique to blind the front three. That will break their line, giving you, Astensia, the perfect opening to strike the rear archers while Lancet stays safely hidden here.”

Astensia looked away from the Orcs and stared at Renan. Her brow furrowed under her helm. She seemed confused.

”Why would we do that?” she whispered back.

Renan looked confused. ”To... tactically dismantle them? To minimize our risk?”

”But they are merely Middle Orcs,” Astensia pointed out, gesturing to the crater as if pointing at a puddle of mud.

Renan stared at her, even more dumbfounded.

Astensia continued. ”The Awakeners of my time, if a threat was this trivial, we simply walked forward and stepped on them.”

Renan’s eye twitched. He felt incredibly, profoundly butthurt. He was trying to be a heroic tactician, and she was treating him like an idiot overcomplicating a chore.

He was starting to realize that impressing a heroine who held the Greatest Gate for seven days wasn’t going to be an easy feat.

Lancet clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle a snort.

”Go ahead, Renan,” Lancet managed to wheeze out, wiping a tear from his eye. ”We’ll let you have the front three. Astensia, you take the rest.”

Renan looked at the Orcs. ”I can kill more than the front three. Better join quick, Lady Astensia, so I don’t get to have all the fun.”

He winked at her and rose, unsheathing his blinding silver sword. The Middle Orcs turned their heads in his direction, Renan immediately burst out from the giant skull, sword angled to strike.

Astensia looked at Lancet, still behind the skull. ”He’s a bit overzealous, don’t you think?”

Lancet just grinned ear-to-ear. This was the best day of his life.