Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Chapter 80: Nothing Is Truly Impossible In This World [Bonus Chapter]

With his new card, Lancet headed back to the dorms. His new Talent and Awakener Rank would likely spread before he even reached the gate, but Lancet didn’t care to think about any of that.

Now, the only thing that was in his head was Hebthej. Beating up three overconfident weirdos was one thing, but killing a Demon Head was a pedigree that would remain an Awakener’s title for as long as they lived.

If Lancet truly wanted to kill one, he had to train harder. He had to become better until there were barely any visible weaknesses left.

And he had to do it before Hebthej which was in three days.

Reaching the Bronze Dorms, he made his way to the back where a small training ground was built. The path was narrow and overgrown, weeds pushing through cracked paving stones.

Most students didn’t care about this training ground. It was a forgotten patch of cracked concrete and weathered equipment, hidden behind the lowest rank dorm where the Academy’s budget never quite reached.

A few rusted weapon racks leaned against a low stone wall. Half a dozen battered wooden dummies stood in uneven rows, old paint peeling and straw stuffings leaking from old slashes.

Lancet looked at all of this and still smiled contently. ’Perfect.’

He dropped his bag, rolled his shoulders, and pulled out a simple training sword from the nearest rack. The grip was worn smooth from years of use.

He didn’t really care. He could manage this until the facilities opened again tomorrow. Lancet planted his feet, took a deep breath, and began.

First came the footwork Astensia had drilled into him during their simulation sessions. Small, controlled steps. Forty-five-degree angles. Never reacting — always forcing the imaginary opponent to react to him.

Of course there were times when he had to react. But the most efficient thing to do was to tilt the action in his favor as fast as possible.

Lancet moved in tight circles around the nearest dummy, blade flashing in crisp arcs. The first pivot was blunt, but consecutive ones were sharper than the ones before.

His boots scraped against the concrete as he funneled an invisible pack of enemies into a kill zone, just like she had taught him.

Sweat already beaded on his forehead.

’Stronger,’ he thought, teeth gritted. ’You have to be stronger than this. Hebthej isn’t going to wait for you to catch up.’

He switched to full-power swings. The sword whistled through the air as he attacked the dummy with raw aggression; he used overhead chops, diagonal slashes, thrusts aimed at imaginary weak points.

Wood chips flew. The dummy rocked back on its post with every impact. Lancet would have been heaving relentlessly by now, but his stamina had increased a lot over the training and fights.

Next came crowd-control drills.

Lancet knew that Demon Heads weren’t the only threats in Demon Raids. There were also going to be crowds of Demons who would try to stop him from harming the Head.

So, he imagined the Terrible Three’s Terrors as Demons. They were surrounding him again; Big Foot’s massive fists, the skittering spider-doll, the smoke wraiths.

Lancet pivoted hard, blade whipping in wide arcs to keep multiple angles covered. His footwork tightened as he enforced his actions with better deliberation.

He could feel himself improving in real time, the lessons from the simulation chamber sinking deeper into muscle memory.

’If I’m going to face a Demon Head... if I’m going to stop Renan from stealing the spotlight... I can’t rely on Astensia and Thor to carry everything. I have to be able to fight on my own. Even better than I did today.’

His breathing grew ragged. Sweat stung his eyes. He kept going anyway, pushing until his legs shook and his grip threatened to slip.

A voice cut through the sound of his own heavy breathing.

”Damn. You trying to kill that dummy or just make it regret being born?”

Lancet spun, sword lowered. Luke stood at the edge of the training ground, hands in his pockets, the usual bored expression on his face. His uniform looked ironed, like he hadn’t strained a muscle during the day.

Lancet wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve and offered a tired grin. ”Just preparing for anything. You said it yourself... I attract trouble. If I’m a walking disaster, I have to start being ready for one.”

Luke tilted his head, accepting the logic. He stepped closer, glancing at the battered dummy, then back at Lancet.

”Fair enough.” He paused, studying the fresh dents and wood chips scattered across the ground. ”Did you hear about the Terrible Three?”

Lancet acted indifferent. ”What about them?”

Luke studied his face. ”They were found tied up like presents in the middle of Summoner-C’s homeroom this morning. Gagged, struggling, the whole humiliating package. Everyone laughed at them. I heard Caelem looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him.”

Lancet shrugged, trying to look innocent. ”Sounds like karma finally caught up to them.”

Luke stared at him for a long second. Then the corner of his mouth twitched — the closest thing to a smile the cynic ever gave. ”You’re a terrible liar, Lancet.”

Before Lancet could respond, Luke raised one hand. Blue smoke swirled around his finger and his Summon, the Soul Searching Spear materialized in his grip . The same weapon that had saved Lancet the night before.

Luke casually twirled it once. ”You up for a spar? Real one. No holding back.”

Lancet eyed the spear. It looked far more intimidating up close. ”Against that? You’re not exactly playing fair.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. ”You want fair, or you want a challenge?”

Lancet laughed despite himself. He walked to the rack and picked out a better looking, but still unenchanted training sword. He tested it then shrugged.

”Alright. Let’s do it.”

They faced each other in the center of the cracked concrete.

Luke attacked first.

The Soul Searching Spear lashed out in a lightning-fast thrust aimed at Lancet’s shoulder. Lancet parried as fast as he could, but the impact still jarred his arm.

Luke followed immediately with a spinning sweep that forced Lancet to leap back. The spear’s reach gave Luke a massive advantage; every time Lancet tried to close the distance, the silver tip forced him to retreat or risk getting skewered.

But Lancet was learning.

He used small steps, constantly feigning threats to make Luke react to him. He feinted left, drew the spear into an overcommit, then slipped inside the reach and landed a solid smack across Luke’s ribs with the flat of his blade.

Luke grunted, surprised. ”Not bad.”

They circled again.

CLANG! Steel rang against steel. And they spared for minutes.

Luke won the next three exchanges, his spear work precise and ruthless, tapping Lancet’s arm, thigh, and shoulder in quick succession.

But Lancet kept coming back harder. He started predicting the spear’s arcs, using pivots and shoulder checks to disrupt Luke’s rhythm.

One particularly clean exchange ended with Lancet ducking under a thrust and driving his sword upward in a perfect rising slash that would have split a weaker opponent from hip to shoulder.

Luke barely blocked it, but his eyes widened like he had just seen his life flash before them.

”Shit,” Luke muttered, stepping back and rubbing his forearm. ”You’ve been training like this every day?”

Lancet grinned, breathing hard. ”I have the best teacher.”

Luke wanted to ask where he got the Notes from to hire a professional combat teacher. But then his brows raised with realization. ”Astensia.”

Lancet nodded, still catching his breath. ”She doesn’t go easy on me.”

They looked at each other for a beat.

Then both of them started laughing. Luke shook his head, spear vanishing back into blue smoke as he offered a hand.

”As an Arsenal, it’s important for me to learn not just how to fight, but how to use all the weapons I can summon. You held up pretty well against me.”

Lancet took the hand and shook it firmly. ”A compliment from Mr. Cynic. Heh. Nothing is truly impossible in this world.”

The two roommates smiled as the sun dipped lower behind the roofs of Bronze Dorms, painting the cracked training ground in deeper gold.

”Want to go for another round?”

”No spear this time.”

”I also have a sword.”

”Why not this sword over here?”

”Mhm. Not as good as my sword.”

”But it’s the same as mine. We’re supposed to have equal weapons in order to have a fair fight.”

”Who says a fight has to be fair? Life’s not fair.”

”And... he’s back to being a cynic again.”