Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Kasto and Theo Kane, who was also present in the arena, helped Luke out of the arena floor while the noise of the underground stadium continued to rise around them.

Luke’s feet dragged a little at first, and even though he was trying to keep his head high, the exhaustion from the fight was obvious in the slump of his shoulders and the stiffness in his breathing.

He had given everything he could give and then some, and though he was still burning with the humiliation of losing, there was a kind of grim dignity in the way he let himself be led away instead of collapsing outright.

For a moment, as he passed the edge of the battlefield, he lifted his head.

His eyes found Lancet.

Lancet had just stepped down into the center of the arena, the broken stone floor cool beneath his boots, and the look Luke gave him was sharp enough to cut even through the crowd noise.

Rage still lived there, hot and humiliating and too proud to die just because the duel had ended. The days of training in the back of the Bronze Dorms flashed in between their eyes — days that Lancet had given up just to live in the luxury of the Gold Dorms

Finally, Luke turned his face away again, jaw clenched, and let Kasto and Theo guide him into the shadows near the wall.

Lancet watched him go for half a second longer than necessary, then turned his full attention to the figure waiting across from him.

Renan Falconhart stood exactly as a main character would be standing, like the world itself had been designed for him and him alone. Every whisper of wind around him was only there to make him look superior.

There was no wasted movement in him, no visible strain, no sign of uncertainty. The silver armor he wore could not look as elegant on any one else. And Black Gale rested in his hand with the quiet ease of a weapon that knew it had been born for victory.

Wind kept moving around him as though it belonged there, tugging at his silver hair and cape, lifting the edges of his cloak, making him look cinematic.

Renan was dreadfully handsome in the way only the true leads of a story ever were, beautiful in a way that was unfair to everyone who stood by him. And that beauty seemed to come attached to power, confidence, and fate itself.

Lancet could see why the women fell for him. He could see why the world kept trying to make him important.

Their eyes locked.

Lancet studied him for a moment, then finally let the only question he had leave his mouth. ”What do you want, anyway? Why do you want to fight me so much?” His brows narrowed slightly as he kept his stance loose, Radiant Guillotine still not yet drawn. ”Even in the last two challenges, you made it pretty clear you were aiming for a one-on-one.”

Renan did not react immediately. When he did answer, his calm reply made Lancet’s question feel childish.

”Please, Lancet. It is not a vendetta or a grudge.” he said with a steady, unreadable gaze. ”You know how highly I think of you.”

Lancet gave him a flat look. ”Do I?”

The corner of Renan’s mouth did not move. ”I simply want to understand the limitations of my own power. So far, everyone I have faced has tasted defeat. Everyone except you. Granted, I lost to your summons and not exactly to you, but in the eyes of magic and the world, I lost to you.”

The arena quieted a fraction more, as though even the crowd wanted to hear where he was going with this.

”I would like to face you alone,” Renan said, his voice still as smooth as polished steel, ”and know whether it is you who is stronger than me, or whether it is your legendary summons. That way I can know what wall I have to overcome.”

Lancet stared at him. ’Great monologue,’ he thought.

It really was. From Renan’s perspective, Lancet could already visualize the average light novel reader foaming in their mouth and spamming ”tuff” and ”peak” in the comments.

’Absolute cinema.’

Then he sighed.

”Alright then,” Lancet said. ”Let us get this over with.”

He reached into his inventory and drew out the Radiant Guillotine.

The sword flashed into being with a gleam of light so clean it seemed to split the air around him. He caught the hilt, gave it a quick spin, and settled into a battle pose that was confident without pretending he was on Renan’s level.

He was not. He knew that. But he was still standing there, a smile on his face, and prepared to bring his own answer to the duel.

”It’s not like I have anything to lose.”

That caught Renan’s attention.

Lancet smiled at him, not arrogantly. It was an honest smile rather. ”If you beat me, the school goes on believing exactly what it already believes,” he continued. ”You, Renan Falconhart, are the greatest talent Awakener Supreme has ever seen. The strongest first-year. Maybe the strongest in the entire Academy.”

He shifted his grip, the Guillotine gleaming under the broken arena lights.

”But if I beat you?”

Renan’s eyes widened a fraction. Only a fraction. Then they sharpened again, a small flicker of irritation showing in the way his jaw tightened.

”You will be pushed down to second place,” Lancet said lightly. ”And if I know anything about you, Renan of the great but fallen Falconhart family, there is nothing you hate more than second place.”

That did it.

A line of frustration crossed Renan’s face, subtle but unmistakable. His mouth flattened. His expression darkened.

For a moment, he looked less like the untouchable main character and more like a young man forced to confront a truth he had not asked for. Then, slowly, he relaxed. He let out one quiet breath, resetting his mind before battle.

When his eyes opened again and locked with Lancet’s, they were steady.

”Please do your very best,” he said. ”Do not hold back. I don’t want to come out of this feeling unaccomplished.”

Lancet’s grin returned, sharper now. ”You are that sure you will win, huh?”

Renan’s answer came cold and immediate. ”Positive.”

That was when both of them settled into their combat stances.

Radiant Guillotine in Lancet’s hand.

Black Gale in Renan’s.

The arena felt as if it had shrunk around them.

But the crowd was loud, louder than before, chanting both names in uneven waves that crashed off the broken walls and into the shadows.

First-years shouted with reckless enthusiasm. They understood they were watching something that would be talked about for a long time. They would be the ones to share the gossip that would be spread all around the academy.

Some of them were already yelling predictions, others were calling for blood, others were just screaming because they could not help themselves.

Near the edge of the stands, one of the older students had even begun walking the length of the broken pavement, taking Profits from students to place their bets on who they were rooting for.

The whole underground arena had become a living, breathing pressure cooker of noise and excitement.

Kasto watched from the side with a nervous tension he made no effort to hide. Theo Kane stood near him, equally focused, while Luke rested against the wall in the shadows, head lowered and eyes closed — the defeat burned too hard to watch.

”Do you think Lancet can win?” Theo asked Kasto.

Kasto narrowed his eyes. ”I know what Renan is capable of. That is why I think he will win. But Lancet? He’s full of surprises. I have no idea what he will do. And neither does Renan.”

”So you think he has a chance?” Theo asked with enthusiasm.

”Yes,” Kasto replied.

Down on the battle floor, Lancet and Renan watched each other.

Silence filled the space for a moment. The air became thick with tension. Then, at the same time, they moved.

Their swords came up in the same instant, their bodies launched forward in the same breath, and the arena erupted around the collision that was about to happen.

”Arrghhh!”

The two of them lunged at each other with enough force to make the stone walls tremble.

And then—

the duel began.