Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

The beast was twice the size than any Mountain Wolf Lancet had ever seen, even the ones he and Astensia fought in the simulation worlds.

Its shoulders came up past his waist, and its frame was built of dense, corded muscle tied against each other in a pelt the color of burnt stone and old ash. The fur was patchy in places, which was a sign of transformation.

The strips of hide revealed skin that was too dark, almost black, with a faint sheen like oil on water.

Lancet stood still, staring at the beast.

’Well, I should have expected this,’ he remarked. ’Mountain wolves were native to places like this, harsh and scarce mountain lands far from civilization. But this one has evolved. It’s probably because of the Gloom that is seeping from Deathrock, that half-citadel. It has twisted the Wolf. Probably made it even more powerful.’

That was true. Mountain Wolves were naturally at Lvl 10 - 15, but this one had a whooping Lvl 30 hovering above its sharp, straight ears.

The wolf took one step forward. Its paws made no sound on the stone. The black claws that curved from each toe clicked once, eyes still locked on Lancet like a sniper scope.

And then it lunged.

It was faster than it had any right to be.

The Gloom that had corrupted its body propelled it. The wolf crossed the distance in a blur of shadow and muscle, its body stretching low, its jaws opening wide enough to swallow the space between them. The red eyes flared bright, and the black saliva sprayed in thin arcs as it came.

Lancet dropped the sticks and reached for the Radiant Guillotine, but the wolf was already in the air.

Radiant Guillotine flashed from his hand and met the beast’s first strike with a loud crack of force that shoved him backward half a step.

Krraaaa-SLASSSHHH!

The impact rang up his arms and nearly took the sword from his grasp, but he kept hold, pivoted, and tried to drive the blade into the wolf’s flank.

The beast twisted with startling speed, jaws snapping near his shoulder. Lancet ducked, felt hot breath graze his neck, and threw his weight into a sweeping counter.

The wolf skidded aside, claws clawing furrows into the dirt.

Lancet barked out a breath. ”You know what, this is good. This is very good. I needed an angry dog right now.”

The wolf growled, saliva dripping from its mouth as it prowled around, watching him with intensity.

Lancet almost pitied the poor thing. Even though it was infected by Gloom, the primary reason it was attacking him was because of hunger. Mountain Wolves might prefer to live in the mountain range, but they never thought that Gloom from a nearby citadel would infect and ruin all their prey.

The poor Wolf was starving and Lancet was the shiniest and fattest hunk of meat it had seen in months.

So, without waiting even a second more, it came at him again.

This time he met it with tighter footwork. He remembered Kestrel’s correction about balance, about stance, about not fighting the weight but carrying it.

Without the rocks tied to his body, he felt much more lighter, and so did his sword. When the rocks had been weighing on him, he had learnt to be deliberate with his steps, to move carefully instead of stumbling into them.

Now, that deliberation had more speed, which made his leg movement much more precise than usual. Lancet was seeing it now! He was getting better! His footwork had leveled up.

The wolf found itself disoriented by his movement. Each time it slashed its claws at him, Lancet was already at the opposite side, tearing lines through its dense hide.

But the beast soon became frustrated and lunged at him with its full power. Lancet used the mountain stone as support, turning the ground itself into part of his defense.

When the wolf leaped, he pivoted with the motion, letting its momentum carry it just enough off-line that his blade could slice across its shoulder.

The beast yelped and spun around, suddenly more cautious.

Lancet grinned. ”There we go.”

It attacked a third time, but now it was angry and less patient. That made it easier.

He baited it with a small retreat, then stepped into the opening and drove the Radiant Guillotine down with a hard, controlled strike that forced the creature onto its side.

The mountain wolf snarled, trying to scramble away, but Lancet pressed, cut again, and finally dropped it with a clean finishing blow to the neck.

When the beast fell still, he stood over it, breathing hard, and stared for a second.

”Okay,” he muttered. ”That counts as training.”

He carved the beast open and retrieved its Beast Core. Even though it had been tainted by Gloom, a little Separation would return the core back to its ’Gracious’ state, and even better, it would retain the evolution.

Lancet looked over his shoulder at the path where he had first spotted the wolf. Beasts were just like humans, if this wolf was here that meant its pack and shelter was not far away.

It must have gone hunting to bring back food for the pack, which meant the rest of them were too hungry to even hunt.

Lancet sheathed his sword and followed the trail.

His intention wasn’t to kill more Mountain Wolves, although that was a pleasant bonus. Lancet simply knew that the pack would be staying somewhere where survival would be slightly easier compared to the rest of the mountain land.

Which meant water and hopefully, a tree.

The paw prints led him up a broken slope toward a sheltered rise where the rest of the pack had made their den among a cluster of dead, weather-worn trees.

Lancet had been right.

The pack saw him coming before he saw them all the way. Three wolves first. Then two more. Then the larger one at the rear. Lancet sighed when he counted them and realized he was already too committed to turn back.

”Fine,” he said, drawing out the Guillotine. ”We’re doing this now.”

The fight was rougher the second time, but also better. He had already learned one thing from the first wolf, and that made a difference. He was slower than he wanted to be, but more deliberate.

He used the trees, the slope, the narrow stone ledges, and even the tension in his own arms to his advantage.

Each time one of the wolves closed in, he turned the attack into a lesson, forcing himself to move through the pain instead of around it.

He made sure not to use any borrowed Skills, not that he had much of it to even spend.

By the end of it, the pack was down and Lancet was panting over the last body with some exhaustion and thrill.

He claimed the six Beast cores then turned his focus to the dead trees. He used the Radiant Guillotine like an axe, cutting the deadwood and broken branches to proper sticks for Kestrel’s next instruction.

Lancet had no idea why she had asked him to get any of these things. He wasn’t quite fond of taking orders from his own Summon, but then again, he had decided on doing anything to become a great swordsman.

Next, he tore up a patch of grass growing around the shelter. It was thin and stubborn, but enough. Water took longer, but Lancet had also been right about that too.

He had to search down a shallow ravine where melted runoff collected in a narrow stone basin hidden behind a shelf of rock. By the time he found it, he was already sore enough to regret having started at all.

He scooped some into a makeshift waterskin and began his return to the mountain.

The climb was miserable.

He muttered the entire way.

The sticks kept slipping out of one arm. The grass kept catching in the wind. The waterskin knocked awkwardly against his side every time he stepped wrong. And all the while he was forced to haul it all back up the mountain while his shoulders screamed and his legs complained in a language he had no desire to translate.

”I’d rather fight the Second Demon Head a hundred more times,” he said between breaths, ”than do this ever again.”

The mountain, as always, didn’t care.

Ultimately, he reached the top of the mountain and presented what he had got.

Kestrel stood where he had left her, arms folded, expression unreadable. Her gaze shifted immediately to what he carried, then to his body — his arms, face and legs.

Lancet had no wounds, but—

”You fought something,” she somehow knew.

Lancet dropped the bundle of sticks and grass in front of her with a groan. ”Yes. Several things. Evolved Mountain Wolves. And they were really hungry.”

Her mouth twitched a fraction, just enough to suggest she approved of the effort. She took the bundle from him, glanced at the water, then at the grass, and finally pointed toward the center of the summit.

”Sit.”

He stared. ”Here?”

”Now.”

Lancet sighed, then sat cross-legged where she indicated. She moved around him with controlled steps, placing the sticks, grass, and water into a loose circle around the space where he sat. The arrangement looked odd at first, almost ceremonial, though he had no idea what the purpose was supposed to be.

”What are we doing?” Lancet had to ask.

Kestrel offered nothing for a reply. She silently stepped back and lifted her face toward the sky.

The clouds above them were darker now than they had been before. Heavy, swollen, and distant enough to make the mountain summit feel like the eye of a storm that had not yet decided whether to pass by or descend. Kestrel’s expression changed slightly as she watched them.

”It is almost time,” she said.

Lancet looked up at the clouds, then back at her. ”Time for what?”

Kestrel’s eyes remained on the sky. ”A storm is coming.”

The words had barely settled before the first drop of rain struck the stone beside him.

Then another.

A heavy downpour suddenly began, and just a few minutes later, lightning struck straight down onto the peak...

...where Lancet was seated.