Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made-Chapter 22: A Cannon To Kill A Mosquito

The Dungeon Hall plunged into a stunned, pin-drop silence. Everyone stared at Lancet’s screen, scrutinizing the golden woman with him.

"It can’t be," whispered one of the Dungeon instructors, pushing her glasses up her nose. "She died three hundred years ago. The records say her body turned to ash at the Greatest Gate. How is she here?"

"Look at the armor," another instructor muttered. "That looks exactly like the Plate of Divine Will. And the sword he holds is an exact replica of the Blessed Blade. It’s exactly like the illustrations in the royal archives. Is she... is she a spirit?"

"She has physical mass," Dexter argued, his eyes locked on the screen as Astensia gracefully stepped over a fallen log. "She isn’t floating. Her boots are leaving tracks in the mud. She is a corporeal entity."

He turned slowly, his eyes wide, looking toward the Summoner-D section. "Is she... his summon?"

All eyes shifted to Maecil Gudgarten.

Maecil stood completely frozen, her clipboard dangling loosely from her fingers. She stared at the screen, then at the name [ Lancet : 50 Pts ] glowing on the leaderboard.

"Lancet..." she breathed, her mind racing.

A Dull Rank. A boy with the lowest Grace Retention in this school’s year. How has he managed this?

Beside her, Phiodor Blaze crossed his arms. His smug grin had vanished, and all that was on his face now was simmering disdain. He hated anomalies, and he hated Summoners even more.

"This is impossible," Phiodor stated flatly. "A First Year cannot summon a historical Platinum Rank entity. It is a trick. An illusion meant to farm points through fear tactics."

"Those goblins didn’t look scared to death, Phiodor. They looked pulverized to death," Dexter shot back, crossing his massive arms.

He turned to the Head Dungeon Instructor. "We must inform Dean Ordenance about this right away." He started towards the door.

"Wait," the Head Dungeon Instructor interrupted, holding up his remaining hand. His scarred face was intensely locked to the screen. "Let’s watch the whole thing first. Let’s see if the boy can actually command her, or if she’s just a rogue manifestation."

Inside the humid, bioluminescent jungle of the Basic Dungeon, the "rogue manifestation" was currently wiping green blood off her blade with a silk cloth.

Around them lay the scattered, broken bodies of a dozen Lesser Orcs. The battle had lasted precisely fourteen seconds.

Astensia was completely untouched. She hadn’t even broken a sweat, her breathing steady and calm as she sheathed the Blessed Blade.

Lancet, on the other hand, was leaning against a giant fern, trying to catch his breath just from the adrenaline of watching her move.

⸢ Seven Lesser Orcs killed by Astensia ⸥

⸢ Astensia has gained 300 EXP ⸥

⸢ You have gained 600 EXP ⸥

⸢ You have gained 150 CP ⸥

Lancet was excited about the growing CP. Soon enough, he would create his next Heroine.

Speaking of Heroines, he looked up, feeling slightly useless as he watched Astensia.

"I’m sorry," Lancet said, offering an apologetic grimace. "I feel bad summoning you for such meager opponents. I know you’re used to fighting Demons and holding back waves of Gehenna. Squashing Lesser Orcs feels like using a cannon to kill a mosquito."

Astensia turned to him, her blue eyes softening. She walked over, the heavy plate armor clanking softly.

"It is my duty to protect you from beings stronger than you, Lord Lancet," she said, her voice sweet and deeply sincere. "There is no shame in utilizing your shield."

Lancet scoffed, kicking a pebble into the mud. "Yeah, well, it says a lot that an ordinary Lesser Orc is stronger than me."

Astensia looked at him with a mixture of understanding and profound pity. She reached out, gently placing a gauntleted hand on his shoulder.

It was surprisingly warm.

"You underestimate yourself, Master," she said softly. "You possess the strength to summon me. To reach across three centuries of silence and resurrect my soul from the void. Strength like that... no muscle or physical skill in this world could ever match it."

Lancet blinked, the heavy weight of his insecurities lifting slightly. He looked up at her, a genuine, bright smile breaking across his face.

"Thanks, Astensia," he said, feeling a surge of renewed energy.

"It is my pleasure," she smiled back. She turned her gaze toward the deeper, darker parts of the jungle. "Now, let us advance. You mentioned a ’Renan Falconhart’ who sits atop the leaderboard. We must catch up to him and pass him in score, yes?"

Lancet grinned, checking the leaderboard.

[ Renan Falconhart : 370 pts ]

[ Frieda Castleloft : 290 pts ]

[ Min Tu Akaran : 285 pts ]

[ Lancet Leogardt : 250 pts ]

"Oh, definitely. Let’s go hunting."

From then on, they moved like an extermination team.

From Spitting Spiders to Wild Bears, Astensia crushed and slaughtered them all with ease. With every kill, the notifications flooded Lancet’s vision.

⸢ Astensia has gained 200 EXP ⸥

⸢ You have gained 400 EXP ⸥

⸢ You have gained 250 CP ⸥

His Grace was holding steady. He had around 140 MP left and he was already halfway finished with the Dungeon.

Back in the Dungeon Hall, the instructors were losing their minds.

The leaderboard was updating so fast it looked like it was glitching. Lancet’s point box was spinning like a slot machine.

[ Lancet : 270 Pts ] ...

[ Lancet : 310 Pts ] ...

[ Lancet : 400 Pts ]

He had blown past Min Tu Akaran. He had left Deron Darc in the dust, and was currently sitting at number two on the global First Year leaderboard, right directly below Renan Falconhart.

He was also the undisputed number one in the entire Summoner-D class.

"He’s not even casting command spells!" Dexter Marcist exclaimed, clutching his head in disbelief. "He’s just pointing, and she annihilates everything in front of him! Their teamwork is impeccable and because of her unbelievable power, he barely has to spend much Grace himself!"

Phiodor Blaze was gripping his console so hard the plastic cracked. "It’s a cheat. It has to be an artifact. A Dull Rank student just cannot possibly have such a summon!"

Maecil just stared, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn’t care how he was doing it. The Summoner class was finally dominating.

"Go for it, Lancet," she whispered. "Take us to the top of the weekly quota."

Miles away in another sector of the jungle, things were not going well for Squad 21.

"Hey, Vera? Are you seeing this right now?" Patton called out, his voice cracking with panic. He was standing back-to-back with the Druid in a small, muddy clearing.

Patton’s interface was open, the grey light reflecting off his sweat-drenched face. He stared at the leaderboard, refusing to believe his eyes.

Vera didn’t answer immediately. She was too busy trying to channel energy from her summon—a spectral Forest Stag that was currently shaking like a dying lightbulb.

They were surrounded.

More than two dozen Simple Wolves—low-level beasts, but terrifying in a pack—were circling them, their red eyes glowing in the shadows of the ferns, growling hungrily.

"How... how did Lancet get so high?" Patton demanded, commanding his Mud Golem to strike an advancing wolf, keeping it back. "Is he using some kind of cheats to get so many points?!"

Vera groaned in frustration as her spectral Stag took a nasty bite to the leg, its form losing opacity.

"It’s not fair!" Vera cried out, tears of exhaustion welling in her eyes. "We’re working our asses off, fighting for our lives, and he’s cheating to get so many points!"

"Don’t worry," Patton snarled, his hands glowing weakly with gray light as he tried to get his summon to throw another mud ball. "I’ll teach that guy a lesson when we get back. We’re about to fail because he wasn’t strong enough to be in our team! It’s all his fault! We could have won if we had any other teammate!"

The pack leader howled, causing all the wolves to surge forward as they noticed how vulnerable the two were.

Patton’s Mud Golem swung its heavy arms, knocking two wolves away, but three more leaped onto its back, biting chunks of dirt out of its core.

Vera’s Stag tried to gore a wolf, but its antlers passed harmlessly through the beast as her Grace finally gave out.

"No!" Vera screamed.

They quickly unsummoned their summons, saving them before their HP hit zero. But it meant Patton and Vera were now left completely defenseless.

The wolves closed the circle, snapping their jaws ferociously.

"We could have won!" Vera sobbed, as she backpedaled. "There’s just too much of them!"

Out in the Dungeon Hall, Phiodor Blaze finally smiled. It was a cold, cruel smirk.

He watched the screen showing Squad 21’s dire situation.

"Well then, Maecil," Phiodor said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Looks like one of the teams in your class is about to go down. Without their third member to draw aggro, they’ve been overwhelmed. That means a massive point penalty for the Summoner group."

Maecil looked terrified but she didn’t say anything, she just watched. Once those wolves pounced, Patton and Vera would be forcefully ejected from the Dungeon.

Yes, they would lose points but it could also severely damage their grades and morale.

Inside the Dungeon, Patton’s and Vera’s hearts pounded with fear.

Even though they knew they wouldn’t really die here, losing sucked.

Vera squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the Wolves to leap. But nothing came. After a second, she popped one eye open.

"Hey, guys."

A casual voice cut through from the growling wolves. Vera pooped both eyes open. Patton spun around.

Standing on top of a mossy boulder just at the edge of the clearing was Lancet. He had one hand in his pocket, his silver-blonde, wavy hair flowing gently in the humid jungle wind.

A big, mischievous chin spread on his face, ear-to-ear.

"Who’s in a mood to get saved by the trash Dull Rank?"