Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made-Chapter 29: You Are A Person

They walked out of the alley and into the bustling heart of the city.

Astensia walked slower because she was anxious, so Lancet adjusted to her pace, joining her into the light of the city.

Her beautiful blue eyes widened at what she saw. There were cathedrals of metal so tall that it looked like they were daring the heavens. They glowed, oddly so, with beautiful colors.

Cars drove past the flat roads, pouring colored light from their exhaust pipes, street vendors sold wares on the sidewalks and people walked in the modern clothing, similar to what she had on.

Astensia was completely mesmerized. She walked slowly, her head on a swivel, her eyes reflecting the neon lights.

"The sky..." she murmured, looking up at the clear sky. "It is not gray. The air does not taste like ash. And the carriages... they ride without horses?"

"Magitech," Lancet explained, walking beside her. "The world figured out how to use Grace to power machines instead of just people and weapons."

Astensia looked at him, stunned. "Machines?"

Lancet smiled.

The Knight took in a deep breath of the day’s air. "Come! You must show me everything, Master."

She held him by the hand and took him to wherever her tall, toned legs were going. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

They wandered for an hour, Lancet pointing out holographic billboards and automated vendor-golems. But soon, the smell of roasted meats and heavy spices wafting from the street stalls made Astensia’s stomach growl violently.

Lancet noticed. "I’m starving," he lied.

He patted his pockets. He had zero cash. And even if he did have Profits, the Academy’s currency was useless out here.

Astensia looked at him with hope, pretending to not be starving herself. She hadn’t eaten for 300 years, and some days.

Lancet looked around and spotted a small crowd gathered around a wooden crate near a tavern. A street hustler with slicked-back hair was rapidly shuffling three metal cups over a small red stone.

Lancet smirked. "Hold on. I know how to make a quick buck."

Astensia’s eyes glistened curiously. "What are you—"

Lancet led her toward the crowd. They watched the hustler slap his hands down over the cups. "Alright, who’s got the eyes of an eagle? Find the stone, double your coin!"

Lancet asked Astensia to give him her helm.

"But Master," she retorted, "that helm was forged for me by the blacksmith of the Elders. It is worth too much!"

"Just trust me," Lancet told her, winking.

She finally obeyed and handed him the winged helm with tentative but trusting hands. Lancet took the helm and placed it on the table. "I’ll bet this!"

The hustler’s eyes lit up. "Ah! Where did you find such quality metal and smithing?" He reached for the helm.

"Don’t touch that!"

The man paused and looked up to Astensia who was glaring at him with her heroic fury. Realizing herself, she chased her glare away and loosened her shoulders.

"It’s bad luck... to touch your price before you win it."

The hustler exposed his yellow teeth with a grin. "Hehe! To have a beautiful woman like you rooting for me, then I’m sure to win!"

Lancet chuckled. The man looked at him.

"She’s not rooting for you," Lancet said. "She’s actually playing against you."

The man frowned as Astensia stepped forward and sat by the table, her stunning legs long enough for her to rest her hands without slouching.

"Whatever. Let’s see if your speed matches your beauty."

The man’s hands blurred.

Lancet knew that he was an Awakener, perhaps an unranked Specialist who failed to graduate in the Academy, using low-level agility magic to shuffle the cups at blinding speed.

A normal person wouldn’t notice the magic. A Platinum Awakener like Astensia would not only notice it, but defeat it easily.

The hustler slammed the cups to a halt. "Where is it?"

Astensia looked at Lancet, utterly confused by the simplicity of the game. With her abilities, the hustler’s hands must have looked like they were moving through thick mud.

She casually pointed a slender finger at the far-left cup.

The hustler smirked and lifted it. The red stone sat innocently underneath. The man’s smile vanished.

"Yeah!"

The crowd around them murmured, happy there was finally a winner.

The hustler grumbled, handing Lancet a hundred notes.

"Go double or nothing, Astensia," Lancet whispered.

The Heroine, unsure what that meant, repeated his words. "Double or nothing?"

"You asked for it!"

The man shuffled them faster, sweating now. Astensia didn’t even lean in. She just pointed to the middle cup. She won again.

It happened again. And again. Lancet got two hundred notes richer after every round.

The man got frustrated and Astensia was amused by his frustration. She enjoyed winning over and over, and enjoyed Lancet’s laugh each time she did.

But the mistake she made was not catching on to the hustler’s cheating. He threw away the stone intentionally as he swapped the cups, but Astensia innocently bent over, picked it up and handed it to him.

"You dropped the stone."

The man’s eyes widened. "What the fucking fuck is this! Who the hell are you guys, eh! You’re Awakeners, right?! You have to be Awakeners!"

Lancet placed a hand on Astensia’s shoulder. "Come on, it’s time to go."

She quickly grabbed the helm, got up in a flash and they ran out of the crowd and into the streets.

"Get back here you cursed Awakeners!" the hustler cried.

"He was moving incredibly slowly," Astensia said, entirely serious as they ran. "Was it a test of patience?"

Lancet burst out laughing. "Something like that."

They stopped at a food shop and bought skewers of spiced, roasted drake-meat and thick cuts of honey-glazed bread.

Astensia took a tentative bite of the meat. Her eyes widened comically. She chewed slowly, savoring the explosion of flavor.

"By the Elders," she whispered, looking at the skewer like it was a holy relic. "The meat in my time was not this good. This is... it is incredible."

"Eat up," Lancet smiled warmly, handing her his second skewer. "There’s plenty more."

They sat there for a long time, and conversation flowed naturally. Lancet asked her what the Northern Wastes actually looked like. He asked her about her favorite quiet moments before the Gehenna waves hit.

In turn, Astensia asked him about how these so-called ’cars’ worked, and why everyone seemed in such a rush when there was no war to fight.

Lancet explained to her that people had different jobs now, not just merely surviving.

"Sounds much like slavery, don’t you think, Master Lancet?" she remarked. "Except with better clothes."

Lancet laughed.

As the hours passed, the noise of the city seemed to fade into the background. Lancet found himself simply watching her. The neon lights cast soft, colorful shadows across her face. The wind gently tugged at her golden braid.

Astensia turned her head, catching him staring. Rather than looking away, her piercing blue eyes locked onto his, searching his face.

"You are strange, Lancet," she said softly, the formal ’Lord’ and ’Master’ dropping away entirely.

"Thanks," Lancet chuckled nervously, his heart picking up speed. "Wait? Is that even a good thing?"

"I mean it as a high compliment," she clarified, shifting slightly closer on the stone bench. "The lords and kings of my time... they viewed me as a weapon. A shield to be planted in the dirt so they could sleep safely. When you summoned me, I expected the same."

She reached out, her warm, surprisingly soft fingers gently brushing against his arm.

"But you bought me food. You showed me the city of...?"

"Brightspire."

"Yes, Brightspire, capital of Aethelgard. And you listened to my stories of the snow." Her voice dropped to a heavy, intimate whisper. "I remember Summoners of my time as well. They treated their summons as tools, Lancet, but you treat me as a person."

Lancet looked deep into her eyes. The urge to lean in was overwhelming. He could even feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"You are a person, Astensia," Lancet said. "You’re the most real person I’ve met since I got here. And I meant what I said. You’re no tool. We’re going to experience this world together."

Astensia’s cheeks lit up with pink. For a fleeting second, her gaze dropped to his lips, and Lancet felt his heart drop.

BONG. BONG. BONG.

Thankfully—or maybe not—the massive iron clock tower in the center of the plaza began to toll, signaling the final hour before the Academy’s hard curfew lockdown.

The moment broke.

Lancet coughed, rubbing the back of his neck, his face burning. Astensia quickly looked down at her lap, her hands folded tightly.

"We... we should probably head back," Lancet stammered. "The Dungeon Clearing expedition is tomorrow morning. We both need rest."

"Yes," Astensia agreed, standing up quickly, though she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. "We must be prepared for tomorrow’s battles."

They walked back to the quiet, dark alleyway in a sort of comfortable-uncomfortable silence.

Astensia wrapped her arms around his waist again, but this time, the hold was distinctly gentler, pulling him just a fraction closer to her chest than was strictly necessary for the jump.

Lancet looked up at her. She gave him a soft smile that made him feel like jelly.

"Hold on tightly," she said.

A surge of holy mana propelled her upwards, and they leaped back into the Academy grounds.

Their feet hit the grass and they separated a moment after.

"So," Lancet asked, "how was it?"

"I have never had so much fun in my lifetime, Lord Lancet!" she declared. "If we could do this everyday, I would never need anything else!"

Lancet smiled. When he noticed she was about to take off Anita’s clothes, he turned around quickly. "Well I’m glad you enjoyed it. My Grace is pretty low right now, so you’d be fading off soon."

"Don’t worry," he heard Astensia say, "I know that you will find a way to bring me back tomorrow."

That made Lancet beam wider, filling his stomach with butterflies.

"I’m finished," Astensia declared.

Lancet turned and saw her back in the armor he created her with, the great Ironwill of Mortality and her glorious blonde hair.

"Thank you for today, Master Lancet," she said.

"See you tomorrow," Lancet replied, then he returned her to the Summon Space, watching as the gold light took her.

Ding!

⸢ Warning! Grace is running low! ⸥

⸢ 30 MP of Grace left ⸥

Lancet ignored the notification, he silently stood alone in the dark grass, a massive, foolish grin plastered on his face.

The threat of his bullies, the looming Higher Dungeons, the Academy politics—none of it mattered right now.

He was ready for tomorrow.

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