Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made-Chapter 72: So How Are We Doing This?

"There. You’re all fixed."

Lancet felt a warm, emerald-green light flush through his body, leaving behind a soothing, minty coolness.

The small flickers of the torment the bullies had inflicted upon him was completely gone. He was as healthy as a newborn child.

Nurse Hallow stepped back, her hands glowing faintly as she lowered them. She began placing glowing vials and enchanted bandages back onto her medical cart.

"I had to use a dual-phase thermal salve to neutralize the searing burns on the right side of your body, and a deep-tissue marrow-warming spell to thaw the frostbite on your left. If I hadn’t properly regulated your internal temperature, the conflicting magical residues would have sent you straight into severe pneumonia."

Lancet sat up on the pristine white bed, flexing his arms. His skin was flawless. Even the scorched scar Kallan’s thunder blast had left right in the center of his chest was completely healed, the lingering ache smoothed away by her magic.

"That brings today’s medical expenses to a total of 700 Profits," Nurse Hallow listed off, tapping the crystal terminal on her clipboard. "Adding that to your previous balance, your total Academy debt is now 1,700 Profits."

Lancet slid off the bed and stretched his shoulders. "Well," he said with a wry smile. "At least it wasn’t in the thousands."

Nurse Hallow shook her head, her vibrant green hair bouncing around her shoulders. "Regardless of your optimism, Lancet, your debt continues to rise. Perhaps if you can actually go a full week without getting severely wounded, a miracle would happen and your debt might actually start to reduce."

Lancet adjusted his uniform collar and shot her a confident look. "Don’t worry about it, Miss Hallow. I’m absolutely sure that after this week’s expedition, my entire debt is going to be cleared."

Nurse Hallow paused and looked into his eyes, searching for the usual hollow arrogance found in Year One students. But she didn’t find it.

"Somehow..." she murmured softly, "I actually believe that." She turned and headed toward her desk. "On the main note, you are fully healed and free to go."

Lancet nodded. "Thank you." He walked toward the glass door, but just before he pushed it open, he stopped and looked back. "Miss Hallow? Do you ever actually leave this office?"

She stopped sorting her paperwork and looked up, thinking about the question for a moment.

"No," she answered truthfully. "It is my sworn duty to the Academy. Students will always be in need of emergency care. As one of the most powerful Healer Mages in the Institution, I must be present at all times. If I were to leave for leisure... a life could be lost in my absence."

Lancet looked at her, truly taking in the weight of her words. To have immense power, but to be tethered to a single room simply because others were too fragile.

"Seems like a lot of responsibility," Lancet said quietly.

Nurse Hallow smiled genuinely. "Yes. But it is one I fully accept."

"Well," Lancet said sincerely. "I personally think you’re doing a swell job. And all of us in Class Group-D thank you very much for it."

He pushed the door open and gave her a cheerful wave. "Goodbye, Miss Hallow!"

The heavy door clicked shut behind him. Inside the clinic, Nurse Hallow stood perfectly still, her breath hitching slightly in her throat. She stared at the closed door, a warm flush rising to her cheeks.

’This kid...’

Back in the corridors, Lancet navigated through the sea of students, intending to head straight to the Students’ Affairs room so he could update his card.

But, as he turned a wide corner near the central atrium, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood up.

Lancet wasn’t the most perceptive, but the primal chill that washed over him told him something was wrong.

It felt like someone was watching him.

He slowed his pace and glanced to his right.

There, standing in the shadowy alcove between two massive marble pillars was a figure.

It was Linzley. She had a wide unhinged smile on her face, and her head was tilted at an unnatural angle, her messy ponytails falling over her shoulders.

Lancet watched as she raised a hand and waved eerily at him. Her fingers twitched around the battered, stitched-up doll she always carried.

’This crazy chick...’

Lancet paused mid-step. Every noise around him suddenly became white, humming at the back of his neck as he tried to concentrate.

’If she’s here...’ He just slowly turned his head, his dark eyes scanning the perimeter. ’Then...’

Across the hall, blending perfectly into a cluster of gossiping seniors, Lancet spotted Muskard.

The tall lean senior was leaning heavily against the stone wall, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were direct at Lancet, and his mutated right arm was visibly radiating thin trails of dark smoke.

Lancet’s eyes narrowed. His heartbeat fastened as he moved his eyes again, searching the passersby, until he found the last of Terribles.

Standing perfectly straight near the grand staircase, ignoring the students parting around him like water around a stone, was Caelem.

His posture was impeccable, one shoulder angled forward, his head slightly lowered. His eyes were locked dead onto Lancet, carrying the same dark intensity that his mischievous smile had.

Lancet swallowed hard, forcing his mind to remain utterly calm.

’So, this is it then,’ Lancet thought, his muscles tensing slightly. ’The Serpent Society are done talking. They’ve sent the Terrible Three to rough me up this time.’

Lancet stood still for a while, thinking of a plan. They kept watching him, and he kept watching them. Then, he slowly started to walk away from the crowded main corridor and toward the quieter, less populated wings of the Academy.

Immediately, the predators began to move.

Muskard peeled off the wall. Linzley skipped silently out of her alcove. Caelem matched his pace perfectly.

They didn’t rush him; they simply stayed in the far corners and the deep shadows, tailing him like a pack of wolves herding a lone stag.

Lancet approached the elevator banks, but as he saw the metal doors, he quickly changed his mind. If he got into the elevator, they could easily force their way inside before the doors closed.

A confined, metal box with these three was a guaranteed death trap.

Instead, he veered left, pushing open the fire doors that led to the Academy’s main stairwell.

He descended at a fast-slow pace. The stairwell was deserted, and the silence that came with it amplified the tension. A few seconds after Lancet passed the first landing, he heard the three sets of footsteps following him down.

They were quiet. Nobody spoke a single word. It was like they all agreed to not do anything, until a particular moment.

Lancet kept his pace steady, momentarily peeking over his shoulder through the gap in the railings to check if they were still there.

They were. Descending casually, effortlessly, silently.

Lancet reached the ground floor, pushing out into the open air of the Academy’s rear courtyard.

He continued walking still; past the manicured gardens and headed straight for the abandoned sector of the campus.

Looming ahead of him was the old, ruined dome. It was a massive, forgotten structure, choked with thick vines and dust. Lancet opened the spoiled magic stone gates, walked across the cracked marble floor, and headed straight for the broken, spiraling stone stairs that led deep underground.

He descended into the dark, expansive, abandoned underground training arena.

The air down here was cold and dusty.

There was a lot of ambient Grace, but it felt ancient, unusable.

This was the exact same place where he had summoned Astensia for the first time, to fight Theo Kane’s Descending Demon.

Lancet walked out into the center of the massive, square battleground. The floor was still scarred and cratered from previous fights — the self-repairing magic was weak now since the place was abandoned.

He stopped right at the edge of the designated dueling bounds, turned around, and waited.

Right on cue, the footsteps of the Three echoed as they descended the broken stone stairs.

Lancet waited. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel their presence getting closer. From the dark archway on the far end of the arena, their silhouettes emerged.

Linzley skipped forward first, stopping on the opposite side of the square. She grinned maniacally, her fingers violently squeezing the neck of her doll as if trying to choke the life out of it.

Muskard stepped out next, his boots crunching against the loose gravel. He stood like a stone golem, utterly silent, the dark smoke pouring from his red arm sizzling the air around him.

Finally, Caelem stepped out from the shadows and into the center of their formation. He smiled, handsomely and confidently, promising nothing but absolute trouble.

The silver lion-head pauldron strapped to his shoulder glinted from the thick ray of sunlight pouring through the hole in the ceiling far above, illuminating the battlefield.

"Nice place you chose," Caelem called out, his smooth voice echoing across the empty arena. "Honestly? I couldn’t have picked a better tomb myself."

Lancet refused to flinch. He stood perfectly still, his eyes analyzing the three eerily powerful Year Two students standing before him. His focus sharpened into a razor’s edge.

"So?" Lancet asked, cutting through the heavy tension in the room. "How are we doing this?"