Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Class Group-S came after them.

The anticipation rose before the competitors were even announced. Students who had wandered toward the exits returned to their seats. Instructors and the administration sat forward with more interest, and every drone camera turned toward the field.

”Representing Specialist-S, Oden Fyrebloom!”

Oden walked out with a heavy blade resting across one shoulder.

Dark green poison ran along the edge and dripped onto the plates, where it hissed without leaving a mark. He didn’t care at all for the crowd, his eyes were narrowed and his mouth was the shape of a permanent scowl.

”Representing Elementalist-S, Vernon Heavenblum!”

Vernon entered to the loudest reaction of the day.

Wind moved around him. Fire followed in small rings around his wrists. Water gathered into thin bands at his shoulders while stone lifted in fragments beneath his steps. Sparks passed through all of it without disturbing the balance.

The Academy’s number one looked as calm as though he were walking into a lecture.

They sized each other up, knowing they were the very best the Academy had to offer. Vernon scoffed at Oden. Oden remained stoic.

”Fight!”

The match began.

Oden burst through the distance before the last echo of the command faded.

His first strike hit a wall of stone and split it down the center. Vernon sent the broken halves outward with wind, but Oden charged through the gap and swung again.

Poison sprayed from the blade.

Vernon froze the poison in the air, solidifying it into ice shards.

Oden punched through the shards, shattering them with his free hand, green vapor bursting out as he drove his shoulder into Vernon hard enough to send him back three steps.

The Specialist section roared.

Oden never gave Vernon time to settle. Like any Berserker, he attacked with blind brute force, but there was skill beneath the violence. Each missed swing became a turn. Each blocked strike became another angle. Poison gathered on the ground wherever he stepped, cutting away Vernon’s safe space.

In Vernon’s responses he used more control.

He used water to catch the blade and drag it off line. He lifted stone beneath Oden’s front foot to block him. He struck wind against his shoulder while using lightning to strike and ruin his grip.

Oden roared and kept coming.

He tore his boot free from the stone, ripped through the water binding his weapon and swung through the flames as though pain had only reminded him why he was there.

His blade passed close enough to Vernon’s throat to cut a strand of hair.

The platform went mad.

Vernon’s expression changed for the first time.

He raised one hand, summoning wind from all corners. Powerful breeze folded around Oden’s legs. Water locked his sword arm. Stone closed over one ankle. Lightning struck from above while fire drove in from the side, five elements landing in sequence before Oden could muscle through the first.

But Oden dragged and dragged, roaring ferociously until he broke free!

Everyone gasped.

He was just about to lunge at Vernon when fire and lightning hit his chest. Then the stone rose beneath him and threw him into the air.

Vernon swept both hands downward.

A column of water crashed onto Oden and drove him into the plates. The collision sent multiple shockwaves rippling through the arena.

Oden let out a loud groan of pain, but before the Berserker could rise, a spear of stone stopped above his throat.

He froze, glaring up at Vernon who smirked down at it.

Silence held for half a second.

”Vernon Heavenblum wins!”

Oden shoved the stone spear aside and forced himself upright. His simple armor had burned open across one shoulder, poison still ran from his sword and blood marked one corner of his mouth.

Vernon approached and offered his hand.

Oden stared at it.

Then he slapped it away.

The sharp sound carried farther than it should have.

Oden turned and stormed from the arena without a word, dragging the poisoned blade behind him while the crowd reacted with a mix of laughter, cheers and disapproval.

Lancet watched him disappear into the tunnel.

He had not expected Oden to participate at all.

Members of the Serpent Society did not seem like the sort to care about school standings, trophies or applause. Perhaps Oden had only entered to test how much stronger he had become.

If so, he had his answer.

For a Berserker, he was dangerously powerful. He had nearly reached Vernon several times, and Vernon Heavenblum was not someone people nearly defeated by accident.

Lancet’s eyes narrowed.

’Speaking of the Serpent Society, I haven’t heard from them in a while.’

Espel had told him nothing yet. Maybe that was what she wanted to discuss later.

Still, the silence bothered him.

They had to be planning something.

The remaining Class Group-S matches finished without another upset, and by the time the final scoreboard appeared, the sun had shifted well past the open roof.

The overall competition standings filled the air above the arena.

Specialists: 1000

Elementalists: 800

Summoners: 600

Enchanters: 500

For the Class Group with the lowest odds, Summoners getting the third position was an accomplishment. At least Miss Maecil seemed to think so.

She thanked Lancet with one of those yet exaggerated hugs that she didn’t really replicate when hugging Luke or Min Tu.

The speaker waited for the cheering to settle before making his announcement.

”That concludes the seventh Inter-Class Competition challenge!”

Applause rolled through the platform.

”By the decision of Dean Ordenance, the eighth challenge will test something many of you have avoided using all year.”

The crowd quieted.

”Your minds.”

Groans rose from several sections.

The speaker laughed. ”That is correct. The next event will be a Knowledge Quiz covering magic, politics, history and every subject your instructors have begged you to study. Prepare well, because strength will not save you from a question you cannot answer.”

Students immediately began complaining around Lancet.

The barriers faded, and the crowd began to leave. Students filled the stairways, talking over one another about Valeria’s spearwork, Vernon’s control and Oden’s refusal to shake hands.

Lancet rose with them and adjusted the Radiant Guillotine at his side.

Tonight, he will begin the draft for his Fire Mage Heroine.

He thought of a name. Something fiery, perhaps.

As he stepped into the aisle, a hand slipped into his.

Lancet stopped. The fingers wrapped firmly around his own and held on.

He looked down at their joined hands, then turned toward the person beside him.

The figure moved in front before Lancet could pull away, wearing a broad grin like they had just completed a difficult hunt.

”Hehehe! Got you at last.” Clevus Cattenham said.

Lancet looked down at their conjoined hands again.

Then back up at Clevus.

”Fuck.”