Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

The entrance led them into a massive circular hall several floors high, with broad, sweeping staircases curving elegantly along the walls and ornate balconies overlooking the main chamber below.

Deep, rich red carpets completely covered the polished black marble floors, while real gold trim framed the sweeping arches, heavy railings, and private boxes high above.

Enormous crystal chandeliers hung suspended from the dome, but instead of traditional candles, dozens of captured magical lights floated freely inside them, casting a warm, expensive glow across the entire room.

Lancet followed the steady flow of the crowd toward the main auction chamber. That was where most of the staggering wealth in the building would change hands tonight.

Rows of plush, cushioned seats curved gracefully around a broad central platform, perfectly arranged so absolutely everyone had a clear view of the raised stage.

Private, enclosed balconies occupied the upper walls behind dark, one-way glass for reclusive buyers who preferred not to reveal themselves publicly, while uniformed attendants moved silently through the aisles carrying glowing bidding tablets and crystal flutes of drinks.

At the exact center of the stage stood a polished black podium for the auctioneer. Directly behind it, several large, magical display screens hung suspended above a circular section of the floor where each item could be physically raised, examined, and heavily magnified for the waiting crowd.

Lancet deliberately chose seats several rows above the central floor.

From there, they were close enough to clearly see everything, but far enough from the front that Spectra would not have half the hall looking directly at her.

They sat down, and Lancet waited patiently until another loud couple passed by before leaning slightly toward her.

”Do you feel your necklace yet?”

Spectra understood his meaning immediately. She went perfectly still for a long moment, reaching out with her senses. Then, she shook her head. ”No. Not yet.”

Lancet frowned deeply. ”No pull at all?”

”None.” Spectra elegantly crossed one leg over the other and turned fully toward him. ”Which brings me to the obvious question, dear Master. How exactly do you know it will be here today?”

Lancet looked away, staring toward the empty stage. ”What do you mean?”

”My catalyst has been missing since my death,” she reminded him, her voice remaining carefully low. ”Two hundred and fifty years. It could have been sold yesterday. Ten years ago. A century ago. It could pass through this very city next month instead. Yet you came to Rosenblum on this particular day fully expecting to find it.”

Lancet tapped one nervous finger against his cushioned armrest. ”I have a feeling.”

Spectra stared at him, deadpan. ”A feeling.”

”A very good feeling.”

”That is your entire explanation?”

”For now.”

Spectra’s eyes narrowed dangerously behind the dark sunglasses. It was his typical explanation: a feeling. A feeling that led him to know there was a Second Demon Head, that the truce had been violated, that Verdrak was a spy.

Who are you exactly, Lancet Leogardt?

What are you hiding?

Lancet stubbornly faced the stage before she could question him any further. The truth was, he had not guessed. Not really.

Lancet had used his second Main Skill, Heroine Customization for the first time, and he used it to customize the history of Spectra’s necklace, making sure it would end up in the Grand Auction scheduled for the only month he was free.

This one.

As long as no shenanigans happen today, that catalyst was definitely going to be here.

The warm lights over the seating area finally dimmed. The ambient conversation faded into an expectant hush as a charismatic man in a deep red suit walked confidently onto the central platform.

He greeted the hall with a practiced smile before the very first display rose smoothly from beneath the floor.

The auction officially began.

The first item was an intricately engraved Mythic-Grade spear recovered from a Demon Break in the old town of Krawnshaw, Aethelgard.

It carried a rare Skill that significantly increased thrusting force after each consecutive strike, and two aggressive Guild representatives immediately fought over it until the price rapidly climbed past a hundred thousand Notes.

The winning bidder barely reacted when the auctioneer struck the podium and declared it sold. The next item was a heavily guarded set of Beast eggs. Then a powerful shielding relic. Then an old healing catalyst supposedly used by a famous Healer Mage from the Era of Education.

Lancet watched the prices climb with mounting disbelief. Fifty thousand. Eighty-two thousand. A hundred and fifty thousand. A small, unassuming black orb capable of storing exactly a full army, making it literally possible to carry thousands of men in a pocket sold for more than a million Notes after three stubborn Guild representatives simply refused to give up the bidding war.

Spectra leaned toward him, highly amused. ”Your three million may not survive this place.”

Lancet kept watching the stage, his stomach tight. ”That’s reassuring.”

Several intense auctions later, a Kingdom Board representative decisively bought a secret, unrevealed weapon recovered from a Great Gate before any private bidder could push the price much higher.

The auctioneer moved on into the next item without commenting on who had purchased it, and another glowing relic rose from beneath the stage. Lancet checked Spectra again, but she just shook her head. Nothing. Another twenty minutes passed. Still nothing.

Lancet’s confidence began slipping rapidly. He knew exactly what he had written. The necklace absolutely should be here. Unless the customization had not worked exactly the way he thought it would.

He leaned back heavily and watched another minor artifact sell for eighty-six thousand Notes. Had he been completely wrong?

The auctioneer finished the sale and gestured dramatically toward the floor. A new display began rising.

Lancet immediately straightened up in his seat.

It was a glass cylinder. Unlike the polished, open cases used for most of the earlier relics, this one had been completely covered with a dark velvet cloth. Two attendants carefully pushed it into position and stepped away before the auctioneer approached it.

Lancet glanced at Spectra, but she had not reacted at all. ”Anything?”

Spectra remained completely still for several long seconds, reaching for the connection. ”No.”

Lancet looked back toward the covered cylinder, disappointment settling in. ”Maybe it’s not it.”

The auctioneer smiled mysteriously toward the hushed crowd. ”Our next piece comes with a history considerably darker than most of tonight’s collection.”

With a flourish, the cloth came away.

Lancet’s eyes widened in shock. Spectra’s did too.

Inside the glass sat a necklace. It was made of the blackest metal, forming the neck and working into an ancient design that curled protectively around a central crimson stone.

Smaller, sharper pieces hung ominously beneath it like narrow fangs, each one carved with tiny, specific markings that Lancet recognized immediately from Spectra’s original design. It looked exactly right.

Spectra leaned sharply forward in her seat, her crimson eyes narrowed behind the sunglasses.

The auctioneer spread one hand toward the glass case. ”Ladies and gentlemen, the Sacramenta.”

A loud murmur swept through the chamber, but Lancet barely heard it over the rushing in his ears.

The auctioneer continued, playing to the crowd. ”Historical records identify this specific necklace as the catalyst once worn by Spectra Hexerra, the infamous Demon Binder remembered by history as the Mother of Gehenna.”

Spectra’s elegant fingers tightened brutally against the armrest. Lancet glanced at her; she was completely staring at the necklace, entranced.

”The Sacramenta was widely believed lost following Hexerra’s violent fall centuries ago, after humanity finally brought down the woman who had turned her back upon her own kind and taken Demons as her children.”

Spectra’s mouth slowly flattened into a hard line; that particular, sanitized version of history clearly annoyed her.

The auctioneer continued building the dark story for the room, loudly describing the catalyst as a cursed object intrinsically tied to Demon binding, Gloom rituals, and other made up legends.

Whether every wild claim surrounding it could be fully verified or not, the infamous name alone had already caught the immediate attention of half the chamber.

”It has long been said that the Sacramenta carries both demonic power and demonic blessing. Those who seek only absolute purity should perhaps look elsewhere tonight.

”Those willing to accept that true power rarely distinguishes between good intentions and terrible ones may find this piece considerably more interesting.”

Several cynical bidders laughed aloud at the pitch. The auctioneer rested one hand intimately beside the glass. ”Even without its rumored magical properties, this is one of the very few surviving possessions directly connected to one of the most infamous figures of the Era of Rebirth. As a historical piece alone, it belongs in the finest private collections in the world.”

Lancet looked toward Spectra, but she had become terrifyingly still.

The bidding officially opened. ”Two hundred thousand Notes.”

A paddle rose almost immediately from the floor. ”Two hundred and fifty.”

Another raised. ”Two hundred and seventy thousand.”

Lancet’s eyebrows rose. That escalated incredibly quickly. ”Two hundred and eighty-five.”

”Three hundred thousand.”

”I should be better bid now,” Lancet whispered. He was about to raise his hand when Spectra suddenly grabbed his wrist with bruising force.

Lancet looked at her, startled. Her face was still locked on the sight of the catalyst. She had an expression that said something was wrong. ”Wait,” she said to him.

Lancet frowned in confusion. ”What?”

Spectra still stared intensely at the glass cylinder. Lancet leaned closer, his heart pounding. ”Spectra? What’s wrong?”

Her grip tightened painfully around his wrist. ”I cannot feel it.”

Lancet glanced toward the necklace, his eyes narrowing. Spectra pulled off her sunglasses, her crimson eyes still fixed dearly on the necklace. ”There is nothing. I feel nothing completely, Lancet.”

Lancet’s stomach dropped out. ”What do you mean?”

Spectra finally looked at him, her voice falling dead quiet. ”It’s not my necklace.”

Lancet stared at her, horrified.

Spectra looked back at the Sacramenta in the glass cylinder. ”It’s a fake.”