Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Chapter 194: Don’t Think It’ll Be That Easy!

"I-I’ve been meaning to talk to you, really," Lancet muttered, scratching the back of his neck as a wave of nervous sweat broke out under his collar. "But my Grace Channels were fractured until yesterday."

Astensia’s eyes remained narrowed. "I see."

Then, she turned her focus back to Renan. Explosively, she thrusted the flat of her massive golden greatsword forward. The force slammed directly into Renan’s chest piece, sending the Specialist leader flying several yards backward across the dirt.

She spun her blade then lowered it slightly to the side, the wind blowing her golden hair. "I hold no grudge against you, Renan Falconhart," she spoke like a knight. "But my master and I have urgent matters to discuss, so I would prefer to finish this quickly."

Renan skidded to a halt. He straightened up, his silver hair swaying as his expression darkened. "I respect you, Lady Astensia. But do not think that you can underestimate me."

Astensia tilted her head a little.

Determinedly, Renan gripped his hilt with both hands, and a silver and black tempest burst out of his sculpted body. "Sword Rage!"

Bright, volatile sword magic ignited along his steel blade, humming with a resonance that spoke of the mythical power of the blade.

Then, Renan launched himself forward, like a blue. He cleaved the air with the blade multiple times, which created waves of pure kinetic force that tore through the ground, aiming to overwhelm Astensia’s defenses in a single, desperate flurry.

Astensia remained in her position unmoved by the display. When the attacks stormed toward her, she parried every single one with precise, elegant micro-movements.

The sound of metal clashing echoed like rapid gunfire through the valley as she effortlessly deflected his high-tier skills, her golden greatsword moving like a fluid extension of her own arm.

Seeing the protagonist was successfully locked down, Lancet knew not to waste the opening. Getting into a fight with Renan was one of the last things he wanted.

He reached to his side and drew the Radiant Guillotine, the heavy weapon humming as it synced with his restored core. He eyed the newly claimed Specialist Territory — which used to belong to the Enchanters — where Logan and Sienna were holding their ground.

"Vera!" Lancet called out over his shoulder. "Keep me covered! Give me everything you’ve got!"

Vera nodded fiercely, slamming her twisted wooden staff into the earth. "On it!"

A vibrant emerald light erupted from her core as she channeled her high-tier druid arts. "Emerald!" she called.

Her Forest Stag appeared, purging out a green vitality that entered straight into her body. She extended her hands toward Lancet, shooting out thick, luminous green threads that latched directly onto his shoulders.

The threads pulsed rhythmically, flooding Lancet’s system with a continuous, rapid stream of health regeneration and offensive stat boosts.

Grinning, Lancet broke into a dead sprint toward the grove.

Renan noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and tried to pivot, desperate to intercept. "Stop there, Lancet" he shouted, attempting to break away from the duel.

But Astensia flashed across his line of sight, her greatsword arcing overhead and forcing Renan to abandon his pursuit and raise his blade to block.

The impact forced him down to one knee.

"Your opponent is right here," Astensia said coldly.

Renan looked up at her.

Lancet, meanwhile, was speeding towards the second Specialist-D territory.

Sienna spotted him charging across the open plain at terrifying speed. "Lancet’s coming," she warned Logan. "Get ready!"

She instantly nocked three heavy arrows at once, drawing her recurve bow string back to her ear. "Don’t think it’ll be that easy!" she yelled at Lancet, letting the projectiles fly.

The arrows whistled through the wind, tracing a lethal trajectory straight for his chest. Lancet’s eyes narrowed. "Flash Feet!"

The Phantom Ring went down a charge.

Lightning suddenly exploded beneath his boots, allowing him to sharply alter his direction mid-stride and push forward. The arrows thudded harmlessly into the dirt behind him.

As he closed the final gap into the trees, he began to prepare a blast of [ Thunder Ball ]

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the valley, the earth was literally tearing apart.

Thor Stormchild was on a relentless, brutal offensive against Morras. The Vanguard Knight was entirely entrenched behind his expanded Vanguard Domain shield, sweating profusely as his arms trembled under the weight of her assault.

Thor swung the Hammer of Force repeatedly, each impact echoing like a thunderclap against the legendary shield.

Vanguard Knights were well known for their defense. But this was a whole other level.

However, Thor was not planning on giving up any time soon. If there was one thing she enjoyed, it was a challenge.

"You think a piece of steel can keep out the storm?!" Thor bellowed, her ancient aura flaring to absolute maximum. She hoisted the warhammer high into the heavy gray clouds, drawing every stray spark of electricity in the valley into the weapon’s head.

"Thunder Crag Shatter!"

She brought the hammer down with cataclysmic force. Finally, the massive shield broke — not in half. Rather, it was shattered entirely into a million glittering dust particles.

Morras gasped, desperately drawing his short sword to mount a final, futile defense, but Thor’s follow-up horizontal swing caught him dead-center.

The concussive shockwave of thunder threw him backward. He found his feet, but Thor dragged her warhammer down, pulling a whip of deadly electricity that was sure to burn Morras into ash inside his armor.

So, the platform’s safety matrix quickly snatched the Vanguard Knight away into a white light extraction before the lightning whip could connect.

Back in the other territory, Lancet collided with the remaining Specialists. Sienna tried to panickedly adjust her bow for a point-blank shot, but Lancet was entirely too fast.

Combining lightning and gold sword magic, he executed a vicious cross-slash with the Radiant Guillotine. The blade sheared cleanly through her bow and struck her shoulder barrier. The safety matrix triggered immediately, enveloping Sienna in light and eliminating her first.

Renan, watching his entire team systematically vanish from the scoreboard, let out a desperate, furious roar.

He attacked, swinging right and left. "Heavenly Aura Slash!!"

A giant slash fell from the sky at Astensia, but she stepped aside, escaping by a hair’s breadth but not seeming perturbed at all.

Her footwork was a study of minimalism: weight redistributed, hip turning, eyes measuring the residual motion of his shoulders.

When he used Crescent Slash, she didn’t meet the crescent head-on; she let it wash past a hand’s breadth from her cheek and slipped the tip of her blade under Renan’s guard as it followed through.

The contact was a question and an answer. She tasted his intent and filed it away.

Renan didn’t stagger. He howled—part rage, part surprise—and turned the force into another gust. He pressed, a flurry of slashes that became a latticework of light around her.

He used Crescent Slash again, but repeated, a chain intended to crush any gap. He used a skill meant to break defenses by overwhelming them with brilliance.

Astensia read him like a page she’d skimmed before. She moved less and did more. A single sweep of her blade redirected the flow of a strike, angling Renan’s momentum into a useless arc.

When he tried to chain into a low, hooked blow to sweep her feet, she lifted her toe, rolled her ankle, and let the blade kiss the air beneath her heel.

The footwork sounded small, but it unmade his plan—the arc that should have severed balance instead found empty space and returned to Renan’s shoulder with a soft, obscene clatter.

He roared and lashed out with a new Skill: Ascendant Surge, a vertical pillar of light supposed to cleave the very heavens and force an opponent to split their guard.

The battlefield shook. Stones flaked from the mortar. Every instinct in the nearby field screamed to take cover.

Astensia closed her eyes for half a breath. It wasn’t because she was afraid; it was to let the world fall into its necessary rhythm so she could place the correct counter.

She stepped through the core of his surge as one steps through rain: not fighting the drop but accepting passage. Where his blade tried to divide, she thrust a finger of steel through a seam in his stance and with the other hand—an impossible, balletic motion—tipped the haft of her sword against his wrist.

Renan felt it the way a man feels a hand on his throat: the suddenness of being controlled. His surge lost its vertical purity, yawing into crookedness, and in that crookedness the very edge of his aura splintered, dispersing into harmless sparks.

He staggered back, breath shredded, and for the first time his eyes widened with a private calculation: this wasn’t merely prowess; this was mastery over his form.

"She’s too powerful," Renan groaned under his breath. "I still... ngh... I still have a long way to go before I reach her level."

He got up and spun the Black Gale. "But I’m not going to stop trying!"

Renan recovered with something harder: cunning. If raw power failed, he would bait. He feinted left then spun through with a low undercut that sought the tendons at her knee.

He had learned how to make the Black Gale not just effective but deceptive: turning it into an afterimage, a smear meant to hide the true strike.

It would have felled lesser foes.

Astensia Valengard was no lesser foe.