Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Chapter 212: Next Is A One-on-One Combat Tournament!

Leslie Letterknight was the first to step into the center. The arena quieted, ready to watch a display rather than a fight. Her boots tapped softly against the platform floor as she crossed to the open floor, pale hair catching the light from above.

The other representatives remained where they were for the moment, watching her with the same expectation everyone else had.

Kasto leaned slightly toward Lancet and Anita and muttered, "I wonder what she’s going to do."

Lancet kept his eyes on Leslie. "Something cold, probably."

Kasto looked at his smartass of a friend.

On the field, Leslie raised one hand. Ice spilled from her palm in a clear, glittering stream.

It did not burst or roar like ordinary magic. It poured out with controlled purpose, gathering in a thick, precise flow that spread across the floor and climbed upward in shaped layers.

The first forms were only rough outlines; two massive legs, knees, then thighs. As she continued, it started to look like a man’s trousers rising out of the frost.

The crowd leaned in, starting to murmur in the silence. Leslie’s skill was undeniable. She was sculpting with ice, guiding it. With her hand in a straight position, it was clear that all of the control was coming from her mind.

She was building a sculpture offhand with such craftsmanship.

By the time the ice had climbed to the waist, then to the chest, everyone in the arena had started to realize what she was building. More than a few heads turned toward the golden table above the field.

Dr. Helagreem Pastop sat there, a smile on his face as he too understood what was happening. The sculpture rose higher with perfect proportions, the torso broadening, the shoulders taking form, the line of the coat and collar becoming unmistakable.

For most of the sculpting, Leslie’s expression remained intensely focused, but there was no strain in her face, only concentration so deep it looked serene.

Lancet watched the ice take shape in layers so fine they almost seemed alive. The edges sharpened under Leslie’s command. The folds of fabric appeared where there had been none. The legs became tailored. The arms emerged. The face followed last, and when the final features settled into place, there was no doubt left in anyone’s mind who the statue represented.

Dr. Helagreem.

Standing tall in ice, dignified and strangely regal.

Leslie lowered her hand, then lifted it again and sent a delicate burst of frost into the air. Tiny flecks drifted downward like an artificial snowfall, ice rain glittering over the sculpture and across the arena floor. The entire display shimmered under the suspended light, making the frozen likeness seem sacred.

Dr. Helagreem could only smile.

The announcer’s voice cut through the appreciative silence. "Marvelous! What a graceful demonstration of manipulation, control, and order!"

The crowd broke into applause.

Leslie bowed, a proud smile touching her lips as she accepted it. Even Phiodor, from his place near the academy table, began to clap slowly, a satisfied expression settling across his face.

Leslie had just done exactly what he expected from her.

She stepped back into line, giving the floor to the next representative.

"Flattery," Lancet thought out loud, "smart move. She’ll definitely get high points from Dr Helagreem now."

Renan Falconhart was called forward.

Of course the crowd reacted before he even moved.

He stepped into the center with that same effortless calm Lancet had already seen too many times, Black Gale at his side, wind tugging at his cape.

For a combat class like Specialists, the competition was already difficult. Display-based trials naturally favored those with obvious elemental spectacle.

Take the Elementalists for example. They could pour fire and lightning into the sky. Enchanters could bend minds and Grace with elegant force, and even Summoners, when allowed to use their actual summons, could create impossible scenes.

Specialists had to be more careful. Their strength lived in execution, not necessarily in visible wonder.

But Renan was still Renan.

He drew Black Gale and the field seemed to tighten around him.

He began with the sword.

One swing, then another, then a sequence so clean and controlled that each movement carved invisible lines into the air.

The blade moved with brutal elegance, and with every slash he layered in a heavenly skill that made the motion glow with concentrated silver light. He did not rush. He did not overexplain himself with spectacle. He simply showed mastery.

Black Gale arced, creating a flash of silver, and the force of the strike split a stone marker across the arena in two. Another slash and a narrow line of heavenly pressure burst up from the floor in a clean vertical ribbon.

He pivoted, the sword turning in his hand as if it were an extension of his own breath, and then he struck again. It was faster this time, with such perfect control that the air recoiled from the pressure.

Then he layered in something deeper.

The heavenly light around him brightened, and he moved with a speed that made the crowd rise in their seats. One sequence followed another, each one cleaner than the last, until it was no longer just swordsmanship being displayed.

It was combat intelligence, precision, and total mastery of body and weapon working together. He could have stopped at a level that already would have impressed any spectator.

Instead he kept going until the students in the front rows had started standing, applauding what they were witnessing.

Lancet stared. ’How can I ever beat that?’ he thought.

Renan had made something brutally difficult look inevitable.

When he finished, the applause rose louder than before. Renan lowered Black Gale and returned to his line as if he had merely completed a class exercise.

The announcer praised his control of the sword as the greatest sword magic and skill he’d ever seen. "Even the greatest of Swordsmasters couldn’t reach that level! A true Falconhart!"

Amira Vineheart stepped next.

The Arcanist lifted her hand, and the air around her changed texture. Grace was usually treated like fuel, like force, like the invisible medium through which spells were made and subjects were controlled.

As an Arcanist, Amira could control Grace itself, not just use it to control other things.

The energy around her thickened into visible streams, bright and fluid. It had a pale golden glow, translucent and sparkly like the entire field had been submerged in a luminous current.

She moved one hand, and the Grace around her twisted in response, obeying her with eerie exactness. A second motion and the energy gathered into bands, then arcs, then a layered spiral that wrapped around her without touching her.

She guided it like a conductor shaping music, then turned sharply and sent it surging outward in a rush that made the boundary markers tremble.

She formed creatures running around a jungle with stars and a moon, then a silver ocean flowing in between. The display was uncanny.

The crowd, at first confused, slowly realized what they were seeing and started applauding in louder waves, because the sight of someone controlling the world’s magic substance as though it were an element was impossible to ignore.

But Amira did it better than most of them had seen.

The announcer had lost himself in the display that he forgot to comment after she was done. He apologized and described her display as resplendent and inspiring.

Then Min Tu Akaran stepped into the center for Summoner-D.

She did not enter with the flashiest presence, nor the most dramatic one, but the instant her skeleton army began to manifest, the entire mood of the arena shifted.

Bones rose from the floor in a clatter of white and gray, assembling into an ordered host moving with purpose even before she gave them a command.

Then, Min Tu ordered them into formation.

And the skeletons snapped into formation.

At once.

The crowd gasped as they formed a shield wall in a perfect circular ring, overlapping shields locking together into an iron-tight dome while the outer ranks advanced with spears angled outward and the inner ranks kept swords ready.

She ordered them into another formation.

Suddenly, the formation split and rearranged itself again, the soldiers shifted into a triangular wedge that pushed forward like a disciplined spearhead.

She ordered them again and they opened into a wider attack structure, archers leaping up onto the shoulders of sword-bearers so they could fire in unison over the advancing line, arrows releasing in a synchronized volley that looked like something drawn from a military history textbook.

"Advance!" Min Tu ordered.

The shield bearers moved outward and the whole formation curved into a circular push, advancing like a rotating machine of bone and steel, every skeleton moving in perfect response to her commands.

Shields covered the front, spears guarded the flanks, swords held the center, and the archers leapt from one rank to another to keep firing as the army advanced in flawless order.

It was not just power. It was discipline and strategy, and proof that she had full control of these skeletal soldiers, and there was complete order amongst them.

Dr Helagreem’s eyes widened.

"That is just excellent," he commented to an administrator beside him. "That would break a real army open."

The crowd agreed. They were already shouting and clapping by the time Min Tu raised a hand and her skeletons dissolved back into the floor with eerie obedience.

When Class Group-D finished, the later groups followed in their turn. Class Group-C and Class Group-B both delivered their own displays, each one strong enough to keep the competition close, though the tension in the stands made it obvious the earlier performances had set the standard.

By the time everyone had finished, the scores were nearly neck and neck.

[ Elementalists : 3400 ]

[ Enchanters : 3250 ]

[ Specialists / Summoners : 3050 ]

The announcer waited for the applause to settle before speaking again, his voice bright with anticipation. "And there you have it! By tomorrow, after Class Group-A and Class Group-S complete their displays, we will finally have a clear winner for this challenge!"

The crowd buzzed at that, still comparing the performances, still talking over one another about Leslie’s ice statue, Renan’s terrifying precision, Amira’s control of Grace, and Min Tu’s disciplined dead army.

Then the announcer’s voice changed.

"But before we conclude today, the next administrator has selected the next challenge for all of you to prepare for."

The entire arena went quiet again.

"Next is a One-on-One Combat Tournament!"

A reaction of gasps and cheers followed immediately.

Kasto straightened at once, Anita turned sharply toward him, and even the people who had been half-distracted a second before were now fully locked in on the announcement.

Lancet’s eyes widened. ’One-on-one combat?’

He immediately looked up toward the golden table.

Headmistress Danistasia was seated there, looking down at him with the faintest curve to her dark cold lips, her expression cool and unreadable and entirely too satisfied.

Lancet stared back at her.

He knew without a doubt that it was her who chose that challenge.