Shane withdrew his consciousness from the Book of Heroic Spirits; he'd basically got the gist of this reward.
"And I can bank the permissions? Nice. No need to use them right away—pretty humane," he murmured with a hint of relief. Then, without hesitation, he burned through every permission on the spot.
Hard-earned rewards should be converted into real power immediately.
Letting them sit is the biggest waste.
"Use two Depth Increase permissions!"
At his command, the Book gave a faint shudder. Ripples seemed to spread through his vision as the formless "Spirit Pool" briefly took shape in his perception.
He "saw" the invisible waterline drop two whole notches with two deep, resonant hums—diving into an older stratum.
"Next," he didn't pause, turning his thought again, "use Filter Summoned Spirit Traits permissions as well!"
The text on the page flowed and lit with a soft glow.
Several icons of different shapes lit up, hovering before him. At the same time, the specifics of trait filtering surfaced clearly in his mind.
Two main categories jumped out first.
"Classes, huh…" Shane's gaze moved across the lit icons as he read them under his breath:
Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Assassin, Berserker.
Basically the mainstream classes of history.
When he tried to scroll farther, he noticed a few icons still dim, not yet unlocked.
Two silhouettes were barely recognizable: one looked like a jester glancing to either side, the other like a saintly figure with a staff.
"Not enough permissions to pick these?" he guessed, but didn't dwell on it. He skipped the locked items and focused on the other category.
A hazy slider woven from light and shadow unfurled beside him.
One end shone with gentle, pure radiance—an extreme of Order · Good;
the other pooled with a dark, unruly purple—an extreme of Chaos · Evil.
This was the alignment scale of a Heroic Spirit, which Shane could set at will.
Below that were many more entries displayed by name but locked out:
Heaven, Earth, Man, Dragon, Beast, Star… the "attribute" types of legend.
Those would take at least three trait-filter permissions before he could choose among them. For now, they were sealed.
So he only skimmed them and turned back to what he could set.
"Hoo…" He drew a long breath and weighed his options.
Who knew when the next trial would complete.
First, alignment. He didn't want to summon a zealot with values diametrically opposed to his own—someone impossible to communicate with.
Extremes of "good" or "evil" tend to be contagious. Each summon would immerse him in that spirit's legend and memories; if he slipped, their will might tug at his own.
So either extreme could mean needless trouble.
After a moment, he set the pointer right at center on the slider.
Shane didn't see himself as a pure saint. For survival and goals, he didn't reject using a few extreme methods. But he had a bottom line.
So a spirit grounded in the middle of the worldly spectrum—unbound by rigid good or evil—would likely suit him better.
Next: class.
Caster…
His eyes lingered there first.
On paper, in a world where magic is mainstream, summoning a magic-savvy Caster would be the fastest way to learn and fit into the system.
But one detail in the Book's notes gave him pause.
The Caster class worked in thaumaturgy—"sorcery"—not "magic."
There seemed to be a fundamental difference.
Given this rare dive into the "limited banner," he didn't want to pick a class that might not fit the world's system.
"Mm. I'll wait to roll a Caster naturally and study it then."
His gaze slid over the rest and settled on one:
Saber.
According to the Book, among the seven basic classes, Saber is the most balanced overall—and often considered the strongest—especially with the highest Magic Resistance of any class.
In a world of magic, strong MR was a massive safety net.
"That's the one." He didn't hesitate. Final choice: Class—Saber. Alignment—Neutral.
The instant he fixed his will, the summon began.
Vmmm—!
A vast, indescribable force swept up from the "Spirit Pool."
It didn't act on the material world, yet in Shane's senses it kicked up a storm.
He "saw" the room warp and shift—the inn's walls and furniture faded like an old oil painting, replaced by a vivid, searing vision.
Fire.
Wildfire.
Flames roared up out of nothing around him—packed unnaturally tight, burning right against the borders of his space, forming a sealed field of flame.
The air shivered in the heat, making everything feel unreal. Waves of heat slapped his face with pinpricks of pain; the smell of scorching filled his nose, stealing his breath.
Beyond the burning, there was nothing.
He tried to move, but as before, his awareness could only follow as the scene changed.
The sea of blaze raged on—he didn't know how long…
Just as he felt his skin would char to cinders, all the fire and heat snapped inward—rushing madly into his open palm.
The burn faded at once. The room returned, plain as ever. As if it had been a hallucination.
Shane looked down at a dark-gold card lying there, warm to the touch.
On its face stood a sword-bearing silhouette—upright, silent, and austere.
"It worked… This is my Saber's answer?" he murmured, throat a little dry.
The fire-vision had felt too real.
Unlike the snowy waste he'd seen with Arash's summon, this time he'd felt the scorch on his skin—like he'd truly stood in a sea of fire.
"Does that mean this spirit is stronger—that the bleed-through into reality is deeper?" he mused, thrilled.
No surprise—burning two depth upgrades ought to pull something extraordinary.
Only, that boundless conflagration covered too broad a range. He searched his memory but couldn't place a Saber famous for a power tied that tightly to endless fire.
He tested a few guesses:
Nezha with his samadhi flames—known for a fire-tipped spear, but he has used swords, kind of adjacent;
a cherub from the Bible, bearing the "flaming sword that turns every way" to guard Eden;
Surtr, lord of Muspelheim in Norse myth, wielder of Twilight, a being of fire himself.
But none of them quite matched the vision's fire that burned all and fed on itself as kindling.
He shook his head—felt a bit forced.
"All right. Enough beating around it—let's see the answer."