Beyond the Script: The Extra Who Stole the Mangakyo

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Ghost of the Blade

I awoke to the eerie silence of the cave, the weight of the red katana still comforting in my grasp. My body throbbed with exhaustion, and every inch of me reminded me of the brutal battle I'd just survived. As I sat up against the cold stone wall, I couldn't help but run my fingers along the hilt of the katana. Its deep red sheen pulsed softly, as if it contained a living heartbeat. I'd been told—or rather, the legends whispered—that weapons like these weren't simply forged; they were born of passion, sacrifice, and the echoes of a master long past.

Still dazed, I focused my Sharingan on the blade. Suddenly, the cave's dim light shifted, and before my eyes, an image began to form—a translucent figure, as if woven from the very shadows of the cavern. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, a remnant of my fading consciousness. But the figure grew clearer, taking on the unmistakable form of a katana master clad in ancient, flowing garments.

I blinked hard.

"Who—who are you?" I murmured, my voice a hoarse whisper amid the dripping echoes of the cave.

The apparition raised a hand in a graceful salute, and his eyes, glinting with a cool, unwavering resolve, met mine. In that moment, I realized I was witnessing the true master of the red katana—the legendary swordmaster whose name had been spoken of in hushed tones throughout the game's lore.

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The ghostly figure began to move, and I was transfixed. He drew his katana in a fluid motion that belied the weight of his weapon. With each step, his movements seemed effortless, as though he were one with the blade itself. The high-level weapon art he performed was unlike anything I'd ever seen—an intricate dance of slashes, parries, and feints that painted elegant arcs in the air.

As he executed a series of moves, my Sharingan flared briefly, and I caught sight of what appeared to be an advanced, almost divine technique: a blinding, swirling motion of the blade that left afterimages in its wake—a technique that the legends called "Crimson moon Strike."

I felt an irresistible pull to learn. channeling every ounce of focus into memorizing the technique. I tried to mimic his movements with my own weapon, even as the ghost's figure continued its mesmerizing routine. Every swing, every pivot, was a lesson in perfect timing and precision.

For what felt like an eternity, I repeated his actions, my eyes locked on his phantom form. In that intense moment, my mind began to assimilate the high-level weapon art, as if the very essence of the master was being transferred into my soul. @@novelbin@@

A translucent bar appeared in my vision—an upgrade notification from my system.

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[New Weapon Art Acquired!]

Crimson moon Strike (Advanced Weapon Art - Katana)[5 star]

Proficiency: 1.2% (Beginner Level). [firstform]

[Other forms] (locked)

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I couldn't help but chuckle, a mix of disbelief and exhilaration bubbling inside me. "Not bad for an extra who's almost been killed," I muttered to myself. But, dear reader, let me tell you: mastering a technique like this isn't as simple as just watching an illusion. This was a high-level art that even the game's protagonist would eventually have to struggle to learn. And here I was, the discarded extra, managing to copy a fragment of the legendary master's style.

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As the spectral figure faded slowly into the blue-green glow of the cave, I allowed myself a moment to reflect on what I had just witnessed. The red katana in my hand wasn't merely a reward for defeating a monstrous beast—it was a relic of immense historical importance in the game. According to the legends I had pieced together from countless hours of gameplay and obscure lore, the red katana once belonged to Kurenai Shiro, the revered Swordmaster of the Crimson Dawn.

Kurenai Shiro was not only renowned for his peerless skill in wielding the blade but also for his role in uniting disparate factions during the Great Mana Wars. His legacy was woven into the fabric of the game's world—a symbol of hope and unyielding determination. Many heroes spoke of him in awe, and his weapon was said to carry the blood and spirit of its master, granting its wielder a fraction of his unmatched prowess.

In the grand narrative of the game, the hero eventually acquired an even more illustrious weapon—a blade forged in the fires of celestial combat, rumored to be imbued with the power of the stars. But, as I'd come to learn, every great hero's journey begins with small, significant steps. My acquisition of the red katana marked one such step—a stepping stone that would pave my way toward that ultimate, god-tier weapon someday.

I addressed you now directly, dear reader: if you're following my misadventures, know that every

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A Moment of Clarity

I spent a few moments alone in the cave, the silence punctuated only by the faint drip of water from the stalactites above. I held the red katana, marveling at its design. Its blade was etched with intricate runes that pulsed with a deep crimson light, a testament to its storied past. I ran my hand along the edge, feeling the cold steel and almost sensing the spirit of Kurenai Shiro himself.

Thehero of the game, destined for greatness, would eventually obtain weapons of mythic renown. His journey was a tapestry of strife and triumph, woven together with the threads of fate and sheer willpower. And while he would be handed his destiny on a silver platter, I had to fight tooth and nail to carve mine out for myself. Every stolen technique, every new skill copied, was a testament to my resolve.

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With newfound determination, I decided to test out the Crimson Phantom Strike in earnest. I found an open space near the cave's entrance, where the natural light filtered in and illuminated the rugged terrain outside. I took a deep breath, raised my red katana, and assumed the stance taught to me by the ghostly master.

I began slowly, first imitating the fluid motion of the illusion—a graceful arc of the blade accompanied by a subtle shift in my body's posture. I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations: the weight of the sword in my hand, the faint vibration of mana running along its length, the sound of my own heartbeat synchronizing with each measured swing.

Then, I unleashed the Crimson Phantom Strike.

In one seamless motion, I spun forward, the katana's blade slicing through the air in a dazzling display of speed and precision. The technique was a blend of feints, quick direction changes, and powerful, calculated strikes—a dance of death that seemed almost too beautiful to be real. For that brief moment, I felt as if I were channeling Kurenai Shiro himself, his legacy echoing in the reverberations of every swing.

I repeated the maneuver, pushing myself to infuse even more of my will and mana into each movement. Each attempt honed the skill further, and my system notified me of incremental progress.

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[Weapon Art Proficiency Update!]

Crimson moon Strike:( first form) Proficiency increased from 1.2% to 2.3%

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I grinned at the display, feeling the sweet rush of progress. "Not bad for an extra who's been fighting for his life," I murmured, the sarcasm evident even in the quiet of the mountainside. I looked directly at you, dear reader, as if sharing a secret: "Every fraction of progress counts. When you're clawing your way up from the bottom, a 1% improvement isn't just a number—it's a beacon of hope."