The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice

.

.

The fire had died down. The camp was silent.

Your journey continues on My Virtual Library Empire

Caspian lay in his tent, staring at the ceiling.

His mind drifted.

The Redmonds were the ones who tried to kill me.

One of his goals had always been to crush them. To make them pay.

And now? Now, their heir was sitting by his fire, stealing his food, laughing like old times.

Caspian exhaled.

I should distance myself from her.

When the time comes, she'll probably be standing against me.

…Right?

He closed his eyes.

Leave it.

That's a problem for the future.

And with that, he let sleep take him.

__________

[POV: Fianna Redmond]

Fianna sat outside, watching the dying embers of the fire.

Her hands were still warm.

Her chest felt… weird.

Not bad. Not good. Just—strange.

He's alive.

It was a thought she still wasn't used to.

For nine years, Caspian Arcwright had been a ghost.

She had tried not to think about him, to move forward as a Redmond should.

But now?

Now, he was here.

And her mind wouldn't shut up.

What kind of feeling is this?

She didn't know.

---

A cold wind swept through the darkened forest.

Fianna slowed her pace, fingers tightening around the hilt of her blade.

"I feel something," she murmured.

Caspian, walking beside her, barely moved his head. But his senses sharpened.

She's right.

It wasn't just one. It wasn't just two.

At least five presences lurked nearby.

They were being hunted.

Neither of them spoke.

Instead, they kept moving.

Then—

A voice.

Casual. Unbothered. Right beside them.

"Oh! Hi guys."

Caspian and Fianna froze.

The voice didn't belong to a friend.

From the darkness, six figures emerged.

They weren't ordinary students.

The moment they stepped into the dim light, their presence shifted the air itself.

A suffocating pressure settled.

They were strong.

Caspian's gaze flicked across them, memorizing every detail in seconds.

Six of them. Evenly split.

Three on him. Three on Fianna.

They didn't speak. Didn't taunt.

They just moved.

A single step forward—then they attacked.

Caspian barely had time to breathe before they were on him.

A strike from the left—a jagged short sword cutting through the air, aimed straight for his ribs.

He twisted. The blade scraped against his coat, missing by a hair's breadth.

A second attacker, faster, capitalized on the opening. A straight punch, loaded with force, came crashing toward him.

Caspian raised his arm—too slow.

BAM!

The impact hit like a sledgehammer, knocking him back a step.

Before he could recover, a third figure lunged from behind, weapon already descending.

The only choice—dodge.

He threw himself to the side, rolling over the dirt as the blade buried itself into the ground where his skull had been a second ago.

They weren't just strong.

They fought with absolute precision.

There was no wasted movement.

Caspian exhaled.

This is bad.

On the other side—

Fianna was faring no better.

CLANK!

Her first clash sent sparks flying as her blade met another.

BAM!

A kick slammed into her stomach. She staggered—but didn't fall.

The second attacker struck low. She dodged, barely, but it left her open.

The third came from behind.

She spun—too late.

A fist collided with her ribs.

Pain exploded through her side, and she gritted her teeth, swallowing the sharp gasp threatening to escape.

They weren't playing.

Caspian and Fianna were strong. But this?

This was something else.

In mere seconds, they were being overpowered.

Their movements, their responses—it wasn't enough.

And the six surrounding them knew it.

They weren't just attacking.

They were breaking them down.

Testing them.

And if Caspian was right—

They weren't even fighting seriously yet.

This is the first real battle.

And they were losing.

No.

Overpowered.

That was the only way to describe it.

Caspian's every movement—every dodge, every counter—felt just a second too slow.

Every time he tried to create distance, they were already there.

Every time he tried to strike back, their defense held firm.

Their coordination was flawless.

And it was working.

Another attack came.

The one on his left—a kick snapping toward his ribs.

He barely managed to block, but the force rattled his bones.

The second opponent—a blur of motion. No wasted movement, just speed.

He darted behind Caspian, using the first attack as cover.

A slash aimed at his back.

Caspian twisted, but the blade bit into his coat.

Pain flared, but he ignored it.

The third—strength. Pure, brute force.

He moved in with a heavy overhead strike, leaving no room to breathe.

Caspian had no choice but to dodge.

Again.

Again.

Again.

It wasn't just a fight.

It was a lesson.

One they were forcing him to learn.

And for the first time in a long time—

Caspian Arcwright was losing.

His breath came heavy. His muscles screamed.

I need to think.

No, more than that—I need to adapt.

He focused—not on their attacks, but on them.

The first one—his weapon wasn't a blade. It was his legs.

The second one—agility. Magic. A predator that struck at weak points.

The third—strength.

Three different styles.

Three different weapons.

And then—a simple, chilling realization.

'What's my weapon?'

He gritted his teeth.

His body wasn't the fastest.

His magic wasn't the strongest.

He didn't have an overwhelming skill like Fianna's flames.

For a split second, hesitation crept in.

'Am I—missing something?'

Then, in the middle of that storm of doubt, a single thought struck like a blade to the skull.

I have no weapon.

And yet—

A slow smirk curled on his lips.

'Oh! Fuck'

I just realised I am above average in everything, there is no particular area in which I am good.

A low exhale.

'Firstly Focus,'

This wasn't a battle of force.

It was a battle of patterns.

The next time the kicker lunged, Caspian didn't dodge.

He stepped in.

The man's leg shot out—

Caspian met him mid-motion.

His arm coiled like a viper— and caught the man's ankle before the kick could land.

A second later, Caspian turned—fast.

THUD!

And slammed the kicker into the ground with a brutal twist.

One down.

The speedster was already moving, trying to punish the momentary victory.

A blur of motion—his blade carving toward Caspian's shoulder.

Caspian didn't back off.

He had already seen the attack before it came.

At the last second—he moved.

A small, calculated sidestep.

And in that moment, the speedster's own momentum betrayed him.

Too much speed. Not enough room to stop.

Caspian's fist shot forward—not for a punch.

For the speedster's wrist.

~Moment of Inertia technique

A perfect catch.

The blade flew from the man's grip.

And into Caspian's free hand.

Two down.

Only the brute remained.

And Caspian was already smiling.

For the first time since the fight started—

Caspian Arcwright was in control.

.

Meanwhile—Fianna burned.

Her movements were sharp, precise. But it wasn't enough.

They were forcing her back, pushing her limits.

And she could feel it.

The edge.

The threshold.

Her magic stirred—raging inside her.

Then—

Something snapped.

Heat erupted.

Fire crawled up her limbs, wrapping around her body in waves of crimson.

The air ignited, rippling with golden embers.

Her pupils—'once sharp blue—'now burned gold.

And in the reflection of her opponent's blade—

A phoenix stared back.

The next moment—she moved.

Her first strike wasn't dodged. It wasn't blocked.

It was too fast.

A trail of flames followed her blade as it carved through the air.

And for the first time—her enemies staggered.

She exhaled. Her voice was calm.

"You wanted a fight?"

The fire roared.

"Then come take it."

.

Caspian stole their strength. Fianna unleashed her own.

The balance had shifted.

The battle had just begun.