The Extra's Rise

Isolde watched me for a long moment, her fingers tapping idly against the armrest of her chair. Then, without a single flicker of visible mana, her voice slipped directly into my mind.

'You needn't concern yourself with your body being reclaimed by its original soul. It's yours now.'

I tensed instinctively. Not because of what she'd said—but because of how she said it. The connection was seamless, effortless. Even Luna had to push her voice into my thoughts. Isolde had simply been there, like a shadow slipping into place behind me.

Out loud, she sighed and leaned back against the chair, a perfectly casual gesture meant to be seen by Alastor, who was no doubt still monitoring from outside.

"You remind me of someone," she mused, her tone light, reflective. "It's unnerving, really."

A distraction. A smokescreen.

'Your soul is fully anchored, stronger than the remnants that lingered before you.' Her telepathic voice was smooth, laced with the same detached amusement she had used earlier. 'There will be no sudden repossession. No past self clawing back control. You are Arthur Nightingale now, whether you like it or not.'

I had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made something ease in my chest. Not that I was about to let my guard down. Not with her.

"Are you here to change things?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her words still aimed at whatever unseen audience was watching.

'That being said,' her voice continued in my mind, utterly unfazed by my wariness, 'you are on a path that will challenge you soon. If you intend to reach mid-Integration rank, you'll need to achieve something known as Sword Resonance.'

Sword Resonance. I'd heard the term before, but I hadn't yet considered what it would take to achieve it.

'Resonance requires the Soul Aspect,' Isolde continued, her mental voice crisp, efficient. 'And that will be your first real trial. The body can be strengthened, mana refined. But the soul? That is a different matter entirely.'

I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression neutral, playing along with her little act.

"Change things?" I said aloud, letting some amusement slip into my voice. "You make it sound like I'm some kind of revolutionary."

Isolde smiled. "Aren't you?"

'When the time comes,' she continued mentally, 'you will have to face a trial.'

That sounded… ominous.

"And what do you think I am changing?" I asked, watching her carefully.

She chuckled lightly, waving a hand. "Oh, nothing too grand. The world, perhaps."

Alastor was no doubt listening. This entire spoken conversation was for him. A meaningless dance of words designed to give the illusion of casual intrigue.

But the real conversation—the one that mattered—was happening in silence.

'Your sword will never reach its full potential without Resonance,' she pressed. 'And without it, you will never reach what lies beyond.'

Sword Resonance wasn't just a requirement. It was a threshold.

I understood now.

I would have to undergo a trial.

A trial of the soul.

And Isolde, somehow, already knew it.

Isolde fell silent, her gaze drifting back to the window as if our conversation had never happened. No dramatic farewells, no cryptic final words—just a quiet, measured stillness, like a machine powering down.

I turned to leave, but just as my hand reached for the door, her voice slipped into my mind one last time.

'Take care of my daughter, Arthur.'

This time, her tone was different. No detached amusement, no distant wisdom. There was something raw beneath it, something dangerously close to human.

'Even if she never forgives me,' Isolde continued, the weight of the words settling like a whisper on my soul, 'I wish for her to be happy.'

And then, nothing.

I stepped out of the room, the door shutting behind me with a finality that felt heavier than it should have.

Alastor was waiting, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "Well?" he asked.

I scratched the back of my head. "It was just… useless," I said, feigning mild disappointment.

Alastor exhaled sharply. "Yeah," he muttered. "Figured as much."

A lie.

A man like Alastor Creighton didn't hope for things. He calculated, planned, expected. And yet, despite everything, some part of him must have believed Isolde would say something—anything—that would make sense of the past eleven years.

Instead, all she'd wanted was to speak with me. Not her husband. Not her daughters.

Me.

Why?

That question curled around my thoughts like smoke.

And then there was what she had said at the end.

Take care of Rachel.

Not a request. Not a command. Just… something she needed to say.

And that was the problem.

Because if she had truly gone mad, if she had lost herself completely, then why had those words carried the weight of a mother's love?

I glanced at Alastor. "Sorry," I said.

He waved a hand dismissively. "No need to be. I wasn't expecting much."

Another lie.

I didn't press.

Instead, I let the thought settle, uncomfortable and quiet:

Isolde Creighton hadn't hurt Rachel because she had lost her mind.

She had done it because she had to.

There had been a reason.

I didn't know what it was.

But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Whatever had happened that night—whatever had driven Isolde to do the unthinkable—it hadn't been because she didn't love her daughter. Continue your journey with My Virtual Library Empire

It had been because she did.

There's something else, though, I thought, letting the realization settle.

Isolde had confirmed it—this body was mine now. Not borrowed, not occupied, not something that could be snatched back by some long-lost original owner. That door was shut, locked, and bolted, and if a past version of Arthur was floating around in some ethereal waiting room, well… tough luck for him.

And Isolde wasn't just some half-baked fortune teller peddling vague prophecies to the gullible. She was a seer—one who outclassed Luna, which was saying something, because Luna wasn't exactly lacking in the supernatural insight department. Isolde had seen right through me in a way that bordered on absurd.

Which meant…

I no longer had any excuses.

'When the second year begins, I'll confess,' I thought, exhaling heavily.

And then, an even heavier thought hit me square in the face.

'Am I actually forming a harem?'

I let that sit for a moment, as if I could somehow blink it out of existence. No luck. The thought remained, smug and inescapable. Not just any harem, mind you, but one consisting of princesses—plural—and a Count's daughter. The kind of thing that should have been some ridiculous, over-the-top fantasy scenario, not my actual, growing reality.

Sure, my current standing wasn't bad—I was Rank 1 among Mythos Academy's first years, Li Zenith's disciple, and generally considered a rising force in the world. But having status was one thing. Having enough power to keep it was another. And if I wanted to walk a path where I could seriously consider relationships with all of them, I needed more than just talent. I needed power.

A lot more power.

'That's a problem for future me,' I decided, shaking my head.

But there was something I couldn't push off.

I needed to confess.

The thought made my ears burn. It wasn't that I was afraid—well, maybe a little—but mostly, it was the sheer weight of it. I had made a promise to respect their feelings, and that meant being honest about mine.

Except… how exactly did one confess to four different girls? At the same time?

Would they even want that?

I couldn't just assume they'd be fine sharing me, and I had no intention of forcing anything. If any of them wanted exclusivity, I'd have to respect that. Even if it meant difficult choices down the line.

The very idea of anyone else trying to date them made something uncomfortable twist in my chest. Which, yes, was hypocritical, but I wasn't going to pretend otherwise.

'I never liked harems in the first place,' I thought, clicking my tongue.

And yet, here I was. Living in one.

'How the hell did Lucifer manage this mess?' I wondered. Because if there was a guidebook on navigating this kind of situation without blowing everything up, I had not been given a copy.

After a long moment of overthinking, a different thought slipped in—one that actually made sense.

'No, it's not quite time for a confession yet.'

I couldn't rush into something like this blindly.

So for now, I had to wait.

'Till the beginning of the second year.'