The Extra's Rise

Cecilia and I exchanged looks, both of us caught in the same moment of realization.

Then the alarm blared again, shrill and urgent, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"The hell?" Cecilia cursed, already moving. A pulse of crimson mana wrapped around her in an instant, her nightgown vanishing as her battle attire materialized—an elegant yet practical ensemble of enchanted fabric, woven with defensive spells. The transformation was seamless, practiced. She'd clearly done this before.

Meanwhile, I was still in my sleepwear. Less battle-ready. More 'just woke up from a complicated romantic entanglement.'

"Is the Tower under attack?" I asked, scanning the hall outside. No immediate signs of destruction, no explosions, no robed figures chanting ominous incantations—yet. But the tension in the air was thick, heavy with an undercurrent of something… wrong.

Cecilia's eyes narrowed, glowing faintly as she expanded her mana sense. Then—

'I can feel it.'

Luna's voice slipped into my mind, sharp and focused.

And laced with something I hadn't expected.

Anger.

'What is it?' I asked.

The answer came almost immediately, dripping with contempt.

'Demons.'

I felt my heart stop.

'No. No, that shouldn't be happening.'

'Demons or contractors?' I asked, forcing my thoughts to stay steady.

'Contractors,' Luna responded.

I exhaled, but it didn't bring much relief. Bad, but not world-endingly bad.

Because if it had been an actual demon attack on the Tower, that meant things were happening far earlier than they had in the novel. That meant demons had breached Earth's defenses. That meant I wasn't ready.

And neither was anyone else.

But if it was the contractors—

My mind raced, pulling from what I knew. The Order of the Fallen Flame. A secretive cult that had emerged from the remnants of the Eastern Continent's Heavenly Demon Sect, the one that the First Hero himself had destroyed centuries ago.

They were supposed to be lurking in the shadows. Biding their time. Waiting.

But the fact that they were here, now—attacking the Tower of Magic of all places—meant that something had forced their hand.

And that was not good.

Cecilia must have seen something shift in my expression because she asked, "What should we do?"

I turned to her.

She was waiting for an answer. And, unfortunately, I didn't have a great one.

Because this wasn't a small-time raid.

This wasn't some minor incident where a couple of rogue mages had decided to cause trouble for sport. This was a Cult. And not just any Cult—one of the Five Great Cults.

Even though they had stayed quiet in history, their existence had never been in doubt. Their strength was undeniable. The Tower of Magic was formidable, but even they weren't immune to the threat posed by a well-organized Cult operating in secrecy.

And we?

We were strong—stronger than most students, even stronger than many high-level mages—but there was a very big difference between being strong and being ready.

And I had a very bad feeling that whoever had orchestrated this attack was a lot closer to the ready side of things.

Cecilia's crimson eyes locked onto mine, steady, expectant.

Waiting.

But for once, I didn't have a clear answer.

And that alone told me just how bad this was.

"The Tower is likely separated," I said, the words feeling heavier the moment they left my mouth.

"Separated?" Cecilia echoed, her brows furrowing.

"Yeah," I nodded, already piecing together the puzzle in my head. "The Tower of Magic is in Avalon—a stone's throw from the Imperial Palace, where your father, a Radiant-ranker, sits on the throne. There's no way an attack of this scale could happen unless the entire Empire was under siege."

Cecilia frowned, then gestured toward the window, where the city outside looked… entirely normal. No screaming citizens, no burning buildings, no panic in the streets. The skyline of Avalon still gleamed under the soft glow of mana-powered streetlights, and airships continued their usual, lazy drift through the sky.

"But it looks normal," she pointed out.

"It would," I said, tilting my head. "If they've locked us in with a high-level spatial isolation, then the outside world wouldn't see a thing. No alarms. No chaos. Nothing. After all, if your father even suspected something was wrong, he'd break this spell apart like a child snapping a twig."

Her eyes narrowed. "Even he can't detect it?"

I shook my head. "He doesn't push his senses toward the Tower on a normal day—why would he? Archmage Charlotte is here. As far as he's concerned, this place is one of the most fortified locations in the Empire."

"Makes sense," she murmured, crossing her arms. "So they're using that against us."

"Exactly," I nodded. "But this isn't a spell, not in the conventional sense. A spell of this magnitude, sustained over such a vast area, would require constant energy input—layers upon layers of runic reinforcement. No, this is a constructed anomaly—a fabricated pocket of altered space-time anchored to a physical core. And that means..."

She blinked. "It can be disrupted if we find the core."

"Now you're getting it."

Cecilia exhaled, processing the information. "Can we do that?" she asked, her voice carrying the barest hint of hesitation.

I licked my lips, my mind already shifting gears.

And then I closed my eyes.

And I imagined.

The Tower's structure, each floor's dimensions, the number of mages inside, their likely positions, the spatial anchors that could feasibly sustain an isolation of this magnitude.

'Where would I hide the core?'

I pictured the layers of mana flowing through the Tower, the unseen threads connecting its foundation to the rest of Avalon. If the isolation field was truly seamless, that meant it wasn't being cast—it was being held in place. And for that to happen, the core had to be physically present within the Tower itself.

I filtered through possible locations, running calculations in my head, mapping out potential energy sources. The reactor? The library's archive circuits? No—too obvious. The sub-reactor stabilizer? Possible, but it would require constant maintenance—too much risk for the cultists if something went wrong.

That left one place.

"...I need to change first," I muttered, sighing as I snapped back to reality.

Cecilia, who had been watching me with a mix of fascination and exasperation, narrowed her eyes. Then, without warning, she flicked her fingers—a ripple of crimson mana coiling around me. My sleepwear instantly vanished, replaced with my battle-ready clothes, clean and pressed as if I had just stepped out of a training session.

I blinked.

She smirked.

"Useful power," I muttered, rolling my shoulders, feeling the fresh weight of my gear settling onto my frame.

Cecilia shrugged. "You should be grateful. I saved you time."

"Yeah," I deadpanned. "And nearly gave me a heart attack in the process."

She grinned. "Consider it an early battle test."

I shook my head, already refocusing. The moment for jokes was brief, and now we had work to do. The Tower was cut off, the enemy was entrenched, and time was running out.

"Let's go," I said, stepping forward without hesitation.

Cecilia fell in beside me, her mana still humming faintly in the air like the afterglow of a dying star. We stepped out into the corridor of the 100th floor, where, unsurprisingly, we found the only other person who lived here.

Rose.

She was already alert, auburn eyes scanning our movements. "Arthur," she said, straightening as she caught sight of us. "What's happening?"

I didn't waste time. I summarized everything—the isolation of the Tower, the spatial lock that even the Emperor himself wouldn't sense, the Order of the Fallen Flame making their move right under our noses.

By the time I finished, her expression had darkened considerably.

"We need to move," I said, glancing between the two of them.

Both girls nodded without hesitation.

But before they could take a step, I lifted a hand. "Not up, though."

They stopped.

Cecilia frowned. "What?"

"Think," I said, glancing toward the wide, open corridor leading to the rest of the floor. "We're on one of the highest floors of the Tower. That means the cultists who matter—the strong ones, the ones who've surpassed the Wall—will come here first." I let that hang in the air for a moment. "And right now, we're not ready for that."

Rose exhaled sharply. "So, you're saying—"

"We go down," I finished. "To a lower floor. Somewhere less obvious, less immediately fatal."

Cecilia crossed her arms, considering it. "And how do we do that? Because I don't think the elevators are going to be particularly cooperative right now."

I smirked.

And called forth a shadow.

"Erebus."

A spatial rift ripped open beside me, dark mist curling outward as a skeletal form stepped into existence. Erebus, my Lich, emerged from the swirling abyss, his empty eye sockets flickering with dark mana. His bony fingers curled as he straightened, tilting his skull slightly in my direction.

"Master," he intoned, voice a whisper of ancient death and cold logic. "I can smell the stench of miasma in this place."

"I know," I said.

Cecilia and Rose stood still, watching. Erebus, even in his suppressed form, was… unsettling.

I turned back to him. "We need to teleport—the three of us—down to a lower floor."

The Lich tilted his head further, as if tasting the air. "Master," he said slowly, "it is not possible for me alone. The Tower's wards—"

"I know," I interrupted. "I'm not asking you to do it alone." Find your next read at My Virtual Library Empire

His glowing sockets locked onto mine, understanding flashing in his ancient gaze.

I turned to Cecilia next, extending a hand toward her. "Cecilia, give me your Witchcraft."

She didn't hesitate.

She reached out, pressing her palm against mine. Crimson mana, deep and rich like molten blood, flowed through our connection. I pulled it into myself, felt it change as it passed through me—warping, shifting, harmonizing as it turned silver beneath the influence of my Gift.

Lucent Harmony.

I exhaled, adjusting to the rush of foreign mana merging with my own.

Then, I looked back at Erebus. "Now, you."

The Lich bowed low, dark mist unfurling from his form as his mana joined the swirling pool of magic between us. His power—tainted with the remnants of undeath—wrapped around Cecilia's Witchcraft and my Lucent Harmony, intertwining in a way that shouldn't have been possible.

Ordinarily, the Tower of Magic's anti-teleportation wards were absolute.

But right now?

They had already been weakened by the cult's spatial lock.

And between the three of us—my harmonization, Cecilia's Witchcraft, and Erebus's knowledge of the abyss—we had just enough leverage to break through.

The air shuddered as the spell took shape.

Rose tensed, watching as reality itself rippled around us. "Will this actually work?"

I gave her a small, sharp grin. "We'll find out in three seconds."

Then the spell activated—and the world shattered around us in a burst of silver, crimson, and black.