The Extra's Rise

Chapter 261: Reika Solienne (4)

His voice was smooth, hypnotic, but there was steel beneath it. A certainty that shouldn't have been possible for someone his age, someone who had walked the earth for such a brief time.

"Ouroboros will reach the absolute zenith of all guilds," he continued, each word falling like a hammer on an anvil, shaping something new, something dangerous. "The peak of the world itself. Give me your blood and sweat, and I will reward you with vengeance."

His expression darkened, shadows gathering around him like loyal servants, something dangerous flickering in his eyes—a glimpse of something vast and hungry that lived behind the human mask he wore.

"Because when I needed it," he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the entire room, "no one extended a hand to me."

Before I could respond, before I could even process the weight of his words, the sharp, metallic scent of blood hit my nostrils, stronger than before, overwhelming. It coated my tongue, filled my lungs, made me want to gag.

Arthur's expression darkened as he rose to his feet, the easy confidence in his posture never wavering, but something in his eyes changed—hardened, focused, like a blade being drawn.

My breath, however, hitched, caught on the edge of a silent scream.

I felt it.

Not just the presence, not just the mana—something deeper. A sensation that slithered through my body, clawing at the edges of my mind, digging up something I had long since buried beneath layers of denial and forced forgetfulness.

Fear.

Not the everyday fear of pain or failure. No, this was something older, something primal. The kind of fear that didn't just shake your hands or quicken your pulse, but unmade you, cell by cell, memory by memory, until there was nothing left but the animal need to escape, to run, to hide.

My nerves twisted, my muscles clenched, my very soul recoiled, trying to retreat from the physical confines of my body.

And I knew what it was.

Blood magic.

A foul, ancient power—vampiric in nature, honed to perfection over countless sacrifices. And it was coming from him, radiating outward in pulsing waves that seemed to distort the very air.

Bishop Vale stood there, his aura thick with it, suffocating, wrong, like breathing in shards of glass. His presence alone seemed to lower the temperature in the room, frost forming at the edges of my vision.

"You are dangerous," the Bishop mused, his gaze settling on Arthur, assessing, calculating the value of the life before him. "To use Carrie like that. To outmanoeuvre me while my attention was elsewhere. Dangerous, dangerous."

Each repetition of the word sent another spike of dread through me, another reminder that we were trapped here with a monster wearing human skin.

Then, his eyes narrowed slightly, predatory. "However, a part of your plan failed, didn't it?" The question hung in the air, edged with malice, with the promise of retribution.

Arthur tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable, a perfect mask. "Perhaps."

Then, without hesitation, without warning, he placed a hand on my shoulder, the touch sending a jolt through me.

And just like that—the fear lessened.

Not gone. Not entirely erased. But dulled, quieted, as if someone had stepped between me and the monster in the dark, as if a shield had been raised between my mind and the creeping horror that threatened to consume it.

My breath slowed. My body steadied. The room came back into focus, edges sharpening, colors brightening.

Even now, he was helping me.

How?

How was that possible?

The question echoed in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my skull, demanding an answer I couldn't provide.

"You truly are remarkable," the Bishop continued, watching Arthur like a scholar studying a rare specimen, like a butcher appraising meat. "Your mind, your schemes, your understanding of the game—impeccable."

Then his lips curled, revealing a flash of teeth too sharp, too numerous to be entirely human. "But your strength is lacking. Did you honestly think you could defeat me alone?"

Arthur exhaled, a soft sound that somehow carried more weight than it should have, shaking his head as if disappointed by the Bishop's lack of insight. "Normally? No."

"Not normally," the Bishop scoffed, his eyes gleaming with a hungry light, blood-red sparks dancing in their depths. "Not ever."

Arthur merely smiled.

A small, knowing smile that sent ice crawling up my spine.

The Bishop's brows twitched, the first crack in his composure, a hairline fracture in the façade of absolute control.

Arthur tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost playful. "But you're not at full strength, are you?" he said, his voice almost teasing, a child poking at a caged beast. "After dealing with Carrie, I imagine that took quite a bit out of you."

A flicker of something passed through the Bishop's expression, there and gone in an instant.

Annoyance?

Doubt?

Uncertainty?

It was brief, barely there, a shadow crossing the sun, but Arthur caught it. I knew he did. I could see it in the subtle shift of his posture, the almost imperceptible tightening of his grip on his sword.

The Bishop scowled, the expression transforming his features into something inhuman, something carved from hatred and hunger. "Enough!"

With a snarl that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building, his blood astral energy surged forward, a crimson tide of sheer destruction, roaring toward Arthur like a beast unleashed from ancient chains. The air itself seemed to scream, molecules tearing apart under the onslaught of power.

I opened my mouth to cry out, to warn him, the words burning in my throat—

But Arthur's lips curled further, his stance relaxed, almost welcoming.

And then—

The blood magic vanished.

Not dodged. Not countered. Not blocked.

Engulfed.

Swallowed whole by a vast, endless darkness that seemed to pour from Arthur's very being, a void so complete it seemed to devour light itself.

The silence that followed was absolute, pressing against my eardrums like a physical weight, like the moment before a storm breaks, when the world holds its breath in anticipation of the coming fury.

And in that silence, Arthur smiled.

And then—it appeared.

By Arthur's side, a figure rose from the shadows, its presence thick and heavy, pressing against the edges of reality itself.

A Lich.

A towering, robed monstrosity of bone and decay, its hollow sockets burning with an eerie, unnatural glow.

I had never seen one before. Most people hadn't. Liches were the stuff of legends, nightmare creatures spoken of in hushed voices, wielders of magic that defied life itself. And yet—

Here it was.

And it had been summoned by a boy two years younger than me.

Ridiculous.

My gaze snapped to Arthur. He stood there, unbothered, completely at ease in the presence of a creature that should not exist.

Did he want this?

A one-on-one against a Bishop of the Red Chalice Cult?

That wasn't just reckless. That was insanity.

I clenched my fists, my mind racing. The gap between them was massive—Vale was an Ascendant-ranker, a Bishop, someone who had climbed the ranks of a cult that had no room for weakness. He wasn't just strong. He was experienced. Refined.

Arthur was—what?

A sixteen-year-old prodigy with a dangerous amount of confidence?

"Do you not trust me?"

Arthur's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and sudden.

I blinked, caught off guard.

He smirked. "Don't worry. I wanted to kill this bastard myself anyway."

And then—his mana shifted.

Not gradually. Not subtly.

One moment, it was stable. The next, it doubled.

The sheer weight of it hit me like a wave.

'He's completed the second stage of the Integration process,' I realized.

That was no small feat. His mana had condensed, refined itself into something denser, something sharper.

But still—

Still—

"I won't wait any longer," Bishop Vale growled, his patience finally snapping. He raised his staff to the sky, blood astral energy twisting around him in thick, writhing tendrils.

Arthur tilted his head. "Well," he said, smiling, "your waiting gave me exactly the chance I needed to kill you."

I swallowed, my pulse hammering in my throat.

"Why don't you just leave me?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Why don't you just survive on your own?"

Arthur glanced at me, and in that instant, his expression softened—just slightly.

"Because it's not worth it," he said simply, "if I don't save you."

And then—

The space around them warped.