Extra's Revenge: Reincarnated As A Slave-Chapter 97: The Last Desgarron

Three days had passed since the night of fire and death.

Three days of martial law, of Category B Guards patrolling streets littered with rubble and bodies. Three days of investigators sifting through ruins, trying to piece together what had happened. Three days of funeral pyres burning throughout the city as the dead were counted and cremated.

The Desgarron estate—once a symbol of Noble power and prestige—now stood as a blackened scar against the skyline. The manor’s elegant architecture had been reduced to skeletal remains, walls collapsed, towers fallen, the beautiful gardens turned to ash.

The Coliseum fared no better.

What had been the city’s premier entertainment venue was now a crater surrounded by devastated blocks. Thousands dead, tens of thousands injured, and still the death toll was rising as rescuers found bodies buried under collapsed buildings.

But finally, after three days of chaos, something resembling order had been restored.

Category B Guards still maintained presence throughout the affected districts, but the immediate crisis had passed. The fires were out. The Undead had all been destroyed. The panic had subsided into a numbed, shocked grief.

And now, the survivors had to reckon with what remained.

The carriage bearing the Desgarron family crest rolled through the city streets, flanked by a full escort of armed guards. Inside, Amara Desgarron sat in silence, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her emerald eyes staring at nothing.

She had been traveling, returning home, when it happened. She’d left the manor healthy and whole, her family alive, her future secure.

And then the messages had come.

First: "Emergency in the city. Stay away."

Then: "The manor has been attacked. Status unknown."

Finally: "Your family is dead. You are the last of the Desgarron Main Family."

Amara hadn’t believed it at first.

She couldn’t believe it.

Her father was Lord Dreyfus Desgarron, a veteran of the frontlines, a tactical genius. Her mother was Lady Beatrice, politically savvy and well-connected. Her brother Augustus was ordinary and not talented, but he still had a bright future.

And, the Slave...

They couldn’t just be... gone.

But as her carriage approached what remained of her family’s estate, reality forced itself upon her with brutal finality.

The gates—once proud and imposing—had been torn down.

The walls were breached in multiple places. And beyond them, where the manor should have stood in all its Noble grandeur, there was only devastation.

The carriage stopped at what used to be the main entrance.

Amara didn’t move immediately.

She sat frozen, staring through the window at the ruins of her home, unable to process the scope of the destruction.

Her Main Attendant—Maria, who had served the Desgarron family for thirty years—gently touched her shoulder. "My lady. They’re waiting."

Slowly, as if moving through water, Amara reached for the door handle. Her hands were shaking. She noticed this distantly, with the detached observation of someone in shock.

The door opened, and she stepped out into ash and ruin.

The smell hit her first—smoke, death, and the lingering taint of corrupted Ether. Her enhanced Noble senses made it worse, picking up details her mind desperately didn’t want to process.

Arranged before the destroyed entrance, nearly a thousand people stood in formation.

Desgarron auxiliary troops who had been stationed in other facilities. Household guards who had survived by not being present during the attack. Servants and staff who had been away on errands or assignments.

All of them bowed as one when Amara appeared.

"Lady Amara," the captain of the guard—a grizzled veteran named Marcus—stepped forward, his expression grim. "We await your orders."

Orders. They wanted orders.

Because she was now...

The realization crashed over Amara like a physical weight.

She was the Head of House Desgarron now.

The sole surviving heir.

At sixteen years old, with her education not even complete, she had inherited everything—the title, the responsibilities, the weight of a Noble House’s legacy.

And the ruins of what that legacy had become.

"Show me," Amara heard herself say, her voice sounding distant and hollow. "Show me what happened."

Marcus gestured, and she followed him through the destroyed gates, Maria close behind.

They walked through what used to be the courtyard, now scarred by massive explosions and covered in dried blood. Marcus explained as they moved, his voice professionally detached despite the horror of what he described.

"Based on investigator reports, the attack was coordinated. Someone or multiple parties disabled the security systems systematically. They used Order Art infection to weaken the family and senior staff. Then they assaulted directly."

They passed through what remained of the grand entrance hall. Amara recognized nothing. It was all just... gone.

"Lord Dreyfus and Lady Beatrice were killed here," Marcus pointed to scorched stone. "Young Master Augustus died in the east courtyard, defending himself with automatons that were later destroyed."

Amara’s breath caught. Augustus. Her irritating, arrogant, sometimes cruel but ultimately beloved older brother.

Dead, fighting alone against enemies who had overwhelmed their entire household.

"The staff," she whispered. "Mariam, Fernand, Kilian—"

"All dead, my lady." Maria’s voice was thick with grief. "The loyal ones fought to protect your family. They died doing their duty."

Tears burned in Amara’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Not yet.

Not while all these people were watching, waiting to see if their new lady would crumble or stand strong.

They reached what had been the treasury—now just a gaping hole where the vault doors had been torn open.

"Everything of value was stolen," Marcus reported. "The main treasury, the deep vault—both completely emptied. Investigators estimate the loss in the hundreds of millions. Possibly more."

"What of... the Slave?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nevermind..."

After hesitating for a moment, Amara resumed the questioning.

"Who?" She asked, her voice harder now. "Who did this?"

Marcus hesitated. "The investigation is ongoing, but we cannot gather much else due to the several interferences. It appears the culprits did their best to encrypt their presences by twisting energies and chaotically arranging the events. We can’t even tell if we are correct in what we already know."

"I see..."

Amara felt something cold and terrible settle in her chest.

Not just grief anymore, but rage.

Calculated, focused rage.

"They will pay," she said quietly. "Whoever did this, whatever organization backed them, whatever powers aided them—they will all pay."

She turned back to where her people waited, her emerald eyes now burning with determination despite the tears that finally began to fall. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Marcus and Maria followed her back to the assembled troops and staff.

They arranged themselves before the ruined entrance, and Amara stood facing them all, her white hair—the distinctive mark of the Desgarron bloodline—catching what little light filtered through the ash-darkened sky.

"Lady Amara," Maria whispered urgently beside her. "You must be strong now. The Branch Families will be circling like vultures. With the main line nearly extinct, they’ll claim the right to inherit, to absorb what remains of our House. You cannot show weakness."

Amara nodded slowly, understanding.

The Desgarron Family wasn’t just the main household in this city. There were cadet branches, distant relatives who bore the family name but had never achieved the main line’s prominence or power.

Those branches would see this disaster as an opportunity.

A chance to seize control, to elevate themselves at the expense of what little remained.

She couldn’t allow that.

"I am Amara Desgarron," she called out, her voice carrying across the assembled crowd despite its youth. "Daughter of my father, Dreyfus and mother, Beatrice. Sister to Augustus. The last direct descendant of the main Desgarron line."

She paused, letting that sink in.

"My family is dead. My home is destroyed. Everything I knew and loved has been taken from me by enemies who thought they could end us completely."

Her voice grew stronger, fueled by the rage burning in her chest.

"They were wrong. The Desgarron Household does not end here. It does not end with me standing in these ruins. I swear on my family’s graves, on the blood that soaks this ground, on everything we once were and will be again—I will rebuild and I will have vengeance."

Marcus was the first to kneel. "I swear loyalty to Lady Amara Desgarron, rightful heir and Head of House."

The other guards followed, dropping to one knee in unison.

"We swear loyalty!"

The servants and staff, tears streaming down many of their faces, echoed the oath.

"Loyalty to Lady Amara!"

Even Maria, who had known Amara since she was a child, knelt before her former charge.

"I serve House Desgarron. I serve its rightful lady."

Amara felt the weight of their oaths settle onto her shoulders like physical chains. The responsibility, the expectations, the absolute requirement that she not fail them as their enemies had failed to completely destroy them.

"Rise," she commanded, and they obeyed. "We have much work ahead."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"I will not be found wanting. I will not allow House Desgarron to fade into history as a cautionary tale. I will—"

She stopped mid-sentence.

Something was happening.

Amara felt it first as a warmth in her chest, then as a surge of energy that made her gasp. Her Ether, usually a steady presence within her core, suddenly blazed like a star going nova.

"My lady?" Maria stepped forward in concern. "Are you—"

Light erupted from Amara’s body.

Not the subtle glow of active Ether use, but brilliant, overwhelming radiance that forced everyone to shield their eyes. The light poured from her in waves, washing over the ruined estate, driving back the darkness and ash.

"Impossible," Marcus breathed, his voice filled with awe. "The Second Awakening!"