The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 125: A Daughter’s Voice

The cold mist still clung to the base of the mountain when the armored escort arrived.

Selene and Noel walked in silence, flanked by warriors clad in the white-and-steel colors of House Iskandar. Their breath misted in the morning air, footsteps echoing over the frost-bitten stone path leading toward the waiting stronghold.

As they crossed beneath the gates, the doors opened without ceremony.

Waiting inside, standing tall at the center of the hall, was Lady Vaelora von Iskandar—her back straight, arms behind her, expression carved from frozen stone.

The moment Selene stepped into view, Vaelora’s gaze sharpened.

"So," she said coldly, "you thought sneaking away was a good idea?"

She took a slow step forward.

"Prepare yourself. When we return home, you’ll answer for it properly."

Noel glanced at Selene.

She hadn’t said a word since the gate. But now—he saw it. Her shoulders had stiffened, eyes downcast, fingers trembling at her sides.

There was fear there. Raw and deep.

And she wasn’t hiding it well.

Noel’s voice broke the silence.

"Lady Vaelora von Iskandar," he said clearly, stepping forward, "the strongest warrior in the north... and the last century."

Vaelora’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing.

"It wasn’t Selene’s fault," Noel continued, tone firm. "I was the one who kidnapped her with me. If you’re looking to assign blame, it should fall on me."

There was a pause. Then:

"You kidnapped my daughter?" Vaelora said slowly. Her voice wasn’t raised—it didn’t need to be. "Do you realize that’s a crime? That attacking a noble house is an offense punishable by death?"

She took another step forward.

"And that your own family—House Thorne—could be drawn into it?"

Noel didn’t flinch, but inwardly—

’Couldn’t care less about House Thorne. But... my head’s still kind of important to me.’

He cleared his throat.

"With all due respect, Lady Vaelora... perhaps it’s best if we discussed this inside the castle, properly. I believe you saw the note I left. According to our agreement, I wasn’t violating any terms."

Vaelora’s eyes narrowed further.

"You’re wrong. This falls far outside our agreement. You stepped over the line."

"Which is why I insist we talk like adults," Noel said simply.

Vaelora gave a cold, humorless laugh.

"Adults? You’re a child."

Noel shrugged lightly.

"Perhaps to your eyes. But this child’s seen more than most. Lived more, too."

’Literally. I’m twenty-three mentally technically, thank you very much.’

Vaelora didn’t respond. But the moment stretched, heavy with unspoken tension. freewёbnoνel-com

Then she turned, her cloak shifting as she walked deeper into the stronghold.

"Very well. Follow me."

The escort split once they passed the inner courtyard.

Selene was guided gently toward a waiting carriage—her legs still weak from exhaustion. She didn’t protest.

Noel, however, was not offered such courtesy.

A warrior gestured forward. "You walk."

Noel gave a faint sigh.

’Well... at least she gets to rest a bit.’

He set off at a steady pace, flanked by two guards. His body still ached from the climb and the battle, each step a dull reminder of how little mana he had left.

But there was no choice.

Step by step, they crossed through the wide stone corridors of the Iskandar estate. Towering arches framed the way, each adorned with the sigils of ancient victories and the lineage of frost-born warriors.

Finally, the path opened into the grand throne room.

Noel was led inside.

And there she was.

Lady Vaelora von Iskandar, seated upon her infamous bone throne—the jagged, pale structure towering behind her like the remnants of some great predator. At her right side, her great axe leaned against the armrest. To her left, Selene now sat quietly, still wrapped in Noel’s cloak, gaze lowered.

Above them, a wide circular opening in the ceiling allowed light to pour in—an architectural choice Noel couldn’t help but notice.

’Seriously... how can that thing be comfortable? And when it rains, does this whole place flood? Tch. Worst architect ever.’

Vaelora’s gaze met his, cold and sharp.

"Let us begin," she said simply. "First, the important matter. Have you gathered the flowers?"

Noel stepped forward, voice calm.

"I have them here," he said. He tapped the Dimensional Pouch at his side. "All secured."

A brief nod from Vaelora.

"Good."

Her eyes narrowed again.

"Now. To the second matter. Why, exactly, did you say you kidnapped my daughter?"

’Not telling her the real reason. Not a chance.’

He inclined his head slightly.

"You see, Lady Vaelora... for someone unfamiliar with Frostspire Peak, attempting the climb alone would be suicide. And to trust a random guide—equally dangerous."

He glanced toward Selene briefly.

"I chose the person I trusted most. The one I believed could truly help me succeed."

Vaelora’s lips curled in a faint sneer.

"Trust? In Selene? In a good-for-nothing daughter?"

Noel’s tone sharpened.

"Allow me to correct that, Lady Vaelora. It was Selene who slew the Ice Wyvern. Not me. I merely supported her. She killed it—with a single spell."

For the first time, a flicker of something passed through Vaelora’s eyes.

Displeasure.

Disbelief.

"You still wish to follow the path of a mage," she said quietly, voice laced with disdain. "It is unfitting for our family."

"You see, Lady Vaelora... I don’t think that should matter. Not when someone is as talented as Selene."

"Enough," Vaelora snapped. "I will hear no excuses."

Her gaze shifted coldly toward her daughter.

"Selene. Go to your room. I will deal with you later."

Selene didn’t move.

But something had changed.

For a heartbeat, the room remained silent—save for the faint rustle of the cloak still wrapped around her shoulders.

Vaelora’s gaze sharpened.

"Selene," she repeated, voice like ice. "Go to your room."

But this time, the old fear didn’t take hold.

Not fully.

Something in Selene’s chest had shifted—uncoiling like a knot that had been strangled for years.

She took a slow breath.

Inside her head:

’No... I shouldn’t have run with him...’

That was her first thought.

But then Noel’s voice echoed in her mind—his words, his defense, unwavering.

And deeper still—a realization.

No. Not this time.

Not anymore.

She lifted her chin slightly, though her hands still trembled.

"No," she said softly. Then louder:

"I will not go."

Vaelora’s fingers tightened against the bone throne’s armrest.

"You dare disobey me?" she asked, voice low with warning. "You are testing my patience, Selene von Iskandar. Do not forget who you are speaking to."

But Selene didn’t lower her eyes.

For the first time in her life—she looked her mother directly in the eye.

And Vaelora saw it.

Anger. Real anger—not the cold resignation her daughter had always worn.

Those pale cyan eyes, once so lifeless, now burned with a frozen fire.

"No," Selene said again, voice stronger. "You will listen to me."

Vaelora’s jaw tensed.

"I see... so you would stand against me now. Just like before—you think anyone gave you permission to—"

But this time, she was cut off.

Selene spoke before the next word could leave her lips.

The words burst from Selene before she could stop them—years of silence breaking free all at once.

"Do you even remember, Mother?

The years I spent trying... hoping... that one day you’d look at me with something other than disgust?"

Her voice echoed through the chamber.

"I was just a child.

And yet, every time I smiled at you, every time I showed you something I had made or done... you called me delusional.

’You’ll never be good enough.’

’You have no talent.’

’I regret ever having you.’

Those were your words—carved into me deeper than any scar."

Noel stood frozen, watching—he hadn’t expected this.

Selene kept going—her voice steady, her body trembling, but her eyes fierce.

"I thought... maybe if I tried harder.

If I studied more. If I practiced until my hands bled.

If I endured your punishments—days without food, nights without sleep, weeks of silence or worse—

maybe then you’d be proud of me.

But nothing was ever enough for you.

Nothing."

Across the room, Vaelora’s grip on the throne tightened. Her face remained unreadable—but her eyes flickered.

Selene’s voice rose:

"You broke me again and again, and when I crawled back just for a kind word, you kicked me lower still.

I stopped asking why.

I stopped hoping.

But I never stopped trying.

Not for you anymore—for myself."

She took a step forward.

"Because the truth is... the little girl who wanted her mother’s love?

She’s gone.

You killed her.

What stands here now is someone you’ll never control again."

Selene’s voice dropped, cold and final.

"You will not shame me anymore.

You will not define who I am."

She drew in a sharp breath—her fists clenched at her sides.

"You said you regret having a daughter like me? Fine.

Then know this: I regret spending so many years trying to earn the love of someone who never knew how to give it.

And despite it all... despite everything...

I am still standing."

Her gaze burned through the silence.

"That, Mother... is something you can never take from me."

The room was dead quiet.

Vaelora sat frozen—eyes locked on her daughter, her lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Noel exhaled slowly, gaze flicking between them.

’Damn... she really said it all.’

Silence hung thick in the air.

The echo of Selene’s footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving the throne room cold and still.

Noel remained where he stood.

Across from him, Lady Vaelora von Iskandar sat unmoving—hands tight against the armrests of the bone throne, gaze fixed on the empty doorway her daughter had just walked through.

Her jaw was clenched. But no words came.

Noel let out a low breath and shook his head slightly.

"Damn," he said, voice quiet but cutting through the stillness.

"Looks like you just fucked up really bad. After all these years... she finally let everything out."

No response.

Vaelora’s stare didn’t shift.

But Noel didn’t leave.

He straightened, letting the silence stretch a moment longer. His body still ached, every movement a reminder of the battle they had barely survived—but now was not the time to rest.

He still had things to say. And things to secure.

But the clock was ticking.

In the back of his mind, the system’s cold reminder flashed again:

[New Mission: Treat the disease and save Elyra’s mother. Time remaining: 4 days.]

’Four days left... I need to move fast. Getting to Estermont can’t wait.’

He exhaled slowly.

But first—this conversation wasn’t over.

He still needed something from Vaelora.

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