The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 133: Training Encounters

Hearing his name called, Noel turned his head toward the voice.

He immediately saw four familiar figures approaching—Garron, Laziel, Clara, and Marcus—the original protagonist of the story.

They were walking straight toward him.

’I didn’t want to run into them so soon. What a pain in the ass. I wanted to slip by unnoticed and meet them during the next scenario... but well, nothing to be done now.’

Noel exhaled softly and greeted them.

"Hey..."

Marcus grinned.

"You don’t sound too happy to see us—unlike us."

Noel replied with a faint shrug.

"Oh, don’t take it the wrong way. It’s a pleasant surprise... sure. What are you all doing here?"

’Have to keep appearances.’

Clara answered.

"We’re heading to the Holy Capital in Elarith."

Noel gave a small nod.

"Figured as much—kind of obvious with the ship’s route."

Clara frowned slightly at his blunt reply, clearly annoyed.

Marcus quickly changed the subject.

"Anyway... where are you headed, Noel?"

"My sister is getting married. To someone from the Lestaria family. I’m going to the wedding."

"I see. Well, give your sister my congratulations," Laziel said politely.

"And mine too," Garron added.

Noel gave a neutral nod.

"I see... I’ll tell her."

’Do they even know what my relationship with them is really like?’

Marcus smiled.

"Alright, enough talking. We were actually coming to do some sparring. Want to join us?"

Noel thought for a moment.

’Not a bad idea. This way I can see how far they’ve progressed.’

"Sure," he said simply.

Garron grinned broadly, clearly excited.

Without hesitation, he pulled off his shirt—now standing with his chest fully exposed.

It was easy to tell: he thought more with his muscles than with his head.

Noel gave a small sigh.

"I’ll go first," he said calmly.

He walked over, placed Revenant Fang carefully on the ground, and picked up a simple wooden sword from the rack nearby.

Turning back to Garron, Noel asked casually:

"You’re not going to use a weapon?"

Garron flexed both arms proudly, smirking.

"Have you seen these muscles? What weapon would I need when I’ve got these two?"

He struck a pose, biceps bulging.

Noel blinked once.

"Yeah... sure."

Marcus stepped between them, raising a hand.

"Alright. Here are the rules. No mana. This is pure combat technique. The match ends if one of you drops your weapon, is put in a clear losing position, or surrenders."

Both fighters moved into position.

Garron squared up with a stance that looked more like a boxer—fists raised, ready to swing.

Noel, in contrast, stood calmly—holding the wooden sword lightly in one hand. His other hand rested behind his back, as if to say: I won’t even need both hands for this.

The expression on Garron’s face shifted.

He clearly took that as an insult.

Noel’s thoughts were cold and amused.

’Playing with children’s minds really is too easy.’

Marcus glanced between them.

"Begin."

The match started.

Garron rushed forward immediately—fast for his size, fists swinging with raw force.

But Noel moved with ease.

He sidestepped gracefully—one smooth step after another—barely needing to block.

Each of Garron’s heavy punches met nothing but air or the faint touch of Noel’s wooden blade redirecting his movements.

It wasn’t long before Garron’s frustration began to show—his attacks growing wilder with each miss.

Noel waited.

Then—timing it perfectly—he swept his foot behind Garron’s ankle while pivoting smoothly.

Garron lost balance.

In a flash, Noel brought the wooden sword up and stopped it cleanly against Garron’s throat.

The larger boy sat on the floor, blinking in surprise.

Noel spoke calmly.

"If you hadn’t lost your temper before we started, this would’ve been harder."

Garron stared up at him.

"Huh? You did that on purpose?"

Noel allowed himself the faintest smile.

"Of course."

As Garron stood back up, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly, Marcus stepped forward, drawing a wooden sword of his own.

"Alright," he said, smiling. "Looks like it’s my turn."

Noel picked up another wooden sword—this time gripping it firmly with both hands from the start.

Marcus arched an eyebrow.

"Using both hands already?"

Noel gave a small nod, voice calm.

"I know what you’re capable of. I’d rather not walk away humiliated."

Marcus laughed.

"Fair enough."

Laziel and Clara watched with interest from the side.

Clara leaned in slightly, whispering.

"This should be good."

Laziel nodded. "It will."

Marcus and Noel faced each other—both adopting clean, focused stances.

This time, the air felt different.

Unlike Garron, Marcus carried no recklessness—his movements were controlled, eyes sharp and clear.

Noel adjusted his grip, body relaxed but ready.

Marcus grinned.

"Ready?"

Noel met his gaze steadily.

"Whenever you are."

Marcus took one slow breath, then launched forward.

Their swords clashed.

The first exchange was fast—each testing the other’s guard.

Marcus pressed forward with smooth, practiced strikes—his timing sharp, his footwork clean.

Noel met each attack with equal precision.

Their wooden blades met again and again—each impact ringing faintly through the training hall.

For several moments, neither could gain the upper hand.

From the sidelines, Garron watched in awe.

"They’re both good," he muttered.

"Very good," Laziel added.

Clara simply watched silently—eyes fixed on Noel.

Back in the ring, Noel narrowed his gaze.

’He’s improved. Not bad at all.’

But Marcus was thinking the same.

’He’s faster than I expected. And more precise.’

The match continued—neither willing to give ground.

Every move was measured.

Every strike answered.

And as the first few minutes passed, it became clear—

This was going to be a fight worth remembering.

The fight dragged on—minute after minute.

Neither gave an inch.

Noel’s movements were precise, deliberate—his strikes sharp, his footwork perfect.

Marcus answered each one with equal speed and control—his timing nearly flawless, his stance unshaken.

The sound of wood striking wood echoed through the training hall in a steady rhythm.

Both fighters were breathing harder now—but neither slowed down.

Another clash.

Another parry.

Marcus pushed forward with a sharp feint, and Noel answered with a sudden counter-thrust—both reading each other with frightening accuracy.

For a moment, both swords were locked—each pushing against the other.

Then they broke apart again, circling slowly.

Beads of sweat traced down Marcus’s brow.

Noel’s grip never wavered.

’He really is good,’ Noel thought. ’Not bad... not bad at all.’

Marcus grinned.

’He’s stronger than ever. I can’t slack off even for a second.’

And then—both moved at once.

Marcus lunged with a sudden high thrust, his blade aimed straight for Noel’s neck.

At the same instant, Noel shifted low—his own sword sweeping upward, angled perfectly at Marcus’s throat.

Both froze.

Marcus’s sword hovered just inches from Noel’s neck, point steady.

Noel’s blade was just as close—angled upward beneath Marcus’s chin, ready to strike.

Neither moved.

Both held their positions in perfect balance—neither able to finish the match without taking the same risk themselves.

From the side, Laziel shouted.

"It’s a tie!"

The room fell silent for a beat.

Noel exhaled softly, lowering his blade first.

Marcus smiled brightly and stepped back, doing the same.

"You really surprised me, Noel," he said, voice full of honest admiration. "I didn’t think you’d become this strong. It’s impressive."

Noel gave a simple reply.

"Yeah..."

As both fighters stepped back, lowering their swords, the entire room fell silent for a few moments.

Then—

A wave of applause broke out.

The other men who had been training nearby—who had stopped mid-swing, mid-stretch—now clapped openly, impressed by what they had just witnessed.

Marcus grinned, cheeks slightly flushed from the fight.

Noel exhaled slowly and spoke calmly.

"You’re not bad either. If you want, we can keep doing this until we reach our destination."

Marcus blinked, then smiled wide.

"Oh? The cold Noel actually inviting me to spar?"

Noel clicked his tongue.

"Forget it. Tch..."

Marcus laughed.

"I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Tomorrow morning, let’s meet here again. We’ve still got three more days—we should train as much as we can."

Noel gave a faint nod, saying nothing more.

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