The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 143: Holy Capital

Morning light streamed through the tall, vine-wrapped windows of Noel’s room in Teralis, casting soft patterns over the wooden floor. He stood near the center, slipping on his gloves one by one, movements quiet and methodical.

His dimensional pouch rested at his hip, sealed and compact. Everything he needed was already stored inside—clothes, supplies, even Revenant Fang.

He, dressed in his fitted dark blue coat and reinforced trousers, the Ashen Sigil glowing faintly on his finger.

Then, without warning, something flickered.

A translucent window blinked open in front of his eyes.

[New Mission: Discover what is happening in the Holy Capital.

Reward: ???

Time Limit: 31 days]

He stared at the words, unblinking.

’Looks like the next scenario has started. That will mark the end of Act III.’

The window dissolved into nothing.

Knock knock.

He turned.

At the door stood a senior servant of House Thorne—dressed in charcoal gray with a silver insignia on his chest. His expression was firm but polite.

"Lord Albrecht requests your presence before your departure, young master."

He gave a short nod.

"Understood. I’ll go now."

The hallway leading to his father’s study was as quiet as ever—too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed on the back of your neck, the kind that warned you to measure every step, every word.

Noel arrived at the heavy wooden door and knocked twice.

"Enter," came the voice from within.

He pushed it open.

The study was dimly lit, though warm rays of morning sun filtered through a narrow window behind the desk. Shelves lined the walls, filled with tomes bound in black, crimson, and gold. The air smelled faintly of parchment, wood oil, and something older—like dust that no servant ever dared to clean.

Lord Albrecht Thorne sat behind his desk, posture straight, hands folded. He wore a simple dark coat, no jewelry, no house crest—just authority made flesh.

Standing beside him was an old man Noel had never seen before. Thin, hunched slightly with age, dressed in immaculate formalwear. His skin was pale and wrinkled, hair pure white, and his eyes sharp despite the lines around them. He had to be close to ninety.

’Who the hell is that?’

Noel’s eyes flicked back to the desk. Something caught the edge of his vision—a silver picture frame, lying face-down near a stack of unopened letters. He barely noticed it, but it was there.

Albrecht spoke first.

"I heard you’re leaving."

"I am," Noel answered calmly.

"You still have more than a month before classes begin. Care to explain the reason?"

Noel stood straight.

"My friends are currently in the Holy Capital. It lies just south of Teralis. I thought I’d head there first, then return to the academy with them."

Albrecht held his gaze for a moment, unreadable.

"I see."

A pause. Long enough to feel deliberate.

Noel cleared his throat slightly. "Was there anything else, father?"

"You may go."

Noel nodded, then hesitated.

"...Before I leave, may I ask for something?"

Albrecht narrowed his eyes faintly. "You think you’ve earned the right to ask me for favors?"

"Considering I ranked nineteenth in the entire academy," Noel said evenly, "I’d say I’ve brought some prestige to our name."

"Hm," Albrecht grunted. "I recall that you were disqualified during the Hunt Festival."

"True. But the academy ranking matters more. It includes all noble families across every continent."

A pause.

"You may have a point," Albrecht said. "What is it?"

"I’d like access to the Thorne family library."

A longer pause this time.

"Hm. Very well. Anything else?"

"No. That’s all. Thank you, father. I’m leaving for the Holy Capital now."

Albrecht didn’t respond.

Noel turned and walked out, leaving the door to click shut behind him.

The study remained still after Noel’s departure.

Only the ticking of an old wall clock filled the silence.

Lord Albrecht leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. His gaze drifted—not to the door, but to the desk. Slowly, he reached out and turned over the silver picture frame that had been lying face-down.

A woman smiled back at him.

Golden hair. Green eyes. Her expression soft, caught mid-laughter. The light in the image was warm, as if whoever took it had captured something real. Something fragile.

It was Albretcht first love, Noel’s mother, she died giving him birth.

He said nothing.

The old man standing nearby, silent until now, finally spoke.

"You treat them like objects, Albrecht. You always have since she is not with us. That made the others change and that boy suffered because of that change."

Albrecht didn’t look up. "That’s the only way they survive."

"You weren’t always like this."

"I wasn’t always a father either, Frederick."

Frederick stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You’re not a child anymore, but you’re still acting like one when it comes to grief."

Albrecht’s jaw tensed.

"I’m fifty-two. Don’t call me a child."

"I’ve served this house since before you were born. I’ll call you what I like."

A long pause.

"I’m trying to protect them," Albrecht said finally. "All of them. For as long as I can. And the only way to do that... is to keep the family secret buried, for now it is my responsibility."

Frederick’s voice lowered.

"You know you won’t be able to hide it forever."

"I know."

"And you’re killing yourself in the process."

Albrecht didn’t answer.

Frederick’s eyes drifted to the photo in his hands.

"He looks like her, doesn’t he?"

Albrecht’s voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes... far too much."

----

The throne room was vast—its vaulted ceiling supported by silver columns etched with celestial runes. Pale light filtered through high stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of crimson and blue across the marble floor. At the far end sat King Alveron IV, draped in royal white with gold trim, his crimson eyes sharp even in stillness.

Standing before him was Nicolas von Aldros, his expression tight with restrained frustration.

"So?" Nicolas asked. "Did you uncover anything?"

Alveron leaned slightly on one armrest, voice calm.

"He claims he isn’t involved."

Nicolas blinked. "And you believe him? Just like that? No pressure, no follow-up?"

Alveron’s tone remained level. "He offered to assist in the investigation personally. Said he’d assign resources from his own house. We can’t be certain it’s only demons behind this."

Nicolas stepped forward, fists clenched behind his back.

"Are you hearing yourself, Alveron? That was a premeditated attack. The first attempt was intercepted by sheer luck. The second—"

He paused, jaw tightening.

"—was only stopped because a student happened to intervene. This isn’t random. This is a structured plan. Coordinated. Rehearsed."

Alveron’s fingers tapped slowly against the armrest.

"And yet, we still lack names. Faces or solid evidence."

Nicolas narrowed his eyes.

"Then I’ll find it myself."

He turned sharply on his heel, the sound of his boots echoing through the chamber.

As he reached the doorway, he muttered under his breath:

’Looks like I’ll have to handle this personally. I’ll ask the boy—Noel—see if he’s learned anything else. He has the unfortunate habit of being exactly where trouble strikes.’

He vanished into the corridor, the doors closing behind him.

----

The walls were tall, pale stone, fortified with clean symmetry. Towers rose like white spires toward the clouds, each etched with golden symbols of faith. Banners bearing the emblem of the Holy Capital fluttered in the breeze—white on gold, with the shape of a radiant cross at the center.

At the heart of the city stood the great cathedral. Vast, imposing, and silent. Its black-iron gates were open, and the stained-glass windows shimmered with divine runes—wards of light, protection, and devotion etched by ancient hands.

Noel stepped down from the stone platform where the mana-tram had left him, surrounded by the steady motion of carriages, pilgrims, and guards in white cloaks.

He looked up.

The cathedral loomed over the city like a judgment—its highest spire crowned with a gleaming cross that caught the morning sun.

Wide streets stretched in all directions—some leading toward markets, others toward cloisters, libraries, or buildings wrapped in silence and incense.

Noel adjusted the cuff of his coat, eyes scanning the horizon.

’Looks like I’m here.’

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