The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 309: THE SILVER CITY
Chapter 305: The Silver City
The transition from the Iron Wilderness to the Silverwood of Denmard Kingdom was a sensory assault.
In the Dead Mana Zone, the world had felt thin, like a charcoal sketch.
Here, the mana was so dense it shimmered in the air like diamond dust. It filled my parched circuits, but the relief was tempered by the sight of five hundred silver-clad rangers keeping their bows notched.
We weren’t riding in triumph. The wreckage of the Iron-Horse was being towed by massive, six-legged beasts of burden, and we were confined to a single carriage, watched over by Captain Aelion’s cold, flinty eyes.
"Don’t look so sour, Leon," I muttered, leaning back against the velvet seats—a sharp contrast to the frozen metal we’d inhabited for days. "We’re alive. That’s a win in my book."
"We’re prisoners, Michael," Leon gripped his training sword, his knuckles white. "After everything we did... they treat us like the plague."
"To them, we are," I replied, looking out the window.
As we entered the heart of Sylvaren, the capital of the Elorina Kingdom, the sheer scale of elven bio-engineering took center stage. The city wasn’t built; it was grown. Colossal white-barked trees, their trunks as wide as city blocks, spiraled toward the canopy. Crystalline bridges arched between them, glowing with a soft, ambient light.
To anyone else, it was a utopia. To me, it was a glitchy mess.
I activated Quantum Analysis Mind. My vision flickered, purple fractal patterns overlaying the golden city.
Mana Saturation: 98% (Artificial).
Structural Anomaly: Detected.
Illusion Layer: High-Tier Glamour active.
"Look closely, Leon," I whispered. "Look past the light."
In the periphery of a majestic waterfall made of liquid light, I saw a ’glitch.’ For a microsecond, the light flickered, revealing the water underneath was stagnant and black. On the ’Eternal Oaks’ lining the main thoroughfare, the leaves were vibrant green, but as a nature spirit fluttered near one, the glamour tore. Beneath the illusion, the leaves were shriveled, brittle, and weeping a dark, viscous sap.
The "Silver City" was a gilded corpse.
"The spirits are erratic," I noted. Tiny wisps of light—nature spirits—were darting in jagged, panicked patterns rather than their usual graceful orbits. They could feel the rot even if the elves were in denial.
We were led away from the Royal Palace toward the Guest Spire. It was a beautiful tower of white stone and glass perched on a precarious cliff, but the runes etched into the base weren’t for protection—they were for containment.
"You will remain here," Captain Aelion stated, his voice echoing in the marble hall. "The High Council will summon you for the ’Diagnosis’ once the girls have stabilized. Do not attempt to leave. The Silverwood does not take kindly to trespassers, even those with... noble titles."
He spat the last words with a sneer directed at me. To a High Elf, a human "Commoner" or "Minor Noble" was the same: transient filth.
The doors groaned shut, sealed by a shimmering barrier of Earth and Life mana.
Nightfall in Sylvaren.
The room was silent, save for the rhythmic humming of the mana barrier. Leon had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, exhausted by the emotional toll of the siege. Maria and Selena were in the adjoining room, still encased in the glowing cocoons of the Life Dew’s final processing stage.
I sat by the window, watching the moon reflect off the World Tree in the distance.
Suddenly, the shadows in the corner of the room began to bleed.
I didn’t reach for a weapon. I felt no killing intent—only a crushing, overwhelming sense of fading.
A figure stepped out of the darkness. He wore tattered royal robes of gold and silver, but they hung loosely on a frame that was dangerously thin. His skin was the color of ash, and his eyes—once the vibrant green of the forest—were clouded with a grey cataract-like film.
This was King Elandor. The Sovereign of the Denmard.
He didn’t walk; he stumbled. He looked less like a King and more like a man who had been buried alive and had just dug his way out.
"Michael Willson..." his voice was a dry rasp, like dead leaves skittering on stone.
"Your Majesty," I said, standing slowly. I didn’t bow. The man before me looked too fragile to handle the weight of ceremony.
He reached out a hand, and I noticed the tips of his fingers were turning black—rotting while he still breathed.
"The others... they can only sense the Void ," Elandor whispered, his gaze drifting to the window. "But you... my boy ...you somehow see through the rot curse of Demon in me and I am also fully aware it doesn’t seem like you just sense it but you clearly know where it is ."
"You see the rot , don’t you?"
Michael didn’t accept anything by he question king with his answer.
"I see a king held together by illusions and a King who is dying with his hope," I replied bluntly.
Elandor didn’t mind Michael behaviour of rudness
because he is one who is requesting to a kid to do a risky job.
Elandor let out a hacking cough, a puff of dark grey spores escaping his lips. "The Council... Royal Vaylen... they think they can control it. They think they can prune the rot. But my Heart... the Heart is screaming like I would lost something precious, and I am the only one who hears it."
He collapsed into a chair, his body trembling.
"I did not come here as a King," he looked at me with a desperate, lucid fire. "I came as a father. As you know they have Selena at the lower sanctum... they plan to use her. You must... you must stop them."
"Why me?" I asked.
"Because you are the only person who have managed to do extra ordinary things till now and you are some who hasn’t recorded yet in there hit list," Elandor gasped. "Help me save my daughter... and I will give you the keys to the Royal Treasure Hall."
