The Extra's Rise-Chapter 147: Lich (1)

The spring break had come to an end, and as I sprawled out on my bed, a wild grin stretched across my face. Satisfaction coursed through me, every inch of my body buzzing with the sheer accomplishment of the past weeks. The shining White core within me pulsed gently, a quiet reminder of the barrier I’d shattered.

I had half a mind to head straight to the training grounds, eager to test the new power surging through me. The temptation gnawed at me like an itch, but I stopped myself at Luna’s firm interjection.

’Hey, idiot,’ her voice rang in my mind, sharp as ever. ’Do you realise you’ve done it again?’

’Done what?’ I asked innocently, although deep down, I already had an inkling of what she was about to say.

’You pushed yourself too far, too fast,’ she said, her tone carrying the weariness of someone forced to lecture a particularly stubborn child. ’Do you even understand how reckless that was?’

’I don’t think it was that reckless,’ I countered, trying and failing to sound convincing. ’I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?’

’Barely,’ she shot back. ’You rushed to White-rank way before your talent should’ve allowed it. You’re lucky you didn’t burn yourself out completely. You’re talented, sure, but not that talented.’

Her words struck a chord. She wasn’t wrong. The talent of this body—Arthur Nightingale—wasn’t naturally suited for such rapid advancement. I had forced it, pushing through sheer desperation and grit, brushing shoulders with death itself to carve out this new strength. It was my modus operandi, but even I knew I was stretching the limits of what was sustainable.

’We still had time,’ Luna continued, softer now but no less insistent. ’Why rush like that? You weren’t ready.’

I mulled over her question. Time. Yes, I had time. The Sovereign’s Tournament wasn’t for another two months. On paper, there was no need to push myself so aggressively. And yet... something in me had felt the urgency. A shadow of unease that I couldn’t quite explain. A sense that the world, ever unpredictable, would soon throw something new at me.

’Call it instinct,’ I finally replied, though even I wasn’t entirely sure what had driven me.

Luna sighed, a long-suffering sound. ’Instinct or not, just... don’t kill yourself before you actually get to prove anything, alright?’

The next day, I made my way to class. The moment I stepped into the room, I felt the shift in atmosphere. Seven pairs of eyes locked onto me, their weight almost tangible. Class 1-A, the best of Mythos Academy, all present before me.

Ren’s reaction was the most visible. His violet eyes widened, his fists clenching reflexively as he straightened in his seat. Rachel, on the other hand, looked at me with unabashed joy, her smile bright and warm. Cecilia’s reaction was similar, though there was something more in her expression—a curious mix of pride and... something else I couldn’t quite place.

Ian’s golden eyes glimmered with interest, his usual composed demeanor breaking slightly as his head tilted ever so slightly. Jin, stoic as always, managed a flicker of surprise in his otherwise unreadable features.

And then there was Lucifer.

His verdant eyes narrowed, their piercing gaze sweeping over me like a scanner assessing a potential rival. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his posture said everything. For the first time, I was on his level—or at least, that’s how it seemed in terms of mana rank. White-rank. The same rank he’d held as his unshakable badge of superiority. Until now.

The silence was palpable, the room charged with an invisible current. It was Rachel who finally broke it.

"Arthur," she said, her voice a mixture of excitement and disbelief. "You... you reached White-rank."

Cecilia smirked, though her eyes betrayed her own surprise. "Of course he did. It’s Arthur. Common sense has no place here."

Before anyone else could chime in, the door hissed open. Professor Nero stepped inside, his sharp gaze sweeping over us with the precision of a hawk surveying its territory. As his eyes landed on me, they lingered just a fraction longer than usual, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise stoic features. But, true to form, he didn’t comment on it.

"Good to see everyone back," he said, his voice cutting cleanly through the room’s tension. "I trust your spring breaks were productive."

He didn’t wait for a response, instead tapping on his holo-tablet. A 3D display materialized in front of him, showing a detailed schedule that loomed over the room like a harbinger of doom.

"As you are all aware, we are now in the final stretch of the semester," Nero began. "Two months remain until the End of Year Festival, which will include the Sovereign’s Tournament—a chance for you to prove your worth against the best Mythos has to offer."

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath at the mention of the tournament. The Sovereign’s Tournament was more than just an event; it was a battlefield, a stage where reputations were forged and legends born.

"Before that, however," Nero continued, "you will have your written exams and must submit your respective end-of-year projects. Both are non-negotiable, so I suggest you manage your time wisely."

His gaze swept across the room again, pausing momentarily on each of us as if weighing our potential. "This is the final sprint. For those of you who aim to stand at the pinnacle, now is the time to prove it."

The charged silence of the room hung heavy even as we were dismissed, like the lingering smell of ozone after a storm. As the others filed out, their murmurs about the upcoming Sovereign’s Tournament fading into the corridor, I headed off to my next class—a class that had, over time, become my sanctuary of sorts.

Necromancy.

Stepping into the lab, I was greeted by the familiar, almost soothing sight of flickering holographic displays, shelves stacked with mana cores and runic texts, and the faint hum of containment fields housing all manner of dark magical artifacts. The room was a masterpiece of blending tradition and technology, a testament to Mythos Academy’s prowess.

Professor Gravemore was already there, his long fingers trailing over a floating projection of some intricate runic structure. At my entry, his gaze flicked up, and for the briefest moment, his usually stern face betrayed a flicker of surprise. His dark, hawk-like eyes narrowed as they swept over me, clearly assessing the changes in my mana signature.

"White-rank already?" he said, the faintest note of surprise in his gravelly voice. "Impressive, Arthur. Truly. Though not entirely unexpected, knowing you."

"Thank you, Professor," I said with a polite bow, suppressing the urge to grin.

His sharp eyes shifted past me as Jin walked in, his usual stoic expression intact. Professor Gravemore nodded at him, handing him a holo-slate loaded with assignments.

"You, Jin, will work on these autonomous mana flow equations. They’re rudimentary, so I expect nothing less than precision," Gravemore said before turning his full attention back to me.

"You, however," he continued, his tone weightier now, "are here for something far more… significant."

He gestured toward the corner of the room, where a workstation glowed faintly, its display showing a list of materials alongside intricate runic diagrams.

"The Lich," he said simply. The word hung in the air like a solemn promise. "You want to begin its construction, yes?"

I nodded, the weight of the task pressing down on me. "Yes, Professor. I’m ready."

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"Are you?" Gravemore’s sharp gaze pierced through me, as though searching for any trace of hesitation. "You have the materials, the rank, and the ability. But assembling a Lich isn’t just a task of skill—it’s a crucible. One misstep, and the results could be catastrophic. Are you prepared for that?"

I swallowed hard but nodded again. "I am."

He studied me for a long moment before giving a curt nod of approval. "Good. Then this weekend, I’ll oversee the process personally. But make no mistake, Arthur, I won’t be able to help much. The Lich’s creation hinges entirely on your Black Star’s dark mana. Without it, the assembly simply cannot proceed."

"Thank you, Professor," I said, bowing deeply.

He waved me off, stepping toward the workstation and beckoning me to follow. "Come, let us revise everything before the undertaking. If you make even a single mistake, I’ll ensure it doesn’t cost you more than your pride. But that’s as far as I can intervene. The rest is on you."

I followed him to the glowing display, where the details of my materials and the Lich’s design were laid out in meticulous detail. The skeleton of the Blood Wyvern, the Skull of the Arch Lich, the Basilisk Heart as the Source, and the Evernight Staff—all of it gleamed with latent power, waiting to be unified into a singular, terrifying entity.

"First," Gravemore began, his voice taking on the cadence of a seasoned lecturer, "the Skeleton. It has already been mana-programmed to harmonize with the Skull and the Source. The runes inscribed upon it will act as the foundation of the Lich’s physical form. However, during the assembly, your dark mana will need to flow through it to activate the programming fully. Any deviation, and the entire structure could destabilize."

I nodded, committing his words to memory.

"Next, the Skull," he continued, pointing to the detailed diagram of the Arch Lich’s skull. "The Skull represents the mind. It will dictate the Lich’s intelligence, its capacity to reason and strategize. The programming we’ve added is robust, but you’ll need to bind it to the Source using your own mana. This is where the first major challenge lies. The synchronization must be perfect—your mana will serve as the bridge between the mind and the soul."

I leaned in closer, absorbing every word. Gravemore’s voice was steady, authoritative, but not without a certain edge of caution. He knew the risks as well as I did.

"And finally," he said, his tone lowering slightly, "the Source—the Basilisk Heart. This is the soul of the Lich, its core essence. While the programming has been partially completed to simplify the process, the true work begins when you pour your mana into it. The heart must be awakened, but in a controlled manner. If you lose control…" He let the sentence hang, the unspoken consequences heavy in the air.

I nodded grimly. "I understand."

"Do you?" Gravemore asked, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "The Basilisk Heart is a tier above everything else in this assembly. Even with the limiters in place, its sheer power could overwhelm you. Your Black Star will be tested like never before. Do you truly understand what that means?"

"I do," I said, my voice firm. "And I’m ready."

Gravemore’s gaze softened, just slightly. "Very well. Once the Source is bound to the Skull and the Skeleton, the final step will be activating the Staff. The Evernight Staff will serve as the Lich’s anchor, tying together the mind, body, and soul. This will be the easiest step, but only if the previous stages are successful. Do you follow?"

"Yes, Professor," I said, my confidence bolstered by his thorough explanation.

"Good," he said, his voice losing some of its edge. "You’ve come far, Arthur. Farther than I expected, if I’m honest. But this weekend will be your greatest challenge yet. Do not underestimate it."

"I won’t," I promised.

He stepped back, folding his arms as he regarded me with something approaching pride. "Then prepare yourself. Review the materials, refine your mana control, and rest while you can. The creation of a Lich is no small feat, but if anyone can succeed, it’s you."