The Extra's Rise-Chapter 162: The End of the Year Festival (1)
The End of the Year Festival at Mythos Academy wasn’t just a school event. It was a spectacle, a coliseum for the future legends of the world, an arena where prodigies fought not just for victory, but for their place in history.
Even beyond the families of the students—many of whom were nobles, heirs, or prodigal talents—the festival was watched across continents, broadcasted in high-definition to every corner of the world. It wasn’t just a matter of school pride. It was a global event, a measuring stick for the generation that would one day inherit power.
Because even among the elite, a true genius would always shine.
And the crown jewel of the festival?
The Sovereign’s Tournament—a single-elimination tournament that would determine the strongest student in each year. A contest where reputations were forged and shattered in real-time, a battlefield where talent and discipline collided under the scrutiny of the world.
But beyond the tournament, it was still a festival. A celebration.
Mythos Academy, the single most advanced educational institution on the planet, opened its gates to visitors for the first and only time in the year. From dazzling magical showcases to cutting-edge technological exhibitions, every corner of the academy buzzed with life. It was a place where parents swelled with pride, sponsors scouted for the next rising star, and influential organizations vied for promising talent.
For many students, the tournament wasn’t just about winning. It was about getting noticed.
Not every noble heir would inherit their family’s seat of power. Not every student was destined for greatness. But a solid performance—an impressive display of skill, mana control, or sheer determination—was often enough to catch the eye of a top guild, a corporate benefactor, or a world-class mentor.
In an era where strength dictated opportunity, this was their proving ground.
And at the heart of the coliseum, anticipation crackled in the air like static before a storm.
The grand arena of Mythos Academy stretched skyward, tiered seating forming an unbroken circle around the battlefield. Towering banners—emblazoned with the academy’s crest—flapped against the wind, their edges lined with intricate mana-imbued embroidery that shimmered in the light. Above, floating drones captured every angle of the event, broadcasting live across the world.
The crowd had reached a fever pitch, a sea of voices merging into an electric hum of anticipation. The scent of freshly-cut grass mixed with the faint hint of alchemical fireworks, which would soon illuminate the sky in celebration.
Then, silence.
A single figure stepped onto the elevated platform at the center of the arena, and the world paused to listen.
Valerie.
Her presence alone commanded attention. Dressed in ceremonial robes woven with golden filigree, she stood tall—regal, even. Her deep violet eyes swept across the assembled crowd, assessing, acknowledging.
Then she spoke, her voice crisp, clear, and amplified across the entire coliseum.
"Welcome," Valerie said, and the word hung in the air, heavy with meaning. "To the End of the Year Festival and the Sovereign’s Tournament."
The applause was deafening, but she simply waited.
When the noise settled, she continued.
"This tournament is not just a contest. It is not just a performance for the world to witness. It is proof. Proof of the countless hours you have spent honing your craft. Proof of your skill, your discipline, your will to rise above."
Her gaze flickered over the competitors standing in the waiting area. "The title of Sovereign is not just a prize. It is a legacy. It is the mark of a leader, of someone who refuses to be overshadowed. But remember—true strength is not found in victory alone, but in the resolve to stand and fight."
She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle.
"To all our competitors—show us your determination. Show us what it means to be a student of Mythos Academy."
Then, with the faintest smirk curving her lips, she finished, "Let the games begin."
The arena erupted into cheers, the very ground seeming to tremble beneath the sheer energy of the moment.
Far above, in the VVIP viewing box, where only the most influential figures sat, a quiet chuckle echoed.
"You do give a good speech, Valerie," mused Li Zenith—Master of Mount Hua, his voice carrying a note of approval.
The VVIP section was an isolated, luxurious space high above the coliseum, offering an unparalleled view of the arena below. Reserved for only the most powerful figures, it was filled with representatives of the great families and factions of the world.
Among them sat Leon Viserion, the ever-smiling descendant of the Southern Continent’s ruling clan, his vibrant red hair practically glowing in the sunlight. Duke Blazespout, a peak Immortal-ranker and the head of the Slatemark Empire’s second most powerful military family, observed the proceedings with arms crossed. Beside him, Kem Kagu from the Kagu family exuded quiet menace. And from the Western Continent’s depths, the unassuming Paul Lucrian—the man considered to have reached the peak of necromancy through sheer skill, without supernatural aid—watched in thoughtful silence.
"Well," Duke Blazespout mused, swirling the wine in his glass, "if you’re taking over for Eva as overseer here, you certainly have the presence for it."
Valerie, now seated among them, sighed as she adjusted the high collar of her robes. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."
Leon chuckled. "You say that, but you didn’t stutter once. That’s more than I can say for most leaders."
Valerie rolled her eyes, sinking into her chair. "I’d rather be on the battlefield."
"Some would say this is the battlefield," Li Zenith remarked, his sharp gaze never leaving the arena below.
Duke Blazespout leaned back in his seat, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with practiced ease. "Then tell me, Master Li, who do you believe will stand victorious?" His voice carried the weight of a man who had seen countless warriors rise and fall, a man who understood that power was never as straightforward as it seemed.
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"It has to be the Child of Prophecy," Leon Viserion interjected, lounging with the effortless confidence of someone who had never once questioned the natural order of things. His crimson eyes gleamed in the light. "It has to be Lucifer Windward."
"Perhaps," Paul Lucrian finally spoke, his voice slow, deliberate, as though he was considering every word with great weight. "But I heard Arthur Nightingale created a Lich. That alone is enough to make one reconsider."
Kem Kagu, who had remained silent up until now, let out a quiet scoff. "His Lich is incomplete. If he had managed to form a true Lich at the age of fifteen…" He trailed off, shaking his head, a rare expression of amusement flickering across his normally impassive face. "There would be no question that he is the Second Hero. But that would be impossible. No human is that absurdly talented."
The air in the VVIP box thickened, tension crackling between the gathered elites like an impending storm.
Then, Li Zenith smiled.
"Arthur will win."
The words landed like a sudden shift in gravity, drawing all eyes to the silver-haired swordsman.
Valerie leaned forward, resting her chin against her knuckles. "That’s quite the claim."
"It’s more than a claim," Li replied, his voice calm but certain. "It’s an inevitability."
Leon arched an eyebrow. "You’re saying Arthur Nightingale—a commoner, no less—will defeat Lucifer Windward, the most absurd prodigy of our generation?" His lips curled into a smirk, but there was an unmistakable flicker of curiosity behind his gaze.
Li Zenith exhaled softly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of his chair. "I saw it," he murmured, almost to himself. "I saw what he truly is."
Silence.
A pause, loaded with something none of them could quite name.
Then, Li finally looked up, his dark eyes gleaming with something close to reverence.
"What you all call talent, that unfair and absurd thing that defines the greatest among us…" His lips curved ever so slightly. "You will understand it now."
