The Extra's Rise-Chapter 164: The End of the Year Festival (3)

The battle royale had begun with a flurry of alliances, betrayals, and desperate struggles for dominance. Every student knew that survival alone wouldn’t guarantee a place in the final eight. The evaluation system—the combined judgment of the Academy’s AI, the professors, and mana-imbued monitoring devices—didn’t simply reward endurance. It demanded excellence.

And so, strategies formed. Many of the weaker students sought to challenge the titans of Class 1-A, not because they expected to win, but because standing against the best was the surest way to prove their worth.

But this was not a battle they could win.

Class 1-A was on a different level, their prowess shaped by resources, talent, and sheer will. Most wielded Grade 5 arts granted by Mythos Academy itself, and some had inherited Grade 6 arts—the pinnacle of combat techniques—from their powerful families.

In the midst of these giants stood Arthur Nightingale, Rank 2, an enigma among the elite.

His rise had been meteoric. From Rank 8 at the start of the year to Rank 2 after the mid-terms, he had defied all expectations. Yet, he was still underestimated.

The whispers persisted: He doesn’t have a Grade 6 art. Is he really that strong?

Arthur didn’t care for their doubts. His goal wasn’t to silence whispers.

It was to win.

And now, as the battlefield thinned, he was about to prove it.

Lucifer Windward stood frozen—literally.

His left side was encased in ice, jagged spikes of frost locking him to the battlefield. Even the ground beneath him had turned to glassy permafrost.

His sword was planted deep in the frozen earth, his verdant eyes gleaming with both surprise and irritation.

And opposite him stood Arthur, his blade steady, his stance unshaken.

"Why are you here?" Lucifer demanded, his voice even but sharp.

Arthur tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. Then, with calm certainty, he pointed his sword forward.

"Why do you think?"

Lucifer exhaled sharply, gripping his weapon tighter. This was going to be interesting.

Elsewhere, Ren Kagu exhaled as another trio of fallen students were whisked away by the Academy’s automated teleportation system. The battlefield was swiftly clearing, and the weak had already been culled.

Good.

He didn’t like wasting time.

Still, something gnawed at the edge of his awareness.

A presence.

Ren’s fingers twitched, and he quietly drew in more mana, letting it course through his body. God’s Eyes sharpened his vision, revealing the battlefield in unnerving clarity. Every movement, every pulse of mana, every breath of his surroundings—etched into his mind like a divine script.

And then, he found it.

A figure lurking in the shadows. A familiar one.

"Come out already," Ren muttered, clicking his tongue.

A girl stepped forward, the glow of crimson magic forming a jagged crown above her head.

Cecilia Slatemark.

Ren’s gaze flickered to another presence behind him, and before he could react, a spear of golden light streaked toward him.

Rachel Creighton.

Ren thrust his hand forward, bending space itself to halt the projectile midair. The arrow of light hovered before him, shimmering ominously.

"Not afraid of being eliminated?" he asked, his tone dry.

Rachel smiled, a playful glint in her sapphire eyes. "You’re fun to mess with. That’s all."

Ren scoffed, letting the light dissipate. "Bold of you to think you stand a chance."

"You’re arrogant," Rachel mused, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder. "I don’t like that."

Ren didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

Cecilia cracked her knuckles, her own magic flaring around her. "Oh, I love that."

Ren’s smirk widened as his mana surged, his White-rank core humming with raw power.

"You really think the two of you together can match me?"

Rachel’s light flared. Cecilia’s chaos twisted the air.

And Ren—Ren simply waited.

Because no matter what they tried, he would see everything.

Suddenly, a voice rang through every student’s earpiece.

"92 students have been eliminated. The battle royale is now over!"

The tension snapped in an instant.

Rachel lowered her arrows. Cecilia let her magic dissipate. Ren exhaled, his stance relaxing.

Jin, standing atop the battlefield like a king without a crown, flicked his swords clean.

Lucifer pulled his blade from the icy ground, his eyes never leaving Arthur.

Arthur? He simply exhaled.

The battle was over. The real fight was just beginning.

In the VVIP box, the gathered dignitaries watched as the names of the final eight flashed across the screens.

Lucifer Windward.

Arthur Nightingale.

Ren Kagu.

Jin Ashbluff.

Rachel Creighton.

Cecilia Slatemark.

Ian Viserion.

Seraphina Zenith.

Li Zenith smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Now this is a tournament worth watching."

__________________________________________________________________________________

Lucifer collapsed onto the bed, exhaling deeply as his muscles finally surrendered to rest. His limbs ached—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer tension of staying at the razor’s edge of control throughout the battle royale. He hadn’t needed to push himself. No, that would have been unnecessary. Wasteful.

Finishing first had been inevitable.

Still, he let himself sink into the plush mattress, staring at the ceiling, his mind churning with the aftermath. The battle royale hadn’t truly been a challenge—just an exercise in patience, a game of endurance where he merely had to avoid unnecessary exertion.

But even an exercise in patience could be interesting.

Ren Kagu had finished third. That was expected. Ren had yet to unveil his Grade 6 art—which, frankly, made his ranking all the more impressive. White-rank. Like him. That alone solidified Ren as the closest thing to an actual rival.

Then there was Luke Orden, who had proven to be a stubborn obstacle. Even with lower mana reserves, Luke had fought with remarkable ingenuity. Lucifer had needed to adjust his pacing slightly to eliminate him, and in doing so, he had made a mental note—Luke was worth watching.

Updat𝒆d fr𝑜m freewebnøvel.com.

But none of them had mattered as much as Arthur.

Lucifer ran a hand through his golden hair, his brows furrowing as the memory of their brief clash replayed in his mind. He hadn’t expected Arthur to seek him out so early. That wasn’t how these things usually went. The battle royale was a culling ground, a warm-up for the real fight—the Sovereign’s Tournament. Lucifer had fully expected their encounter to come in the semi-finals at the earliest. Instead, Arthur had deliberately sought him out, as if he had something to prove.

And maybe he did.

Arthur had always been a strange one. Capable, of course, but never someone Lucifer had truly considered dangerous. Their previous fight had been little more than a technicality—Lucifer had limited himself, restraining his mana to Arthur’s level, keeping his Gift’s active ability locked away, refraining from using his Grade 6 art. A test, nothing more.

Yet Arthur had won.

And still, Lucifer had never really seen him as a threat.

Not even when Arthur unlocked his Gift after the ordeal at the Kobold Sea. Not even when he climbed to Rank 2 of Class A. Not even when he forged a Lich, of all things.

Because Arthur wasn’t the Second Hero.

Lucifer Windward was.

It was obvious. It was preordained. The prophecy dictated it. No one else could possibly rise higher. Not Arthur. Not Ren. Not anyone.

Yet… that fleeting moment between them in the battle royale had unsettled him.

Lucifer had clashed with Arthur for only seconds, a brief collision of wills that left no true victor, but the memory of it lingered in his bones. It was different. Arthur felt different.

His movements were sharper. His mana was heavier.

His presence, undeniable.

Lucifer closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his palm against his forehead. Annoying. It was annoying how Arthur kept forcing himself into the narrative. He was supposed to be a stepping stone. Someone who shined brightly, only to fall when it mattered most.

That was how this was supposed to go.

Lucifer had spent his entire life knowing—knowing—that he was meant for greatness. He was the one destined to stand above all. He didn’t resent Ren for being strong. He didn’t resent Arthur for growing.

He simply knew that, in the end, they would lose.

Because they had to.

Still… his lips quirked upward, his heart thrumming in his chest with something almost like excitement.

’Let’s see how far you’ve really come, Arthur.’

Because soon, all doubts would be erased.