The Extra's Rise-Chapter 180: The Sovereign (3)

The VVIP box was more than just a vantage point—it was the power center of the world, a place where the true rulers of the continents gathered. When Eva informed me that I had been granted access at the request of several Immortal-rankers who wanted to meet me, I knew this was more than just a congratulatory gesture.

It was an evaluation.

I climbed the steps with measured strides, feeling the weight of unseen gazes even before I entered. The moment I stepped through the doors, the air changed. The pressure was subtle yet undeniable, like walking into the den of apex predators who, while not overtly hostile, were watching my every move with sharp, calculating eyes.

Valerie and Kem Kagu were absent, but the remaining four Immortal-rankers were enough to fill the room with a suffocating presence.

Duke Blazespout, a peak Immortal-ranker from the Central Continent, sat with his hands clasped over his cane, his expression unreadable beneath the flickering light of a floating mana-lamp.

Paul Lucrian, mid Immortal-ranker and the Western Continent’s finest necromancer, leaned back in his chair, his piercing gaze the only movement he made as he regarded me with quiet intensity.

Li Zenith, high Immortal-ranker from the Eastern Continent and my master in swordsmanship, was the first to step forward, a rare smile gracing his face.

Follow curr𝒆nt nov𝒆ls on fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com.

And finally, Leon Viserion, another peak Immortal-ranker from the Southern Continent, whose presence radiated the kind of easy confidence that only someone with absolute power could exude.

Only the Northern Continent lacked representation.

"Arthur," Li said first, his tone carrying an almost paternal warmth.

I bowed deeply. "Master."

"You succeeded in your goal," he said, pride evident in his voice.

"Yes, Master. It was only possible because of your teachings," I replied truthfully. Without Li Zenith, I wouldn’t have been able to construct my Grade 6 art, the foundation of my victories against both Ren and Lucifer.

Li gave a small chuckle. "You flatter me. I simply guided the path—you are the one who walked it."

Leon Viserion leaned forward, his red hair gleaming under the light. "Wow, so you’re that unreal prodigy, huh?" His grin widened. "Congrats on winning! I’ve been watching, and I gotta say—I’m looking forward to seeing what you do next."

"Thank you," I said, inclining my head slightly in respect. He was, after all, one of the rulers of the Southern Continent. A true powerhouse.

Duke Blazespout remained silent, his dark eyes giving nothing away. But he gave me a brief, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of my presence. That, in itself, was a statement.

Then, there was Paul Lucrian.

"So, you are the youngest Lich summoner," Paul finally spoke, his voice smooth, yet carrying an undertone of something deeper—curiosity, perhaps. "Let’s talk in private, shall we?"

I expected this.

Paul was no ordinary necromancer. He was the pinnacle of what was achievable in necromancy without a Gift, a testament to sheer will, intelligence, and mastery of mana. As an Elder of the Ebony Tower and the leading candidate to be its next Deputy Tower Master, his name carried weight across the Western Continent.

And despite all that, he had never been able to create an Ancient Undead.

I followed him into a separate chamber, the door sealing behind us with a quiet click. In an instant, his dark mana flared to life, coiling around the walls, weaving through the air in intricate patterns. A containment spell—one that would prevent any sound, any trace of what was about to be discussed, from leaking beyond this room.

Luna stirred in my mind. Arthur, be careful.

I silenced her with a mental nudge. I expected this.

Paul folded his arms, studying me. "Let’s not waste time. You created an Ancient Undead."

A statement, not a question.

I smiled, though my grip on my own mana tightened. "I did."

"How?"

His voice was calm, patient even, but there was an intensity behind it that couldn’t be ignored.

I met his gaze, unflinching. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

A flicker of something—amusement, frustration?—crossed his features before vanishing behind his usual composed expression.

"I do," he admitted. "I saw your battle against Lucifer in the finals. Your control over your Lich… no ordinary summon. It is an Ancient Undead, without a doubt." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "That shouldn’t have been possible since you don’t have a Gift for dark mana beyond getting affinity towards it."

He was right.

The reason Ancient Undead were considered impossible to create without a Gift for dark mana. It was because the very process of binding a sentient soul to a construct defied all known necromantic theory. The Wall of Talent in necromancy wasn’t just about ability—it was about reality itself refusing to allow the outcome.

And yet, I had done it.

Paul sighed, as if trying to rationalize it himself. "Even the Ashbluffs haven’t been able to create one without using their powerful Gift. There is no documented method, no theoretical basis." He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "So, Arthur, tell me. How did you do it?"

I tapped my fingers against my arm, feigning thoughtfulness.

"Talent?" I offered, letting a small smirk tug at the corner of my lips.

Paul let out a short laugh, though his eyes remained sharp. "Talent, is it? A convenient answer."

I shrugged. "You tell me."

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he sighed, rubbing his temples. "I can’t tell if you’re toying with me or if you genuinely don’t know." He eyed me again, this time with something bordering on suspicion. "Do you?"

My smile faded slightly.

That was the problem.

I didn’t.

I had memories of assembling Erebus, of weaving the mana threads, of refining the process itself into something more elegant than any other known method.

But the critical moment?

The point where the Basilisk Heart’s remnant consciousness had shifted? Where a lifeless construct had become something more?

There was nothing.

A blank space in my mind. An absence.

Even Luna, with all her knowledge, had no answer for it.

I exhaled, my expression smoothing out. "All I know is that I succeeded."

Paul regarded me with the careful scrutiny of a man dissecting a particularly fascinating specimen. His dark eyes held no arrogance, just a cool, calculating curiosity. Then, after a long, weighted pause, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling lightly.

"I’ll make you an offer," he said, his tone as composed as ever. "Your Lich is the first recorded instance of an Ancient Undead being created under normal mana laws. A feat that should have been impossible. And yet, here you are."

He let that thought settle, watching me. I didn’t react. I had already expected this conversation to happen the moment he showed interest in my work.

"I believe that, in time, you’ll uncover exactly how you managed it," Paul continued. "And when that happens, I want to work alongside you. My goal is simple—I want to create my own Ancient Undead."

I didn’t miss the blunt honesty in his words. He wasn’t pretending to be altruistic, nor was he hiding behind flowery academic curiosity. He wanted my discovery. Plain and simple.

I tilted my head slightly, feigning consideration. "And what do I gain from this arrangement?"

Paul’s lips curled faintly, not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment of the expected question. "In the future, when the time comes for your second summon, I will assist you. Not just with the selection, but with its optimization—ensuring that it’s a creature worthy of standing alongside your Lich."

That was a tempting offer on its own. But he wasn’t finished.

"Additionally," he added, his voice steady, "I will provide my expertise in modifying and evolving the Skeleton of your Lich, upgrading its physical structure to that of an Arch Lich."

My fingers tapped lightly against my thigh. ’Of course, he saw through it.’ The Lich I had created, while exceptional, had a fundamental limitation—his Body aspect. His growth was stunted in that regard, something that I would eventually need to remedy if I wanted him to reach its full potential.

Paul knew that. And he was offering me the solution.

"Do you find these terms acceptable?" he asked, watching me with quiet amusement, as if he already knew my answer.

I pressed my lips together in thought, giving the appearance of measured consideration.

It was a good offer. An exceptionally good one. And Paul Lucrian wasn’t the type to make casual deals—if he was investing in me, it was because he saw me as a worthwhile asset.

I exhaled, then nodded. "Alright. I accept."

Paul’s expression barely shifted, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his gaze as he extended his hand.

"Then I look forward to working with you, greatest genius of the new generation."

I clasped his hand in a firm shake, matching his smile with one of my own.