The Extra's Rise-Chapter 779: Public (3)

The news reached me through my carefully maintained network of digital informants at precisely the moment Arthur Nightingale announced his political masterstroke to the world. Six engagements. Six rings. Six women who now represented the most comprehensive alliance structure in modern political history.

And one of those women was supposed to be mine.

I sat in my private study, staring at the secure tablet that had delivered this devastating intelligence through encrypted channels, feeling something cold and furious unfurl in my chest. The livestream of the Imperial Trade Summit was still playing on my wall display, showing Arthur’s composed face as reporters bombarded him with questions about the unprecedented announcement.

Arthur had taken everything—not just the woman who was supposed to be my path to greater influence, but the entire strategic landscape I had been so carefully constructing.

"Elara Astoria," I murmured, her name carrying a bitter taste that I hadn’t expected. "The perfect asset, now completely beyond reach."

That was what she had been, after all. An asset. A means to an end. The pure-hearted support mage and healer whose influence could have opened doors that raw power alone could never breach. Her reputation for absolute moral integrity made her invaluable for someone who needed to operate in shadows while maintaining public respectability.

But Arthur had seen her value too, and his positioning had been superior from the beginning. While I had been subtle, he had been direct. While I had been calculating the perfect moment to strike, he had been building genuine rapport. While I had been treating the courtship as a strategic campaign, he had apparently been winning her actual affection.

The memory surfaced unbidden, sharp and unwelcome in its clarity. Three years ago, during one of the cultural exhibitions where I had been carefully studying Elara’s responses to different stimuli, measuring her reactions to determine the most effective approaches for future manipulation.

She had been standing before a display of war orphan artwork, her violet eyes reflecting the pain and hope captured in childish drawings of families torn apart by conflict. I had positioned myself nearby, observing how she processed emotional information, cataloging her responses for strategic reference.

"It’s heartbreaking," she had said softly, not realizing I was close enough to hear. Her voice carried genuine anguish that couldn’t be manufactured or performed. "These children have lost everything, but they’re still dreaming of love and safety."

I had watched her discreetly transfer funds through her personal banking app—not some official charitable account, but her own money—quietly arranging for the purchase of several drawings. Not for herself, but to ensure the orphans received fair compensation for their work. The transaction was handled with such discretion that no one else even noticed her generosity.

’Perfect,’ I had thought, analyzing the strategic implications. This was exactly the kind of authentic compassion that could be leveraged, the genuine goodness that would make her trust whatever guidance I chose to provide. Her pure heart would be the key to everything I was building.

She was perfect for my purposes, nothing more. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

The memory faded, leaving me staring at news coverage of Arthur’s triumph with hands clenched into fists. That moment of weakness, that brief instant where I had almost allowed myself to be distracted by sentiment—it was exactly the kind of vulnerability that Arthur had exploited to maximum advantage.

He had seen what I had seen—Elara’s genuine goodness, her authentic compassion, her ability to inspire trust and loyalty through simple human decency. But where I had recognized a tool to be acquired and employed, Arthur had apparently seen something worth protecting and cherishing.

And now she was lost to me forever.

The political implications were staggering. Arthur’s six-way alliance made him virtually untouchable through conventional means. His connection to three superpowers, plus significant noble support within the Slatemark Empire itself, created a defensive network that could weather almost any political storm.

But more than that, he had stolen the centerpiece of my own careful planning. Elara wasn’t just another alliance—she was the moral authority that could have legitimized everything else I intended to accomplish. Her endorsement would have opened doors that money and threats could never breach.

Another memory surfaced: watching her through security footage from the city medical center, tending to injured civilians after a magical accident. The way she had worked tirelessly for hours, asking nothing in return, refusing any offers of compensation or recognition despite being the daughter of an archduke way more worthy than dirtying her hands with those filthy commoners.

I had been analyzing her technique through the feeds, noting how her healing magic seemed more effective than it should be based on pure power levels. It was her emotional investment in each patient that made the difference—she poured genuine care into every spell, every treatment, every moment of contact.

"Remarkable efficiency," I had murmured to myself, genuinely impressed despite the clinical nature of my observation. Not just by her magical abilities, but by the way she made everyone around her feel valued and protected. This was exactly what I needed—someone whose very presence elevated everyone’s perception of moral authority.

Now Arthur had claimed that dedication for himself and his alliance. Six rings, six commitments, six women who would reshape the political landscape while remaining forever beyond my reach.

My secure phone buzzed with an encrypted message from the Order. The elders had been monitoring the situation and wanted immediate consultation about revised strategies. As the heir to the Order of Fallen Flame, my personal failures reflected on the organization’s entire long-term planning.

I moved to my private safe, retrieving certain encrypted drives that contained information I had hoped never to need in civilized society. But Arthur’s move had been too comprehensive, too devastating to counter through conventional methods. If political maneuvering could no longer achieve my objectives, then other approaches would be necessary.

The Order had been remarkably patient with my gradual infiltration of high society, understanding that certain goals required subtle long-term positioning rather than dramatic short-term action. But circumstances had changed, and patience was no longer a luxury I could afford.

Arthur Nightingale thought he had outmaneuvered me completely. He believed his political alliances made him untouchable, his reputation unassailable, his position secure. He had stolen the woman who should have been my path to legitimacy and turned her into yet another pillar supporting his growing empire.

But there were other kinds of power than political influence. Other methods of destroying enemies than social maneuvering. Other ways of claiming victory than building alliances.

I began typing coded messages that would set certain plans in motion—plans that had been held in reserve for exactly this kind of desperate situation. Arthur had forced my hand by taking everything I had worked toward, but he had also given me the justification I needed to abandon subtlety entirely.

The artifacts in my vault hummed with barely contained demonic energy as I made my preparations. Such power was dangerous to wield, but it was also devastatingly effective when properly applied. Arthur’s political network couldn’t protect him from accusations that struck at the very foundation of civilized society.

Let him enjoy his six rings and his continental alliances. Let him bask in the momentary triumph of outmaneuvering someone he thought was merely a political rival.

Soon enough, he would learn that some enemies couldn’t be defeated through clever positioning and strategic marriages.

As I sent the final encrypted message and began preparing the tools that would reshape this entire game, I felt my eyes darkening with the kind of cold determination that had carried me through every obstacle in my path.

Arthur Nightingale had just made the last mistake of his life.

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