The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?-Chapter 365 - "Yes....We Are!"

The square erupted again.

Not into chaos—but into motion.

Steel rang as formations re-formed, Divine Guards snapping back into discipline despite the shock. Holy sigils flared brighter now, no longer hesitant, their eyes hardening as they recognized a real threat standing before them.

And this time—

They didn’t advance alone.

Luca stepped forward, sabers crossing in front of him, stance lowering as mana rolled tight and controlled through his body. Kyle cracked his neck beside him, spear spinning once before planting firmly into the stone. Aurelia’s flames burned hotter, tighter, no longer explosive but razor-focused. Aiden raised his golden blade, light gathering around its edge. Sylthara vanished into motion, daggers whispering as her body blurred low and fast. Selena hovered above on the Ice Phoenix, frost spiraling defensively around them.

And Vincent—

Vincent moved like inevitability.

The moment the guards surged, he stepped in.

A clean, precise slash severed the momentum of the front line—shield edges sliced cleanly, not shattered, but cut, their enchantments unraveling a heartbeat too late. He didn’t overextend. Didn’t waste motion. Every step placed him exactly where the enemy least wanted him to be.

"Left!" Luca called.

Kyle reacted instantly, spear thrusting in a tight arc that hooked a guard’s leg and yanked him off balance. Aurelia followed with a point-blank flame burst—not scorching, but concussive—sending two more flying backward without killing force.

Sylthara slid between spear shafts, daggers flashing as she struck joints, tendons, pressure points—guards collapsing in controlled heaps behind her.

Aiden stepped up beside Luca, their blades moving in mirrored rhythm. Light and space intertwined, deflecting, redirecting, forcing openings.

Above them, Selena guided the Ice Phoenix in tight circles, shards of frost raining down just enough to disrupt formations—freezing boots to stone, numbing fingers gripping weapons.

For the first time—

The Divine Guards were forced to fight seriously.

Kyle laughed breathlessly as he deflected a shield bash and countered with a sweeping strike that sent a guard skidding across the platform.

"With senior Vincent here," he shouted, "we’re at least able to put up a fight!"

Vincent didn’t smile.

He moved closer to Luca mid-exchange, sword snapping out to parry a spear aimed at Luca’s blind side with surgical precision.

"This won’t last," Vincent said calmly, voice steady even as his blade turned aside another strike. "They’re rotating units. Reinforcements will keep coming."

Luca knew it.

He could feel it in the pressure—more divinity gathering at the edges of the square, experienced presences beginning to move.

He blocked a downward strike, twisted, and disarmed the guard with a clean cross-cut that sent the weapon clattering away.

"I know," Luca replied, breath controlled, eyes sharp.

Vincent glanced at him briefly—just long enough.

"How much time?" Vincent asked.

Luca’s heart tightened.

For a fleeting moment, warmth surged through him—not relief, not pride, but something heavier.

Trust.

His brother hadn’t asked what the plan was.

He hadn’t asked if there was one.

He had simply assumed there was.

That belief steadied Luca more than any mana ever could.

He parried, stepped, struck—forcing back two guards in rapid succession—then answered honestly.

"I hope soon."

Vincent nodded once.

No doubt. No hesitation.

"Then we hold."

The guards surged again—harder this time.

Divine energy crashed against steel and flame, frost and space, blade and will. The platform shook under the weight of clashing forces, dust rising with every impact.

Luca’s sabers moved faster now, cutting lines of control rather than bodies—breaking rhythm, forcing hesitation. Aurelia anchored the center, flames forming a living wall. Aiden guarded the Saintess’s position instinctively, light flaring each time danger edged too close. Sylthara struck from shadows, Vincent from precision, Kyle from raw momentum, Selena from above.

They were no longer dominating—

—but they were no longer being overwhelmed.

They stood. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Toe to toe with the Holy Kingdom’s divine knights.

And as steel screamed and mana burned, Luca’s gaze flicked—just once—toward the dais.

Toward the Pope.

Toward the moment he was waiting for.

Soon, he repeated silently.

It has to be soon.

The bishop had lost all composure.

Veins bulged along his neck as he strode to the edge of the dais, robes whipping violently around his legs as if mirroring the storm boiling inside him. His fingers dug into the railing, knuckles whitening, nails biting into carved stone.

"Useless—!" he roared, voice cracking as divine amplification flared again. "What are you doing?!"

Below him, Divine Guards staggered, regrouped, advanced—only to be pushed back again. Formation after formation broke under coordinated resistance that should not have been possible from a handful of students.

"You are knights of the Holy Kingdom!" the bishop thundered. "Chosen! Blessed! Trained since childhood!"

His arm snapped outward, pointing accusingly at the battlefield.

"And yet you are being held back by children?!"

A guard hesitated—just for a fraction of a second.

The bishop saw it.

Rage twisted his face into something ugly and raw.

"Advance!" he screamed. "Crush them! Overwhelm them! Do you want the Goddess herself to witness your disgrace?!"

Holy sigils blazed brighter as the Divine Knights responded, jaws clenched, discipline snapping back into place through fear if not faith. Spears lowered. Shields locked. Mana surged harder now—heavier, more oppressive.

The pressure on Luca and the others spiked instantly.

The bishop’s chest heaved as he straightened, eyes burning as they locked onto Luca—onto the black-armored figure standing defiant at the heart of the chaos.

Then his voice dropped.

Not quieter.

Sharper.

More dangerous.

"Is the Arcadia Academy," he demanded, each word cutting like a blade,

"determined to oppose the Holy Kingdom today?"

A chill swept across the square.

Not from wind.

Not from mana.

From certainty.

"Yes," a calm, icy voice rang out across the execution plaza, cutting cleanly through the clash of steel and shouting.

"We are."

The words landed like a verdict.

Every head turned.

From the far edge of the square, the crowd began to part—slowly at first, then faster—as a group advanced through the sea of people. Not in panic. Not in chaos.

With purpose.

Dozens of figures emerged.

Mages in academy cloaks.

Warriors with battle-worn armor.

Healers whose staffs hummed softly with restorative mana.

They moved together—not as a mob, but as a unit that had trained, bled, and fought beside one another.

At their head walked a woman with deep blue hair tied neatly into a bun, not a single strand out of place despite the chaos. Water mana shimmered around her hand, droplets forming and dissolving in precise, controlled patterns. Her expression was cold, composed, and utterly unafraid.

Beside her strode a knight, tall and broad-shouldered, sword already drawn, its edge catching the sunlight with a sharp gleam. His presence alone bent the air around him, pressure rolling outward with every step.

Kyle’s eyes widened.

Then he broke into a grin.

"Professor Seraphina!" he shouted, barely containing himself. "Professor Harleth!"

The reaction was immediate.

Divine Guards shifted, startled.

The crowd gasped.

The bishops stiffened.

Then Seraphina raised her hand.

And the professors charged.

Water spears formed mid-air and hurled forward, smashing into shield formations with explosive force, knocking Divine Guards off their feet. Lightning lanced downward from a mage’s staff, striking the ground and sending holy soldiers skidding backward in crackling arcs.

A warrior leapt over the crowd barrier, blade flashing as he slammed into a knight, parrying a spear thrust and countering with a crushing pommel strike to the helmet.

Healers moved in perfect sync behind them, hands glowing as injuries closed even as battles raged on.

Professor Harleth surged forward like a living battering ram.

His sword swept in a wide arc—

BOOM.

A wave of compressed force blasted outward, sending half a dozen Divine Guards flying backward, armor scraping violently across the stone as they slammed into pillars and collapsed in stunned heaps.

The plaza erupted.

Shouts.

Cries.

The clash of steel and mana colliding violently.

Within moments, the professors broke through the Divine Guard lines and reached Luca’s group, forming a solid front beside them.

Seraphina stopped just in front of Luca.

Her eyes met his.

There was no anger in them.

No panic.

Just sharp, professional disapproval.

"You are reckless," she said flatly.

Luca let out a short breath—half laugh, half relief.

Behind them, the bishop had gone rigid.

His face flushed a deep, furious red as he spun toward the elevated throne, robes shaking with barely contained rage. He pointed a trembling finger toward the battlefield, toward Luca, toward the professors.

"Your Holiness!" he shouted, voice shrill with fury.

"I demand that you take action at once and press down this filth that dares defy the Goddess!"

The square faltered.

Steel still rang.

Mana still flared.

But the moment stretched.

One by one, the clergy turned toward the elevated throne.

Bishops.

High priests.

Cardinals whose robes trembled with agitation.

All eyes fixed on a single figure.

The Pope did not rise.

He sat perfectly still, hands resting lightly on the arms of his throne, posture relaxed—as if he were watching rain fall rather than a battlefield erupt at the foot of his cathedral.

His gaze drifted forward.

Calm.

Depthless.

Still as undisturbed water.

The chaos below reflected in his eyes—and yet did not disturb them.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

The light caught the edge of his profile, carving his features into something ancient and unreadable. The faintest curve touched his lips—not a smile, not quite.

Then he spoke.

Softly.

Almost idly.

"Should I, huh?"