The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?-Chapter 367 - "Let’s Go!"

A stillness fell.

Not natural.

Not earned.

It arrived like an invisible tide swallowing sound itself.

Then—

Pressure.

It descended without warning.

Heavy. Ancient. Absolute.

The air thickened, compressing lungs and muscles alike as if the sky itself had lowered by several meters. Stone beneath everyone’s feet groaned faintly. Mana currents across the plaza twisted violently before flattening into submission.

Steel froze mid-swing.

A divine guard staggered, his spear slipping from numb fingers as his knees buckled. Another choked, clutching his chest as sweat instantly broke across his brow. Even seasoned knights—battle-hardened and disciplined—found their breathing uneven, their bodies instinctively lowering under the overwhelming presence.

Across from them—

Kyle dropped one knee to the ground, panting.

"...W-what... is this...?"

Aurelia gritted her teeth, spear tip scraping stone as she forced herself upright. The fire inside her flickered—not extinguished, but pressed down like a flame struggling beneath ocean water.

Sylthara’s ears flattened against her head as instinct screamed danger, her daggers lowering despite her will.

Above, Selena’s Ice Phoenix faltered mid-flight, wings shuddering before it retreated instinctively, circling at a cautious distance. Selena clutched its feathers, her already pale face draining further.

Vincent narrowed his eyes, his sword lowering slightly.

"...Finally," he muttered under his breath.

The Divine Guards were worse.

Several collapsed outright. Others stood rigid, trembling, unable to advance, unable to retreat—trapped beneath a weight their training had never prepared them for.

And then—

At the center of the execution plaza...

Space folded.

Not dramatically. Not violently.

It simply... gave way.

Like mist parting around an unseen figure.

An old man stood there.

He had not walked in.

He had not descended from the sky.

He was simply there.

Long white hair fell past his shoulders, stirred lazily by a wind no one else could feel. A beard of equal length rested neatly against robes so plain they almost seemed deliberate in their simplicity—dark fabric trimmed only with faint silver threads that shimmered subtly with layered enchantments far beyond mortal craftsmanship.

His posture was relaxed.

One hand rested behind his back. The other held a simple wooden staff—not ornate, not ceremonial—yet the air around it hummed faintly, as if the world itself recognized its authority.

Silence swallowed the square.

Then murmurs erupted.

"W-who is that...?"

"When did he get there?"

"I didn’t see him arrive..."

"Is he clergy...?"

"No... no priest carries presence like that..."

"Why... why does it feel like I can’t even breathe...?"

On the execution platform—

Luca froze.

His crimson eyes widened beneath his helm as recognition struck like lightning.

"...Dean..."

The word escaped him in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Kyle blinked hard before letting out a strangled laugh of relief, collapsing back onto one hand.

"Ha... hahaha... that old monster finally decided to show up..."

Aurelia’s shoulders loosened visibly, tension draining from her stance as she exhaled slowly, though her grip on her spear remained firm.

Sylthara tilted her head, golden eyes flickering with curiosity and awe as she studied the man radiating impossible authority.

Selena simply closed her eyes for half a second—relief so quiet it almost went unnoticed.

Even Vincent allowed the faintest lowering of his blade.

They were exhausted.

They had been fighting past their limits.

And now—

They didn’t have to hold the line alone anymore.

Across the plaza—

The Pope watched the old man appear.

For the first time, his calm gaze sharpened fully. Interest deepened into something far older. Far more personal.

Then—

He smiled.

Slowly.

Knowingly.

"I thought," the Pope said, his voice carrying clearly across the suffocating silence,

"you wouldn’t come out until blood had already been spilled."

The old man did not immediately respond.

He simply stood there.

And the entire Holy Kingdom felt smaller because of it.

The plaza held its breath.

Not a whisper stirred.

Not a blade shifted.

Even the wind that had been tugging banners moments earlier now hung frozen between movements, as if the world itself had paused to witness what stood before it.

The Dean of Arcadia Academy...

And the Pope of the Holy Kingdom of Solaria...

Faced one another across the fractured execution stage.

No weapons drawn.

No mana flaring.

And yet the air between them trembled like glass stretched to its breaking point.

The invisible pressure thickened. Guards lowered their weapons without realizing it. Priests clutched their staffs tighter. Citizens felt their knees weaken beneath them as two presences—ancient, immeasurable, and absolute—pressed silently against one another.

Even Luca and his friends, hardened by trials and battles, felt it.

Kyle swallowed hard.

"...Why does it feel like if either of them blinks, the whole kingdom might explode..."

Aurelia said nothing, but her fingers tightened around her spear.

On the elevated dais—

The Pope tilted his head slightly, studying the old man standing below him with calm, fathomless eyes.

"As the Dean of Arcadia Academy..." he said, his voice smooth, steady, carrying effortlessly across the square,

"...what business do you have here?"

The Dean remained silent.

His gaze drifted briefly toward the execution pillar... toward the chains... toward the trembling Saintess standing beside Luca.

Then he spoke.

"It seems," he said quietly,

"you have one of my students standing in the mouth of execution."

A faint ripple spread through the crowd.

"How could I not be here?"

The Pope’s lips curved ever so slightly.

"Is that so?"

And then—

They vanished.

Not with light.

Not with sound.

One moment they stood across from one another—

The next, the space between them was empty.

Gasps erupted across the square. Several Divine Guards jerked backward instinctively. Clergy members flinched, mana flaring defensively.

Luca’s eyes sharpened, instincts screaming.

Where—

Before the thought could finish—

They were back.

Exactly where they had stood before.

Not a single stone cracked.

Not a robe disturbed.

Not a particle of dust displaced.

Only—

The air felt heavier.

Older.

As if two incomprehensible forces had clashed somewhere beyond the perception of mortal senses... and returned with their conclusions already decided.

The Pope studied the Dean for a long moment.

"You seem... determined," he said.

The Dean’s answer came without hesitation.

"I am."

Silence stretched again.

The Pope leaned back slightly against his throne, fingers tapping once against the armrest, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"Don’t you care about your position anymore?" he asked mildly.

A faint murmur rippled through the clergy. Several bishops exchanged alarmed glances. The Divine Guards shifted uncertainly.

The Dean exhaled slowly.

"My old bones," he said, voice calm, almost tired,

"can’t handle that academy much longer."

For the first time since arriving—

He turned his head.

His gaze fell on Luca.

Then Kyle.

Aurelia.

Selena.

Sylthara.

Aiden.

Vincent.

The exhausted, bloodied, unyielding students standing together in defiance of an entire kingdom.

Something softened in his expression.

"It is time," he said quietly,

"for young blood to take over."

The Pope watched him closely.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Are you sure?"

The Dean simply nodded.

Once.

Without hesitation.

Without regret.

The Pope’s gaze lingered on him... then slowly drifted toward the execution platform... toward the chained Saintess... toward Luca standing before her like a shield forged from stubborn will and reckless conviction.

The square held its breath again.

Then—

The Pope spoke.

"Take her away, then."

The words had barely left the Pope’s lips when the square fractured into chaos once more.

"Your Holiness!"

The bishop stepped forward abruptly, robes sweeping violently across the marble steps as his composure shattered completely. His face flushed red, veins standing out along his temple, fingers trembling as they clenched into fists at his sides.

"How could you allow this?!" he demanded, voice cracking with outrage. "This is a direct defiance of divine law! The Goddess—this goes against the will of the Goddess herself!"

His breathing had grown uneven. His carefully practiced dignity had dissolved into naked desperation.

"You cannot simply release a fallen Saintess because a group of reckless children and a decaying academy elder barge into sacred proceedings!" he continued, his voice rising higher, sharper, almost shrill. "This undermines the authority of the Church! The faith of the people! The sanctity of divine judgment!"

The clergy behind him shifted nervously, unsure whether to support him or remain silent.

The Pope did neither.

He simply turned his head slightly.

That single, slow glance landed on the bishop.

The effect was immediate.

The temperature in the bishop’s chest seemed to drop. His words faltered mid-breath. His mouth remained half open, but nothing emerged. Sweat gathered along his brow despite the cool wind sweeping across the plaza.

"You think," the Pope said quietly, voice calm as still water,

"...that you understand the Goddess better than I do?"

The bishop froze.

Color drained from his face.

His lips trembled as if forming a reply... but instinct, fear, and decades of learned obedience strangled the words before they could form. Slowly, stiffly, he lowered his gaze and stepped back.

Silence reclaimed the dais.

Below, on the shattered execution platform, the Dean turned.

His robes shifted softly around his ankles as he surveyed the battlefield that had become of the sacred square—injured guards, trembling clergy, exhausted students, and a Saintess whose chains still glowed faintly against her pale wrists.

His gaze moved deliberately.

To Seraphina—still standing tall despite the blood streaking down her sleeve.

To Harleth—leaning slightly heavier on his sword than usual, though his posture remained unbroken.

To Vincent—calm, blade lowered but ready.

To Aiden—golden eyes still burning with righteous resolve.

To Kyle—grinning through split lips and bruised knuckles.

To Aurelia—spear planted firmly beside her, fire flickering in her exhausted gaze.

To Sylthara—daggers loose but poised, tail of tension coiled in every muscle.

To Selena—standing beside the Ice Phoenix’s descending shadow, breath shallow, but gaze unwavering.

And finally—

To Luca.

The crimson-eyed boy standing directly before the Saintess, sabers lowered but body still angled protectively between her and the world.

The Dean inhaled slowly.

Then he spoke.

"Let’s go."

Relief rippled through several of the students. Kyle visibly exhaled. Selena’s shoulders lowered by a fraction. Even Vincent allowed the faintest loosening of tension in his stance.

The Divine Guards hesitated, uncertain whether to stand down or maintain formation.

The Saintess trembled slightly, her gaze flickering between the Dean... and Luca.

Then—

"No!!!"

The word cracked across the square like thunder striking bare stone.

Every head snapped toward its source.

The Dean stopped mid-step.

The Pope’s eyes sharpened faintly.

The clergy stiffened.

The crowd gasped collectively.

Standing there—

Crimson eyes blazing beneath a cracked visor... black armor dusted with stone fragments and streaked with battle scars... chest rising and falling from exhaustion yet unyielding—

Luca stepped forward.

The boy who had just done the unthinkable.

He had not only challenged the Holy Kingdom.

He had not only fought its Divine Guards.

He had not only forced the Pope and the Dean of

Arcadia Academy into the same arena—

He had just refused them both.

And the square realized, in a single chilling moment—

This was no longer about permission.

This was about something far more dangerous.