I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 135: Trolling the Main Characters

As Ashok made his way toward the Weapon Arts Section, a quiet yet unmistakable shift occurred among the students.

Without exchanging words, nearly ten of them—including the key figures within the class—began trailing behind him, maintaining a measured distance.

Their footsteps, though silent, carried a singular purpose.

They were watching him.

They were waiting—waiting to see what he would choose, so they could take the same.

A realization had settled deep within their minds—this guy was not ordinary.

The logic behind their reasoning was simple:

First—his eyes missed nothing.

No one else in the class had uncovered the Three Rune Weapons hidden within the Weapon Hall, yet Ashok had pinpointed them with ease.

Second—his knowledge exceeded reason.

He had openly revealed Hamiel's identity as a Divine Creator, a truth that none of them had known.

Even those from prestigious noble families had been oblivious to such information.

And third—the most compelling reason—he was already ahead.

Two merit points. A Gold Pass granted by Hamiel himself. Something valuable, though none of them understood its significance just yet.

Yet beyond all that, there was one more question lurking in their thoughts.

Why had he stepped into the Weapon Arts Section despite having chosen no weapon?

The answer was self-evident.

There had to be something special here—something hidden. Something only he knew about.

And for that reason alone, the students followed.

Watching.

Waiting.

Because if Ashok had found something in the Weapon Hall that none of them had seen—then surely, he would find something here too.

Lilia leaned toward Lyssa, voice hushed. "Aim for whichever Art he chooses."

Lyssa responded only with a slight nod, her gaze locked onto Adlet, she walked in Lilia's shadow ready to strike without a moment of hesitation.

Not far behind, Elara walked with measured caution, her mind racing. 'Just what kind of Art is he searching for in the Weapon Section? Could it be a Tier 4 or higher?'

Though Teacher Mia had already said there will be no art above Tier 3 with Adlet, the possibility alone was enticing, and she wasn't alone in her thoughts.

Isolde, observing the scene unfold, furrowed her brow ever so slightly. 'Even the princess is aiming for the Art chosen by that man…'

Gideon, trailing with a knowing smirk, allowed himself a moment of amusement.

'I was right to follow him. He's going to reveal something interesting again.' He had seen enough today to know that Adlet never acted without reason.

But Varnok, watching the Empire's renowned geniuses tread behind Adlet, couldn't shake an unsettling thought.

'In just one day, this man has gathered so much attention. I should learn from him. But… why does he feel weak to me?'

There was a contradiction in front of him, and he couldn't yet unravel it.

Meanwhile, Leon, who had entered the Weapon Arts Section with the singular intent of selecting an Art for his Great Sword, paused upon seeing the long procession trailing behind a single figure.

His expression tightened slightly.

'Why are they following him?' The question lingered in his mind—uncertain, unanswered.

And with that curiosity sparking in his chest, Leon too joined the group, the only one among them not aiming for the Art Adlet was after.

Ashok moved through the Weapon Arts Section with deliberate ease, his crimson gaze flicking between the towering glass cabinets.

The weight of unseen attention pressed against his back—his every step trailed by the relentless eyes of students who had locked onto him as their unspoken guide.

'These fools have been consumed by greed.' He mused, his smirk barely concealed.

His steps came to an abrupt halt as he turned on his heel—only to find a perfectly orchestrated deception unfolding before him.

Every single student who had been following him—the renowned figures, the ambitious opportunists—were now suddenly engrossed in reading the descriptions beneath the glass cabinets, chatting amongst themselves as if nothing was amiss.

A well-crafted act.

'Wow. Even the main characters are following me.'

Amusement danced in his eyes as he faced forward once more.

They thought they were clever. Thought they could trick him into believing their interest was purely coincidence.

But Ashok wasn't fooled.

The moment his feet moved forward again—so did theirs, seamlessly slipping into step behind him.

They were waiting. Watching.

Anticipating what he would choose so they could follow suit.

And then, an idea took root in Ashok's mind.

'Why don't I have some fun?'

With calculated precision, Ashok suddenly halted—his gaze settling on the glass shelf beside him.

His fingers hovered just over the inscriptions, as if analyzing the Arts displayed within. The students stiffened, eyes sharpening, their breaths quieting as they watched his every move.

Then—just as smoothly—he walked away.

A wave of movement followed.

The students rushed to the shelf he had stopped at, scrambling to study its contents, expecting something valuable—only to find absolutely nothing useful.

Ashok sneered in silent amusement, his gaze flickering sideways to observe their disappointment.

And with the same effortless rhythm, he did it again—stopping at another shelf, feigning interest, before casually moving on.

The students scrambled once more—only to be met with Tier 1 scraps, or weapons arts unworthy of even consideration.

One after another, he led them into dead ends, turning their desperation into a game he was enjoying far too much.

He wasn't just avoiding their greed.

He was trolling them mercilessly.

Ashok's game had stretched far longer than expected, weaving deception and amusement into every carefully calculated step.

The cycle continued—his eyes scanning a shelf, lingering just long enough to spark curiosity, before moving on.

And as if caught in a spell, the others followed, their greed compelling them to chase every insignificant motion he made.

Again and again, the same pattern unfolded—until Mia's voice shattered the illusion.

"One hour left."

The words rang out across the Arts and Spell Hall, a sharp wake-up call that sent ripples of realization through the main characters trailing behind him.

A tense silence followed.

They had wandered the entire Weapon Arts Section, chasing a phantom lead—and ended up with absolutely nothing to show for it.

Ashok barely contained his laughter, his inner thoughts bursting with amusement. 'HAHAHAHA! This is too much fun.'

The satisfaction of leading the supposed geniuses of the Empire on an hour-long hunt for nothing was simply priceless.

But now, a shift was occurring. Doubt crept into the minds of those who had followed him so blindly.

'Should we still follow him?'

The question gnawed at them.

They had already wasted half their time—precious minutes that could have been used to select an Art suited to their needs.

But Ashok wasn't done.

'I won't let you leave, idiots. Time for the finale.'

Without hesitation, his stride carried him toward the last weapon shelf—but this time, it wasn't a trick.

This shelf was his target from the very beginning.

He had never wasted his own time—only theirs.

And now, the real game was about to begin.

Ashok stood beside the towering glass shelf, his eyes scanning the bottom row, where three art manuals lay neatly arranged.

His gaze flickered with intent as he reached forward, sliding open the cabinet door with practiced ease.

Just as his fingers hovered over the first manual of the bottom row, ready to claim it—

A hand shot forward, snatching the book from his grasp in one swift motion.

Ashok's expression shifted instantly—his usual detached demeanor giving way to genuine shock. His head turned, crimson eyes narrowing at the unexpected thief.

A noble student stood before him, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

He had been following Ashok from the very beginning, carefully shadowing his movements, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"I will be the one taking this Art." His voice brimmed with pride, his grip tightening around the manual as if to solidify his claim.

For a brief second, victory seemed assured.

Then—a flicker of movement.

A flash cut through the air, faster than the noble could even process.

Before he could react—before he could fully comprehend what had just happened—the manual was gone.

His fingers grasped at nothing.

The book—mere moments ago in his possession—spun mid-air, flipping gracefully before landing securely in the grasp of Isolde.

Isolde stood firm, her stance unwavering as she glared at the others, her fingers tightening around the art manual she had seized.

"This art belongs to me," she declared, her voice carrying a sharp edge—prepared to fight for her claim if necessary.

But then—the shadows moved.

A sleek, inky hand shot out from beneath her feet, slipping between the space like liquid night. Before she could react, the manual was snatched away, disappearing within the shadows.

'When?' The thought flashed through Isolde's mind as her eyes darted, searching for the culprit.

Then—she saw it.

The shadow had shifted, curling toward the feet of another figure standing just ahead.

Emerging from the darkness, Lyssa appeared, holding the manual securely in her grip.

A sharp laugh followed, Lilia's standing beside Lyssa her seductive voice dripping with amusement. "It seems you missed, Ironhart. It seems the strong—"

She never got to finish.

A gale-like burst swept past her, followed by the fierce arc of a punch—a gauntlet-equipped fist aimed straight for Lyssa's face.

Instantly, Lyssa reacted.

Her chakram rose to counter the strike, its silver edge gleaming with readiness.

But—it was a feint.

Midway, the attacking hand abruptly shifted downward, bypassing her defense entirely.

Before Lyssa could counter, the manual was ripped from her grip, vanishing from her hands.

And in a blur of movement, Gideon—now the new possessor—bolted.

His feet barely touched the ground as he raced in the direction he came from, weaving between the towering shelves.

Victory was within reach.

Until—darkness swallowed his vision.

A solid black screen dropped over his field of sight, rendering him momentarily blind.

Then—two strong hands clamped around his arms, locking him in place.

Elara had obstructed his sight.

Varnok had trapped his body.

Gideon's instincts screamed for movement, for escape—but then, he felt it.

A cold blade brushing against his throat.

The fight for the manual had escalated.