I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 136: Furious Mia

The clash for the Art Manual had escalated into a whirlwind of swift movements, calculated strikes, and relentless pursuit.

Elara's katana remained poised against Gideon's throat, while Varnok's iron grip locked his arms in place, preventing any form of escape. But Gideon wasn't one to surrender so easily.

His vision cleared in moments, taking in the tense scene around him.

'Crazy! The Princess and the Barbarian have teamed up. And what's wrong with this big guy's grip? It feels like iron chains!'

But rather than resist directly, Gideon took a different approach.

In one fluid motion, he released the manual, letting it drop to the floor.

As the book fell—he struck.

His foot lashed out, sending the book soaring straight into the air.

In that instant, all eyes locked onto the manual, their focus drawn upward as it spiraled toward the ceiling.

Varnok reacted immediately, he first released Gideon.

Then with a single powerful bend, he launched himself skyward—his enormous form cutting through the air with surprising agility.

A hulking figure leaping such heights was a sight to behold, his extended hand nearly closing around the manual.

But then—blades.

A flurry of sharp edges sliced past the manual, grazing its cover ever so slightly.

A fraction of a second later, a set of the blades which soared above the manual spin warping around the book, tightening into a controlled motion.

Upon closer inspection, a thin wire connected between short the blades.

The manual was then pulled down, redirected from Varnok's grasp.

And the mastermind behind the maneuver?

Lilia.

Standing firm, her Composite Sword glowed faintly, its versatile design allowing her to wield it like a lasso, securing the manual in her grasp.

The moment the Art Manual settled into Lilia's grip, the blades that had once spun around it were instantly released.

In a seamless, almost hypnotic motion, they snapped back into their original form, the sharp edges converging with a resounding clink as they reassembled into her Composite Sword—now resting firmly in her grasp.

But something had shifted in her.

Her previously soft pink eyes were now infused with a blueish hue, the warmth in her expression erased entirely.

Instead of the sweet, seductive aura she had carried before, her presence now radiated uncompromising coldness—a chilling pressure that made the air feel heavier.

Standing at her back, Lyssa also had the shift.

Her dark hollow eyes, emotionless yet intense, held an intense amount of killing intent in them, their combined aura thick with impending battle.

And then—Isolde moved.

Her rapier hung low, yet her steps were slow and deliberate, each one a measured stride forward.

Her gaze—locked onto the manual in Lilia's possession. Her steps were slow but her demeanor carried the presence of a commander heading alone in the battlefield.

At the same time, Varnok landed with a heavy thud, his sheer bulk sending a tremor through the floor as he picked up his club, rolling his shoulders in preparation.

Yet before any attack could be initiated, a new threat arose.

Elara who had taken the blade away from Gideon's neck and had begun to sheath her blade, her focus pinned on Lilia.

But the moment she did—her instincts screamed.

Something was behind her.

She barely managed to jump sideways, her reflexes narrowly saving her as a strong gust of wind tore past her, ripping through her uniform, leaving behind a jagged cut in the fabric.

And its trajectory?

Straight toward Isolde, who stood directly ahead.

The bright flash tore through the chaotic battlefield, a streak of light slicing past Gideon, Varnok, and Elara with impossible speed.

Before the raging gust of wind could reach Isolde, the figure reached her first—Leon.

With unwavering precision, he planted his Great Sword into the ground, its broad steel acting as an unyielding barrier.

The gust collided against the blade, dispersing into harmless wisps of air.

Gideon clicked of his tongue watching his surprise attack missed, frustration flickering in his battle-hardened smirk.

'A Free-for-All with him included… This is going to be taxing.' His fingers inside his gauntlet tightened forming a fist, anticipation crackling in his veins.

But Isolde's thoughts took a different turn. She stared at Leon's back, her sharp eyes narrowing. 'Does he think I am weak?'

She had already sensed the attack—prepared to counter it before Leon ever made his move. His intervention was unnecessary, an intrusion into her battle.

Leon, now standing dead center between the competitors, raised his voice above the tension. "Everyone, please don't fight over a si—" fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

THUMP

THUMP

The ground shook beneath a sudden, monstrous presence.

Leon barely had time to react.

With just two massive steps, the entire distance was covered—a towering figure loomed over him.

And then—a colossal club descended, aimed straight for Leon's head with bone-crushing force.

"Wait!" Leon's voice rang out, sharp and commanding—but Varnok had already made his choice.

He wasn't here to claim the Art Manual—not in the way the others were.

Unlike Leon, who had stepped forward in an attempt to quell the chaos, Varnok had entered for one just simple reason—to fight.

Leon saw the unwavering determination in the eyes of the attacker and the intense fighting spirit inside them. He immediately understood there would be no talking him down.

Within a fraction of a second, Leon crouched low, his instincts kicking in.

His Great Sword arced upward, cutting through the air in a reverse motion, carrying the sheer force of his swing toward Varnok's descending club.

CLANG!

The thunderous impact of the two weapons colliding rang through the massive hall, shaking the very shelves that lined its walls.

But instead of rebounding—Varnok's club held firm.

He had absorbed the force entirely, refusing to let Leon's counter shift his stance. Sparks erupted, flashing between the two weapons as they ground against each other, illuminating their locked struggle.

Leon, despite the pressure, showed no signs of yielding. His grip remained solid, his posture unyielding.

A single thought flickered through Varnok's mind—

'He's contending with me in strength.'

A challenge. A worthy opponent.

Without hesitation, his left hand shot forward, gripping the handle of his club.

Leon had held firm, his grip unwavering, but the moment Varnok shifted his stance, using both hands to reinforce his club, the pressure multiplied.

Slowly, Leon's figure was forced downward, his muscles straining under the sheer raw strength becoming harder to counter.

'What strength?' The thought surged through Leon's mind as he twisted his body, pivoting with the motion of his Great Sword in an attempt to deflect the force.

The club slid against the blade's edge, sparks cascading from the friction. And just as it was about to slam into the floor—

It stopped.

Mid-air.

Frozen in place.

A cold, authoritative voice pierced through the silence.

"What is going on over here?"

The words reverberated through the Weapon Arts Section, cutting through the escalating tension like an icy blade.

Then—a wave of unnatural cold swept through the battlefield.

It wasn't Mana Pressure—nothing as simple as an oppressive force weighing down on them. No, this was different.

Their bodies themselves refused to move—as if an invisible power had sealed them in place.

The realization dawned a second too late.

A creeping frost spread rapidly, engulfing them from the neck down.

Within moments, all of the main characters were encased in ice, their limbs frozen solid, unable to budge.

The chilling grip immobilized every competitor, locking them in a prison of frost, their breaths turning into mist as the air grew sharper, colder.

The Weapon Arts Section, once filled with chaotic movement, now stood eerily still—silent, frozen, under the sheer force of Mia's presence.

Every student slowly turned their heads, their eyes landing on the imposing figure that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Teacher Mia stood at the heart of the scene, her gaze cold, unforgiving, filled with sharp authority.

Moments ago, she had been in the Spell Section, her attention focused on examining new Spells when a sudden shift in mana piqued her senses.

A disturbance—power surging unnaturally from the far corner of the Weapon Arts Section.

Though she had been on the opposite side of the hall, the change was too blatant to ignore.

Without hesitation, she moved at maximum speed, crossing the distance in mere moments—only to arrive and find a battlefield raging within the Art Hall.

Weapons were drawn. Mana and Aura thickened the air, clashing wildly against each other.

Mia scanned the scene in an instant—Elara's torn uniform, the lingering signs of spellcasting, the unreadable expressions of those locked in combat.

Her decision was made before any of them could react.

Two Magic Circles materialized in her palms,

And then—the spell was unleashed.

The Main characters barely could not even react until the cold hit them and they released that they have become ice statues.

"Students of the Aether Class. What is this behavior?"

Her piercing gaze swept across the group, lingering on each of them, her expression unreadable—but undeniably displeased.

The ice that had locked them in place began to vanish, dissolving into thin air as she stepped forward, yet none dared to move.

Her presence was suffocating.

"If I remember correctly, I instructed everyone to pick an Art within the time allotted. Yet instead of using your time to search, you resorted to fighting—using both Mana and Aura without permission.

It seems my words have been taken for granted?"

Mia's steps were slow, deliberate—each one pressing the weight of her authority down on them.

There was no mistaking it now—she was furious.

And then came her final warning.

"One by one, start explaining starting with Student Leon and make sure to choose your words carefully or I might take an disciplinary action."