The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 260: THE SHIELD AND THE FLAME

Chapter 255: The Shield and the Flame

​The atmosphere in the Arena of Gods shifted palpably.

​If Michael and Eric’s match had been a cerebral, unsettling display of puppet-mastery that left the audience murmuring in confusion, the upcoming match promised something far more primal. It was the main event the crowd had been hungry for.

​[Match 2: Semi-Finals Block A]

[Leon Lionheart & Selena Veylan (Arcadia Academy)]

[VS]

[Grom & Throg (Titanborn Colosseum)]

​As the names flashed on the holographic screens, the stadium shook—literally.

​From the northern gate, two behemoths emerged. Grom and Throg were students of the Titanborn Colosseum, but the word "student" felt like a polite fiction. They were half-giants, standing nearly eight feet tall, their skin the texture of rough granite. Grom dragged a warhammer that carved a furrow in the adamantite floor, while Throg wore spiked gauntlets the size of beer kegs.

​Opposite them, the contrast couldn’t have been starker.

​Leon Lionheart walked out into the sunlight, his golden hair catching the rays, his armor gleaming white and gold. He looked every bit the storybook hero. Beside him walked Selena Veylan, the Elven prodigy. She was lithe, graceful, and armed with a recurve bow made of silverwood.

​"They look like snacks," Grom grumbled, his voice a bass rumble that vibrated in the spectators’ chests.

​"Crunchy," Throg agreed, slamming his fists together. Sparks flew.

​In the waiting area, Selena gripped her bow tightly. Her pointed ears twitched, picking up the heavy thud of the giants’ heartbeats.

​"This is a bad match-up, Leon," Selena whispered, her voice tight. "My wind arrows won’t pierce their rock-skin unless I hit a joint perfectly. And if they use Seismic Stomp..."

​"I know," Leon said, his voice calm and warm. He adjusted his gauntlets. "If they disrupt the ground, your agility is neutralized. You’re a glass cannon in a phone booth with two bulldozers."

​Selena frowned, looking at the towering monsters. "I’m not defenseless, but... I can’t take a hit from that hammer. One graze and my bones turn to powder."

​Leon drew his sword, Excalibur Galatine (Replica). The blade ignited with a brilliant, roaring white flame that seemed to push back the shadows of the arena.

​"Then don’t take a hit," Leon smiled, stepping in front of her. "That’s what I’m here for."

​The Clash

​The buzzer sounded.

​"CRUSH!" Grom roared.

​The giant didn’t run; he exploded forward. For a creature of such mass, his speed was terrifying. He leaped into the air, bringing the warhammer down in a catastrophic arc aimed directly at Selena.

​"Scatter!" Selena cried, channeling wind mana into her boots to dash sideways.

​"No!" Leon’s command was sharp. "Stay put!"

​Selena froze. It went against every survival instinct she had, but she trusted him.

​Leon planted his feet. He didn’t dodge. He didn’t deflect. He raised his shield—a kite shield emblazoned with the Lionheart crest—and braced his shoulder.

​BOOM.

​The impact was deafening. It sounded like a bomb going off in a canyon.

​A shockwave of dust and displaced air blasted outward, cracking the mana barriers protecting the front row of the audience. The ground beneath Leon’s boots spider-webbed, the adamantite sinking a full six inches.

​But Leon hadn’t moved.

​The warhammer stopped dead against the shield.

​"Is that it?" Leon grunted through gritted teeth, his muscles bulging under his armor.

​Grom’s eyes widened. "Tiny man... strong?"

​"Strong enough," Leon retorted.

​"Throg smash too!" The second giant barreled in, ignoring Leon and aiming a massive fist at the exposed Selena behind him.

​Selena notched three arrows, panic flaring in her chest. She couldn’t dodge; the crater Leon had made had trapped her footing.

​"Focus on offense, Selena!" Leon shouted.

​He released the pressure on Grom, spinning with fluid grace. He abandoned his position against the hammer and threw his body into the path of Throg’s fist.

​He didn’t have time to bring his shield around. He caught the giant’s punch with his free hand and his sword blade, crossing them in an ’X’.

​CRACK.

​The force sent Leon skidding back, his boots carving deep grooves in the stone. He slammed into Selena, wrapping one arm around her waist to cushion the impact as they slid ten meters back.

​"Are you crazy?" Selena yelled, scrambling out of his grip as they stopped. "You just tanked a Titanborn punch without a stance!"

​Leon shook his arm. His left pauldron was dented, and a trickle of blood ran from his nose. But his eyes were burning with an intense, golden light.

​"I told you," Leon said, spitting a glob of blood onto the floor. "You focus on shooting. I’ll focus on making sure you don’t die."

​The Wall of Light

​The next ten minutes were a display of absurdity that would be written about in textbooks for years.

​It was a siege.

​Grom and Throg, frustrated by the little golden man who wouldn’t stay down, unleashed hell. They utilized Earth Arts, ripping chunks of the arena floor up and hurling them like baseballs. They pounded the ground, creating localized earthquakes meant to knock the students off their feet.

​Every time, Leon was there.

​When a boulder the size of a carriage flew toward Selena, Leon stepped in and sliced it in half with a beam of Holy Fire.

​When Throg unleashed a Shockwave Roar, Leon slammed his shield into the ground and expanded his aura, creating a golden dome that washed the sound waves aside.

​He was everywhere at once. He was a blurred line of white and gold, intercepting every lethal blow.

​Selena, realizing she was safe, began to fire.

​Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

​Her arrows, imbued with piercing wind mana, began to find their marks. She targeted the giants’ joints—the back of the knee, the inside of the elbow, the unarmored neck.

​"Argh! Mosquito!" Grom howled, slapping at an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

​"Squash the elf!" Throg bellowed.

​"You have to get through me first!" Leon roared back.

​He was taking damage. Significant damage. His armor was cracked in three places. His shield was warped. His HP was dropping steadily under the barrage of blunt-force trauma that even his mitigation skills couldn’t fully dampen.

​Up in the Royal Box, the Headmaster of the Titanborn Colosseum frowned. "Why doesn’t he dodge? The Lionheart boy has the agility to outmaneuver my students. He is choosing to take the damage."

​"He is protecting his asset," General Vance murmured, watching the screen. "The Elf is a glass cannon. If she moves, she loses her rate of fire. Lionheart is trading his health for her DPS (Damage Per Second)."

​"It’s reckless," the Titanborn Headmaster grunted. "He’ll break before my students do."

​"Look closer," Arthur Pendragon said softly from the row of student representatives. "He isn’t breaking."

​The Turn

​Down in the arena, Leon was breathing heavy. His vision was slightly blurry from a concussion he’d likely sustained three minutes ago when Throg clipped his helmet.

​But he felt... good.

​The White Flame responded to will. The more he desired to protect, the hotter it burned. It wasn’t just magic; it was concept made manifest.

​I will not fall.

​Grom and Throg were slowing down. Giants had massive mana reserves, but moving bodies of that size required immense energy. They were panting, their movements sluggish. Their regeneration couldn’t keep up with Selena’s relentless pin-cushioning.

​"Tired?" Leon asked, his voice rasping but clear.

​He straightened up, lowering his battered shield. He was covered in dust and blood, but his aura was blinding.

​Grom leaned on his hammer. "Why... why you not die?"

​Leon stepped forward. The adamantite cracked under his foot, not from weight, but from the sheer density of mana he was releasing.

​"Because I’m the Shield of Arcadia," Leon said.

​He raised his sword high.

​[Skill: Lion’s Pride – King’s Authority]

​A massive, golden lion’s head manifested in the air above him, roaring silently. The pressure in the arena doubled. It wasn’t an attack spell—it was a suppression aura.

​Grom and Throg, already exhausted, felt their knees buckle. The sheer weight of Leon’s spirit pressed down on them.

​"Selena," Leon said. "Finish it." 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

​Selena, tears stinging her eyes at the sight of her battered partner, drew her bowstring back to her ear. She channeled every scrap of mana she had left into a single arrow.

​[Wind Art: Gale Piercer]

​She fired.

​The arrow didn’t hit the giants. It struck the ground between them, detonating a compressed cyclone.

​Already weak and suppressed by Leon’s aura, the two giants were lifted off their feet by the wind blast. They tumbled backward, crashing out of bounds with a groan of defeat.

​[WINNER: Leon Lionheart & Selena Veylan]

​The silence lasted for a second, and then the stadium exploded.

​It wasn’t the confused awe that Michael had received. It was pure, unadulterated adoration. They had watched a man walk through fire for his teammate. They had watched a Knight be a Knight.

​Leon didn’t cheer. He simply turned to Selena.

​"You okay?" he asked.

​Selena dropped her bow and rushed to him, grabbing his arm to support him as he swayed. "Am I okay? Leon, you look like you went through a meat grinder! You took all the damage!"

​Leon grinned, blood staining his teeth. "Worth it. Good shooting, Selena."

​As the medics rushed onto the field, the crowd chanted his name. Lionheart. Lionheart.

​He had cemented his legacy. He wasn’t just a prodigy; he was the Shield of the Generation.

​The Shadows

​While the world bathed in the light of Leon’s heroism, Michael Wilson stood in the maintenance corridor beneath the stands, far away from the applause.

​He checked his phone. The notification from the official app flashed: Lionheart Victory.

​"Predictable," Michael muttered. "He wasted 60% of his stamina and took structural damage to his armor just to maintain the moral high ground. He could have kited them for twenty minutes and won without a scratch."

​"He won the crowd, though," a voice hissed from the shadows.

​Nox, the Wyrmling, materialized from a vent, landing on Michael’s shoulder. The little dragon was agitated, smoke curling from its nostrils.

​Master. The scent is stronger, Nox communicated telepathically.

​Michael’s expression shifted instantly. The boredom vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating look of a man at work.

​"Show me," Michael commanded.

​He began to walk deeper into the bowels of the stadium, away from the light, away from the cheers.

​Leon Lionheart could have the applause. He could be the hero the world wanted.

​Michael had a job to do.

​He reached a restricted maintenance door. The electronic lock had been melted by acid.

​Michael pushed it open.

​Inside, the hum of the massive barrier generators filled the room. These machines were responsible for the shields that protected the audience from stray magic.

​Lying on the floor, hidden behind a cooling unit, was a body.

​It was a maintenance worker. Or rather, a man wearing a maintenance uniform. His face was purple, eyes bulging.

​"Heart failure," Michael diagnosed from the doorway, not needing to check a pulse. "Remote kill switch. Standard Demon Cult protocol for compromised assets."

​He stepped over the body and looked at the generator console. A small, alien device had been grafted onto the mana-feed. It wasn’t a bomb. It was a frequency modulator.

​"They aren’t trying to bring the barrier down," Michael whispered, realizing the implication. "They’re trying to invert it."

​He knelt by the dead cultist and searched his pockets. Nothing. No ID, no wallet.

​But Nox chittered, clawing at the man’s boot.

​Michael reached down and pulled a folded piece of paper from inside the cultist’s sock. It was a schematic of the arena seating.

​A thick red circle was drawn around a specific section.

​It wasn’t the student waiting area. It wasn’t the general admission stands.

​The red circle was drawn around the Royal Box.

​"Stage 3," Michael read the scrawl on the side of the map. "The decapitation strike."

​The tournament was just a distraction. While Leon played hero and Eric played puppet, the real war was about to start.

​Michael crumpled the map in his fist.

​"Nox," he said, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature. "Go find Arthur. Tell him the game has changed."

​The Wyrmling screeched and dissolved into shadow.

​Michael adjusted his glasses, turning back toward the darkness of the corridor.

​"Looks like I have to do some overtime."