The Extra's Rise-Chapter 456: Mind Break (1)

I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.

Which was a problem. Because my mind—normally a finely tuned, coldly efficient, terrifyingly reliable instrument—had stopped being any of those things. It was fogged. Blurred. Like someone had swapped it with a second-hand processor running on spite and bad dreams.

I needed to think.

I needed to focus.

I needed to stop the resurgence of the Vampire Monarch.

That was my duty. My reason. The anchor to everything I’d built. And right now, it was the only thing that felt real.

I ignored Luna’s voice rattling around inside my skull. Whatever she was saying, it didn’t matter. Not now. Her usual chaotic wisdom could wait. Or vanish.

Two guards from the Southern Sea Sun Palace stood before the door I needed to pass through. Both White-rankers. Strong by normal standards, but right now I didn’t have the patience to care about normal standards.

One of them stepped forward, doing his best impression of authority. "This place is off—"

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Because sentences require heads. And his was now somewhere else entirely, not attached to the body it had been philosophically connected to seconds earlier.

The second guard froze, eyes wide, sword halfway drawn before all neural signals between brain and arm were... discontinued. The arm fell limp. He did too, shortly after.

I stepped forward and placed my palm against the door. It clicked open with a whisper, either in obedience or resignation.

’Again,’ I thought. It didn’t even surprise me.

I stepped into the corridor beyond.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore.

I pivoted on instinct, swinging my blade in a tight arc to block the strike I felt coming a fraction before it landed. Metal rang against metal. Aura clashed. Sparks lit the dark.

Seol-ah skidded back, her expression more disappointed than surprised. "You were right," she said to someone behind her. "We should’ve kept a closer eye on him after he talked to her."

Of course. Her.

But it wasn’t just Seol-ah.

Rachel was there, silent but sharp-eyed. Seraphina stood beside her, already drawing mana. Cecilia’s red eyes shimmered. Rose looked hurt.

"What are you doing, Arthur?" Lucifer asked. "This is a diplomatic disaster."

Ah.

So none of them understood.

They never did.

I was right. I was right.

My aura flared. Wind-enhanced, sharp as a guillotine’s edge. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t ask for understanding.

I launched the attack.

Their eyes widened as the blast shot toward them, but Seol-ah intercepted it, her blade coated in her own wind aura as she redirected the force into the stone walls.

"This is not good," Lucifer muttered, already moving into position.

I looked at them all. My so-called friends. My allies.

I looked for them. For the four girls—Rachel, Seraphina, Cecilia, Rose.

’Help me,’ I thought. ’Understand me.’

But Rachel shook her head, slowly.

Seraphina wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Cecilia’s jaw was tight, her lips pressed into a grim line.

And Rose—Rose just looked down.

It felt like the floor had vanished.

Something cracked. Not physically. Not yet. But deep, somewhere behind my ribs and beneath my spine. Something foundational.

They betrayed you.

The thought came unbidden. Unwanted.

But it was there.

They chose them over you.

More than the betrayal, it was the loneliness that hit. The cold, echoing void that rushed in to fill the gap. No understanding. No trust. No faith.

Only doubt. Only distance.

And then came the rage.

I let it out.

My full power surged—wind screaming around me, the floor fracturing, energy pouring from every inch of my body like the world had finally decided to come undone.

Cloaked in storm-forged aura, I stood alone.

They’d chosen their side.

Now they’d see mine.

_____________________________________________

Lucifer licked his lips, a nervous habit he hadn’t indulged in for years.

This wasn’t good.

Arthur stood at the center of the corridor, wind aura crackling around him like a hurricane trying to reason with itself. His eyes were bright with something too sharp to be sanity. It was like watching a star go nova and knowing you were still on the same planet.

Mana deviation. That was the technical term. Textbooks described it clinically, like a malfunctioning engine. "A disruption of emotional equilibrium leading to erratic mana behavior." But this wasn’t erratic. This was focused. Controlled.

And that was the real problem.

Mana was emotional. It wanted to reflect the heart. When people were sad, their spells flickered. When they were angry, things exploded. But when someone’s mind started to break—really crack under pressure—and they were still in control?

That was when people died.

Arthur wasn’t just strong. He wasn’t just smart. He was both and now unhinged enough to make every calculation without the part of the brain that hesitated.

Lucifer could feel it now—on his skin, in his bones. That pressure. The sharp edge of something that didn’t want to be restrained. Arthur wasn’t flaring mana for show. His entire presence had become a statement: Do not get in my way.

Lucifer clenched his jaw. A 1v1? Impossible. Not at his current strength. He’d lose, and probably spectacularly. Arthur wouldn’t hold back. Not because he wanted to kill anyone. But because he wouldn’t stop himself.

He glanced at Rachel.

Her lips were pressed into a tight line. Her sapphire eyes shimmered with something unspoken, something between grief and guilt. She looked like someone watching a house burn down that she used to call home.

And it wasn’t just her. Seraphina’s fists trembled despite her icy calm. Rose’s magic pulsed erratically at her fingertips. Cecilia... Cecilia looked like she wanted to scream but couldn’t find the words.

To ask them to fight Arthur would be cruel.

So Lucifer took the burden.

He stepped forward, each footfall echoing with purpose. His blade came free in a clean, metallic whisper. White mana, pure and luminous, wrapped around it like a vow. Order made manifest. On top of it, the chill of ice—his elemental second nature—spilled across the ground in a thin sheen.

His verdant eyes glowed as God’s Eyes activated, flooding his vision with analysis, probability, and the thousand variables of Arthur’s stance.

He took one breath.

And then he moved.

Winter’s Ascent—the first movement of the Myth of the Northern Peak. A sword form forged in the howling tundras of the Northern Continent, where winter didn’t just arrive—it ruled. This technique wasn’t just about speed or power. It was about inevitability. Cold that crept into marrow and made the world stop breathing.

The temperature dropped instantly. The moisture in the air crystallized. The corridor dimmed with the weight of frost and expectation.

Lucifer struck, sword moving like a frozen waterfall—beautiful, merciless, and impossible to stop.

And Arthur?

Arthur didn’t block.

He let go of his own sword mid-swing, just enough to reach out with two fingers and touch Lucifer’s blade.

Lucifer’s eyes widened.

The white aura sliced into Arthur’s fingertips. Blood welled up instantly, bright red against the icy air. But then—

Arthur closed his hand, pushing his fist forward to meet the incoming blade.

A pulse of force rippled out, and Lucifer’s sword jerked backwards like it had been yanked by a magnetic backlash.

Lucifer staggered, barely managing to stabilize himself with a surge of white mana. He realized, too late, what had happened. Arthur hadn’t just countered the attack—he’d broken it. Not physically. Strategically.

He’d seen the weak point in Winter’s Ascent—the exact spot where the movement transitioned between tempo—and shattered its rhythm.

Lucifer barely had time to recover when a six-circle flame spell detonated across the hallway, roaring outward in a sweeping wave of fire. Heat rushed in, annihilating the frost that still clung to the air.

The chill was gone.

And Arthur was still standing.

Still burning.

And Lucifer’s shoulder tendon was overstrained.

He was about to channel wind mana, let the green light crawl through his limbs and patch up the overused tissue—

—but a warm glow enveloped him before he could lift his hand.

Rachel knelt beside him, her palm pressed against his shoulder. Her light-based healing magic shimmered like sunlit silk—softer than his own but infinitely more refined. Precise. Intentional.

He blinked. "I could’ve—"

"I know," she said quietly.

There was a flicker of something deeper in her magic. Not just a standard heal. Not a casual patch-job. This was something else. The light intensified—turned golden. Holy. Rare.

A Divine Miracle.

Angel Wings.

Lucifer felt the strength surge back into his limbs—no, not just that. It went beyond. Golden wings unfurled from his back, wings formed out of Purelight manifested by a Saintess. freēwēbnovel.com

He turned to look at her fully, about to thank her.

But then he saw her lip.

She was biting it. Hard.

Blood welled, trailing down her chin, unnoticed or uncared for. Her hands trembled slightly—not from exhaustion, but from the effort of keeping herself still.

"I’ll stop him," she whispered, eyes locked on Arthur’s distant figure. "Because I love him."