The Extra's Rise - Chapter 376

Chapter 376: Martial King (4)

I stared at Magnus across the hotel’s training room. The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the reinforced floor that had weathered three weeks of our brutal training sessions.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked, noticing his unusually contemplative expression.

Magnus’s gaze shifted to me, studying me with those piercing eyes that seemed to see through everything.

“I was thinking about my past,” he said finally. “And how it shaped me into who I am today.”

I remained silent, waiting. Magnus rarely spoke about himself, and I didn’t want to break whatever spell had prompted this sudden openness.

He walked over to one of the benches lining the wall and sat down, gesturing for me to join him. “I was born the third son of the Draykar family—a house of moderate power situated between the Northern and Eastern continents.”

As he spoke, I could picture it all. The Draykars: respected but unremarkable. Not known for heroics or legends, nor did their bloodline produce prodigies or visionaries. They were solid and dependable—a family that held its ground but never aspired to more.

“Our most notable strength,” Magnus continued, “lay in a single connection. My grandfather had been a close friend of the head of the Windward family, one of the most powerful houses in the North and the guardians of its throne. That friendship granted the Draykars an extended lifeline in the treacherous waters of political intrigue.”

Magnus’s eyes took on a distant look. “I still remember the first time I met Arden Windward, the heir to the Windward family and, at that time, already renowned as a Radiant-rank talent in the making. My family had traveled to the Windward estate, and the introductions were formal but charged with importance.”

He mimicked a deeper voice, “‘This is my grandson, Arden Windward,’ the head of the family had said with a hand on the young boy’s shoulder, pride radiating from his every word.”

Magnus’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “My parents and I bowed low. ‘It is an honor to meet the prince of the North,’ we said in unison, our voices careful, deferential.”

He fell silent for a moment, lost in memory. “Arden stepped forward, offering his hand with a smile that seemed effortless, magnetic. I took it, shaking with more respect than confidence. His grip was firm, steady, a harbinger of the strength he would one day wield.”

I listened, fascinated by this glimpse into Magnus’s past. The legendary Magnus Draykar had once been just a boy, awed by another’s potential.

“Those were good days,” Magnus said, his voice carrying a quiet mix of admiration and bitterness. “Arden, for all his innate brilliance, was approachable and kind. We both loved swordsmanship, and that shared interest forged a tentative bond between us. But there was no denying the gulf between us, a chasm carved not just by talent but by fate.”

He gestured with his hand, as if drawing an invisible line. “His sword shone like a beacon, unreachable, almost divine. I trained harder than anyone else, but I could never touch him.”

The wistfulness in his voice surprised me. I had always thought of Magnus as invincible, unassailable. But he had once been on the other side of that equation—the one looking up, struggling to reach heights that seemed impossible.

“For a time, I accepted that reality,” he continued. “I learned to find satisfaction in my own progress, in the slow honing of my skills, even as Arden soared beyond my reach.”

His expression darkened. “But then the tides turned, as they always did in the North. The head of the Windward family passed away, and the mantle of leadership shifted to Arden’s father—a man of ambition but limited strength, not a Radiant-ranker like his predecessor. Arden, restless and determined to surpass his limits, left the North to train across the world, leaving his homeland vulnerable.”

Magnus’s hands clenched into fists. “The vultures circled quickly. Jealous vassals, emboldened by the absence of Arden’s guiding light and the relative weakness of his father, sought to consolidate power by striking at those they viewed as expendable. The Draykars, whose connection to the Windwards had always been their shield, found themselves targeted.”

His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “They came like wolves in the night. Those jealous little lords banded together, and their armies descended on us. We were surrounded before we even realized we were at war.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. I knew what came next, but hearing it from Magnus himself made it viscerally real in a way I hadn’t expected.

“The Draykar family was wiped out in the ensuing bloodbath,” he said, each word measured and heavy. “The house that had stood for generations, if not in glory, then in quiet dignity, was reduced to ashes. I, the third son, survived by sheer chance—or perhaps by cruel design. My enemies wanted me to witness the fall of everything I loved.”

Magnus paused, his breathing carefully controlled. “And then Arden returned. The once-smiling boy I had admired was no longer. Arden was now a warrior, hardened by his travels and wielding a power that dwarfed anything I had ever seen.”

There was a cold satisfaction in his tone now. “He came back, and he made them kneel. Arden didn’t just save me—he made those lords, the ones who tore apart my family, beg for forgiveness before he cut them down like animals.”

The silence that followed was profound. Magnus’s hands clenched and unclenched, his jaw tightening.

“Do you know what I felt back then?” he asked me, his voice quieter now, more restrained.

I looked at him, unsure whether to respond.

“I felt despair,” he said, answering his own question. “Not just because I’d lost everything, but because I realized how powerless I was. Arden… he was like a star, blazing so brightly that no one could even hope to touch him. And I was a speck of dust, barely worthy of notice.”

Magnus turned to face me fully. His eyes, so often filled with calm authority, burned with a fierce intensity.

“That despair became my fire,” he said. “I swore I would never feel that powerless again. That no one would ever look at me with pity, as though I were something to be saved.”

I didn’t know what to say. His story felt heavy, the weight of it hanging in the air between us.

“You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?” he asked suddenly, his gaze piercing. “That despair. The knowledge that you’re not strong enough.”

I nodded slowly. “Yes.” The Aspect wall loomed in my mind, an insurmountable barrier between me and Resonance.

“Then hold onto it,” he said. “Use it. Because if you can wield despair, you’ll find a strength greater than anything you’ve ever known.”

“Use despair?” I asked, my voice tinged with skepticism.

Magnus nodded, his expression resolute. “At least, that’s what I did. After the destruction of my family, I left the North. Arden begged me to stay, to rebuild the Draykar name by settling down, marrying, and living under the Windward family’s protection. But I couldn’t. I forced myself to grow stronger. And then, Arthur… I bloomed.”

I knew what happened next. Magnus Draykar’s name became etched into legend. He forged his own Grade 6 art through sheer will and determination, rising to Radiant-rank in just over a decade—a feat unheard of.

But Magnus didn’t just stop at low Radiant-rank like others did. He became a force that reached mid Radiant-rank.

“After I achieved Radiant-rank, I realized something,” Magnus said, his voice quiet but unyielding. “The others—those who reached Radiant-rank—stagnated. They said there was no path forward. But I didn’t believe that. I pushed past that wall. I perfected my strength until it resonated in every fiber of my being. And when I was ready, I decided to test myself. The first place I went was the Mount Hua sect.”

I stiffened slightly, knowing what came next.

Magnus continued, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “The Mount Hua sect’s plum blossoms—so pristine, so revered. I crushed them under my feet. Mo Zenith, their Sect Leader, wielded his Grade 6 art, Violet Mist Divine art, with all the finesse one would expect from the leader of Mount Hua. But it didn’t matter. I broke him, his art, and his pride.”

He paused, the weight of his words settling heavily in the air. “After that, I didn’t stop. I traveled the world. I faced and defeated all nine of the other Radiant-rankers. None of them could stop me. Each one fell, their unique astral energies, their treasured arts—none of it was enough.”

Magnus’s voice grew quieter, as though he were speaking more to himself than to me. “And then, I returned to the North. To Arden Windward.”

“By the time I faced Arden again,” Magnus said, his gaze far away, “I knew he wasn’t my match. I had already defeated nine individuals at his level—or stronger. Still, I wanted to face him. I needed to. Arden’s swordsmanship is elegant, almost poetic, infused with ice and wind astral energy. His Grade 6 art, Myth of the Northern Peak, is a masterpiece, a blend of precision and devastation. But even that couldn’t touch me.”

His expression darkened, a shadow of regret flitting across his face. “I defeated him. Decisively. There was no room for doubt, no debate about who was stronger. And with that victory, our friendship ended.”

He stopped speaking, the silence stretching between us. His tale was one of triumph, but it was also one of loss—a reminder that power and ambition often came at a cost.

“I don’t regret it,” Magnus finally said, his voice firm. “But I learned something from that fight. Despair isn’t just a tool to make you stronger. It’s a truth. Everyone carries it, and how you wield it shapes the person you become.”

A comfortable silence fell between us as I absorbed his words. Then, to my surprise, Magnus smiled—a genuine expression that softened his usually stern features.

“I’ve enjoyed these past three weeks, Arthur,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I took a disciple. Teaching you… it’s reminded me of what it feels like to pass on knowledge rather than simply accumulating it.”

His words caught me off guard. “I thought I was just another student.”

Magnus shook his head. “No. You’re more than that. I see something in you—a potential that reminds me of myself. That’s why I’ve pushed you so hard. That’s why I’ll continue to train you.”

He stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the training room floor. “You will be my greatest masterpiece, Arthur. The Aspect wall that’s holding you back from Resonance? You will break through it. And when you do, you’ll understand what I mean about despair becoming strength.”

I stood as well, feeling a strange mix of pride and trepidation at his words. “I won’t let you down.”

“No,” Magnus agreed, “you won’t. Because I won’t allow it.” There was no threat in his words, only absolute certainty. “Our time together this winter break is ending, but your training is not. When you return to school, carry these lessons with you. Practice what I’ve taught you. And when we meet again, show me how much stronger you’ve become.”

He extended his hand, just as Arden Windward had once extended his to a young Magnus. I took it, feeling the weight of his expectations and the promise of his continued guidance.

“Thank you,” I said simply.

Magnus nodded once. “Tomorrow, you return to your normal life. But remember, Arthur—normal is just what you make of it. Push beyond your limits every day. That’s how you’ll surpass the Aspect wall.”

‘He’s right,’ Luna’s voice whispered in my mind. ‘And when you do break through that wall, even he might be surprised by what you become.’

I smiled at the thought. Perhaps one day, I would be the one surprising Magnus Draykar. For now, though, I was content to learn from him, to absorb the wisdom of a man who had turned despair into legendary power.