The Extra's Rise - Chapter 377

Chapter 377: Medal for Merit (1)

The Medal for Merit: a prestigious decoration bestowed by the Emperor of the Slatemark Empire upon those who had rendered exemplary service or achieved feats of outstanding valor. It was not handed out lightly, but reserved for moments when an individual’s actions tipped the scales in moments of grave consequence.

In my case, the honor was granted for defeating a demon baroness during the Mythos Academy mid terms and thus saving two princesses of the world. It was a symbol of recognition, a tribute that would be broadcast across the globe.

“We’re proud of you,” my father said, his voice steady, pride glimmering in his eyes as I adjusted my suit.

I met his gaze, feeling the warmth of familial pride, and then turned to my mother, who was fussing with the final adjustments on my collar. Her touch was gentle, methodical, and spoke of a worry that only mothers knew how to convey without words.

“You look handsome, big brother,” came Aria’s voice from the doorway. My sister, younger than me by just a year, leaned against the frame with arms crossed, trying to look nonchalant despite the pride evident in her eyes. Her dark hair, so similar to mine, was pulled back in an elegant style that made her look older than her fifteen years.

She stepped forward, straightening my already straight tie with unnecessary precision. “Try not to trip on stage,” she teased, but the gentle squeeze she gave my arm betrayed her true feelings.

My mother stepped back and looked me over, a smile creasing her lips. “There, now you look the part of a hero,” she said with a teasing glint that barely hid her emotion.

I chuckled, more for their sake than mine, and glanced at the polished reflection in the mirror. The man staring back wore the sharp uniform with an ease I didn’t truly feel.

At my core, I was selfish. I acted for myself, followed my desires. I saved people because I wanted to, loved those I loved because it made me feel alive, and fought to protect this world to ensure a future for me and my loved ones. I wasn’t a hero like Lucifer Windward. And that was fine. I didn’t have to be.

A hero alone wouldn’t be enough to save this world. But I would do it my way, on my terms.

Steeling my resolve, I stepped out of my room just as an attendant’s knock echoed against the door.

To my surprise, waiting for me in the corridor was Cecilia. She stood like a vision in crimson, the color matching her eyes and casting a warm glow against her skin. A ruby necklace rested elegantly at her collarbone, catching the light and shimmering with a subtle intensity. She was radiant, with a smile that spoke of mischief and triumph.

“Well, come along, Art,” she said, her voice playful and rich with confidence.

I glanced around, noting the absence of Seraphina, Rachel, and Rose. Clearly, there had been a silent contest, and Cecilia had won this particular battle. The realization tugged a smirk from my lips as I reached for her outstretched hand.

“Lead the way,” I replied, matching her playful tone.

The hall was grand, more so than I could have imagined. Chandeliers of pure crystal refracted the warm glow of enchanted lights, casting splintered rainbows across the polished marble floors. Noblemen and women adorned in their finest silks and brocades filled the chamber, their eyes all drawn to the central dais where Emperor Quinn Slatemark sat with an air of regality and command.

The whispers stopped as I stepped inside, Cecilia’s hand slipping from mine as I made my way down the aisle. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, their combined gazes a weight pressing against my back. Yet, I held my head high, each step purposeful until I reached the base of the dais. I knelt, bowing my head to the Emperor.

“Arthur Nightingale,” Emperor Quinn’s voice resonated through the hall, commanding silence and attention. He rose, the rich scarlet of his imperial robes flowing like liquid fire. “For acts of valor and bravery that go beyond duty, for saving the lives of our cherished daughters and defending the honor of the Slatemark Empire, I bestow upon you the Medal for Merit.”

The polished medal gleamed as he held it up, the hall bathed in a breathless silence. He leaned forward, affixing the medal to my uniform with practiced ease before offering me his hand. I took it, and as we shook, a subtle nod passed between us, a silent acknowledgment of the weight and significance of the moment.

The hall erupted in applause, a wave of sound that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. But as the ovation died down, the Emperor spoke again, his eyes fixed on me with a glint of something unreadable. “As promised, we bestow upon you your rewards.”

An attendant approached, holding a velvet-lined tray with two items carefully arranged. The first was a finely embossed key—the pass to the Chamber of Shadows, a place known only in whispers. It was where legends went to shatter their limits, an isolation chamber infused with ancient magic, said to drive its occupants to new heights or madness.

And beside it, a sealed document that bore the Emperor’s crest. It was simple in appearance but carried a weight known to only a few: an imperial credit voucher. Enough wealth to heavily boost Ouroboros.

The Emperor’s eyes locked with mine as he spoke. “These are your due, Arthur Nightingale. Use them wisely, for the future holds more trials than glories.”

I bowed my head, accepting the tray as I absorbed the significance of the moment. The hall once again erupted into cheers and applause, but this time, it felt different. Not as a crowd merely witnessing an event, but as a gathering that understood they were seeing the beginning of something greater than any of them could fathom.

After the ceremony, a new sense of purpose thrumming in my veins, I prepared myself for the banquet that followed. The hall beckoned with warm lights and the clinking of crystal goblets, an air of festivity threaded with formality.

This banquet, however grand it might appear to most, was a far cry from the scale of Cecilia’s birthday celebration. That event had been a dazzling display of wealth and influence, teeming with nobles whose titles were whispered like sacred verses and guests dressed in silks that shimmered like water under starlight. By comparison, tonight’s gathering was a shadow, smaller and simpler, yet somehow more sincere in its celebration.

The nobles assembled here were fewer in number, their conversations quieter, the laughter softer and more genuine. The grandeur of it all was muted, the opulence less glaring, as if the room itself knew this gathering was not just a display of power but an acknowledgment of true merit. Still, beneath the polished surface, the subtle machinations of courtly life threaded through the crowd.

I smoothed the fabric of my uniform, the weight of the newly awarded medal pressing gently against my chest as I stepped into the hall.

As I entered the banquet hall, the hum of conversation ebbed for a heartbeat before resuming with renewed vigor. The eyes of courtiers, nobles, and high-ranking officials turned to me, some filled with curiosity, others with appraisal. The Medal for Merit gleamed on my chest, a magnet for attention I neither desired nor could avoid.

“Arthur Nightingale, the man of the hour!” came a jovial voice from my left, and before I knew it, I was surrounded. Nobles of every stature crowded close, some eager to offer their congratulations, others slyly seeking favor or alliance. Questions overlapped, polite laughter filled the air, and I could barely catch my breath amidst the sea of titles, elaborate garments, and the faint scent of expensive cologne.

“It was truly a feat, Sir Arthur. Tell us, how did you manage such a daring rescue?”

“What strategy did you use against the demon?”

“Will you consider joining one of the Great Guilds now?”

I felt the polite smile on my face begin to strain under the pressure. The crowd closed in further, their voices merging into a cacophony that rang in my ears like the din of battle.

Suddenly, I felt a gentle but firm hand on my arm. “Mind if we borrow him?” came Seraphina’s cool, composed voice. The effect was immediate; the crowd hesitated, taken aback by the princess’s presence.

Before anyone could protest, Rachel appeared on my other side, her warm smile masking the sharpness of her eyes. “He did promise us a dance, after all,” she added lightly, her golden hair gleaming under the chandelier light, the emblem of the Creighton family subtly embroidered on her gown reminding all of her status as both the princess of the North and the Saintess.

Cecilia appeared a step behind, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “And it would be unseemly to break a promise to three princesses, wouldn’t it?”

“Four, if you’ll count me,” came a melodious voice as Rose Springshaper stepped forward, her auburn hair cascading in elegant waves down her back, brown eyes warm and steady. As the daughter of Marquis Springshaper, she carried herself with a quiet dignity that commanded respect without demanding it. “Though I may not be a princess by title, I believe I still hold a claim to his time.”