The Extra's Rise - Chapter 419

Chapter 419: Exchange Program (4)
There are precisely seven stages of exhaustion that the human body can experience. The first is a pleasant tiredness, the kind that follows a brisk walk or light gardening. The seventh is the complete shutdown of all non-essential bodily functions, where even blinking seems like an unreasonable expenditure of energy. The students sprawled across the training ground of Starcrest Academy had discovered stages eight through fifteen, previously unknown to medical science.

“This… this is torture,” Cecilia gasped, her normally regal composure utterly abandoned as sweat traced elaborate patterns down her flushed face. The princess of the Slatemark Empire, whose mere presence usually commanded respect across ballrooms and council chambers alike, now looked as dignified as a fish that had just discovered it had accidentally evolved lungs.

Nearby, Rachel had achieved a state of perfect horizontality, having surrendered completely to gravity’s insistent demands. Her golden hair splayed out around her head like a halo designed by an artist with a particular fondness for chaos.

Rose—typically the most composed of the four—sat with her back against a stone marker, her auburn eyes narrowed to slits as she brushed sweat-dampened brown hair from her forehead. “When I die,” she announced to nobody in particular, “I want my tombstone to read: ‘She survived calculus, but the hill killed her.'”

Even I felt the toll of climbing that monstrosity of a hill ten times without accessing mana. My muscles hummed with the particular satisfaction that comes only from the kind of exertion that makes one question their life choices. For most students, this sort of physical trial would only be manageable through relentless daily practice or the enhanced stamina that comes with reaching Ascendant-rank and undergoing the body’s first metamorphosis.

“Now,” Seol-ah announced, looking as though she had perhaps taken a particularly vigorous stroll rather than scaled a small mountain ten times, “we’ll move on to mana training.” She turned toward us with a smile that contained precisely the correct ratio of encouragement to sadism. “The Eastern continent may be a bit behind in advanced spellcasting, but we place no less value on it.”

The history of mana’s emergence on the Eastern continent was a curious one. In the early days, when mana first appeared and the East still maintained its isolationist policies with the stubbornness of a particularly determined tortoise, they had produced hardly any mages in the Western sense. Instead, mana was wielded to amplify physical strength—a practice they called “qi”—giving rise to what the world now recognizes as martial artists.

The East had clung to this tradition with the tenacity of a collector refusing to part with their prized porcelain figurines. But even the most stubborn traditions eventually bend to practicality. With increased exposure to the rest of the world came the gradual realization that perhaps turning oneself into a living weapon wasn’t the only application for mana. Though martial artists remained the dominant force, the need for spellcasters grew, and now the East boasts a respectable number of them—even if warriors and martial artists still monopolize the positions of power with the dedication of politicians at an open bar.

With Seol-ah’s instruction, we each delved into our training, focusing on our unique strengths. Rachel, Rose and Cecilia devoted themselves entirely to spellcasting as they both were Mind aspect specialists, their hands weaving complex patterns in the air as they manipulated the elements, though Rachel focused on Purelight instead of mana. Seraphina and Ian channeled their energy purely into aura enhancement, their weapons beginning to glow with the concentrated power of their will.

Lucifer and I, as masters of both disciplines, balanced our practice between spellcasting and martial technique. The modern world demanded versatility—even if specialization still held its merits.

As I moved through the forms of my Grade 5 art, I noticed Seol-ah’s golden gaze lingering on my sword. Even within a single grade of martial technique, there existed vast distinctions, subtle to the untrained eye but as obvious as different languages to those who spoke them fluently.

The Moyong family’s Grade 5 art was leagues beyond what Mythos Academy taught as standard curriculum. Refined and honed through generations like a blade perpetually folded and reforged, the Moyong art stood at the pinnacle of Grade 5, poised to transcend into something greater once Seol-ah inevitably advanced it.

‘Is she aiming for Grade 6 now?’ I wondered, recognizing the hunger in her eyes. Knowledge of Grade 6 arts was guarded more jealously than the secret ingredient in grandmother’s award-winning pie, accessible only to the most elite. But Seol-ah’s heritage granted her that rare insight. She studied everyone’s swordsmanship intently, her gaze shifting between those of us wielding Grade 5 arts and those with Grade 6 mastery.

I knew I could offer guidance there.

Turning my attention to the training dummy before me—a marvel of modern enchantment technology, inscribed with powerful runes and forged from metals so rare they didn’t even have proper names, just serial numbers and hazard warnings—I took position. This wasn’t the kind of practice equipment one could order online with next-day delivery. It stood resilient, designed to withstand forces that would level small buildings.

With my sword poised, I took a steadying breath, drawing upon memories buried deep within me.

The hollow ache of hunger.

The helplessness of wanting, yet unable to have.

The slow, agonizing breakdown of my own strength.

Those relentless days of starvation during my isolation training, the raw desperation—they all flooded back, a tidal wave of emotion channeled into my blade. Each layer of enhanced aura was infused with Lucent Harmony, melding emotion with power in a way that modern martial theory was only beginning to understand.

With a final breath, I released it all.

I swung my sword with intent.

The second movement of my Grade 6 art: Hollow Eclipse.

Hollow Eclipse worked by weaving two main layers of enhanced aura over my blade, carefully crafted from four of the eleven elements. The remaining elements were veiled in dark aura, forming shadowy voids between those two layers, casting the impression of an eclipse—not full, but hollow. In the world of magic, imagination shaped reality as surely as a sculptor’s hands shaped clay, and this visual echo of an eclipse carried its own power.

During my duel with Art in the isolation chamber, I had recognized my limitations. God Flash provided exceptional speed, but lacked the raw power needed against opponents like Drake. So I had conceived Hollow Eclipse as its counterbalance—where God Flash was sheer velocity, Hollow Eclipse was unrestrained force. Though not as swift as God Flash, it still retained impressive speed while delivering a blow far beyond ordinary capacity.

With a single swing, I released the technique. The training dummy—designed to withstand punishment that would make military-grade equipment seem like tissue paper—crumbled into dust. The display underscored the true power of martial arts: to amplify one’s strikes beyond ordinary limits. Without Hollow Eclipse, even a multi-layered aura wouldn’t have scratched that high-grade dummy.

Yet here it lay in fragments, testament to a single, decisive blow.

“Channel the essence of your art,” I whispered to Seol-ah, my voice laced with mana so only she would hear, the technique something like a magical text message minus the annoying notification sound.

Her eyes widened slightly as she absorbed my words, then gave a slow nod, understanding dawning in her gaze like the first light of morning breaking over a horizon.

Jin approached, surveying the obliterated remains of what had been cutting-edge training equipment approximately four seconds earlier. “You’ve truly become a monster, you know that?” he said, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of amazement and apprehension.

“It’s not nearly enough,” I replied, dismissing the notion as if what I’d done was merely a warmup exercise rather than something that would have the academy’s accountants weeping into their spreadsheets.

Jin studied me for a moment in silence. He, too, had grown; reaching Integration-rank was no small feat, even if he had yet to achieve Resonance. But he could sense the widening gap between us, each step I took pushing me further into territory most training manuals marked with “Here Be Dragons.”

“You must keep pushing yourself, Jin,” I said with a smile. If he was to survive what lay ahead, he would need to grow far stronger, strong enough to one day surpass his father—preferably without the accompanying emotional trauma usually involved in such parent-child dynamics.

Rose approached, having completed her fire magic exercises with the precision she brought to all her academic pursuits. The nearby practice area still glowed with residual heat from her spellcasting.

“That was impressive,” she said, gesturing to the dust that had once been a training dummy. “Though perhaps slightly excessive.”

“You should see what he does to alarm clocks,” Rachel called from where she was practicing, her light magic illuminating her features in a soft glow.

Rose rolled her eyes but smiled nevertheless. “At some point, Arthur, we’re going to have a conversation about restraint and resource management.”

Just then, Seol-ah’s voice echoed across the training ground. “Training’s done for today,” she announced, her gaze sweeping over the students with the evaluative precision of a jeweler examining diamonds. “We’ll continue this regimen for a few more days before moving on to missions.”

A murmur spread through the group, a mixture of relief and anticipation. For many of the students, the prospect of practical missions was thrilling—a step closer to real-world experience beyond the protective walls of academia. But we all knew that in the Eastern continent, missions meant facing true danger. This wasn’t just a test of skill; it was a test of survival in a world where mana had rewritten the rules of nature itself.

As we gathered our gear and prepared to leave, I noticed the glances exchanged among the other students. They were watching me, assessing with the careful scrutiny usually reserved for potentially unstable weather systems. The year I’d spent in isolation had changed me in ways visible even to those who didn’t understand the full scope of my journey.