The Extra's Rise - Chapter 421

Chapter 421: Exchange Program (6)
The morning after her breakthrough with the Infinite Horizon technique, Seol-ah found herself waiting at the east entrance of Starcrest Academy. The sun had just begun its ascent, painting the sky in hues of amber and gold that reflected off the polished stone of the academy’s towering spires. She stood with perfect posture, hands clasped behind her back, golden eyes scanning the path for any sign of Arthur.

She had spoken with her father last night about her progress. The conversation had been brief but momentous—Moyong Jeong rarely showed emotion, but the slight widening of his eyes had spoken volumes. A Grade 6 art for their family. The implications were profound, and they both knew it.

“You’re early.”

Seol-ah turned to find Arthur approaching, his movements silent and efficient as always. He wore a simple training outfit, but there was nothing simple about the way he carried himself—like a blade sheathed but ever-ready.

“So are you,” she replied evenly. “I thought I’d show you Starcrest properly. You helped me yesterday. Consider this repayment.”

Arthur smiled, one of those small, measured expressions that never quite reached his eyes. “I hardly did anything.”

“You showed me what was possible,” Seol-ah said with uncharacteristic directness. “That’s not nothing.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—rather, it carried a sense of mutual assessment, two swordmasters recognizing something in each other that few others would understand.

“Well then,” Arthur said at last. “Lead on.”

Starcrest Academy sprawled across the eastern mountain range like a city unto itself, ancient structures blending seamlessly with modern architecture. Unlike Mythos Academy with its uniform design philosophy, Starcrest had evolved organically over centuries, each generation adding its mark while preserving what came before.

“The academy is divided into seven major sections,” Seol-ah explained as they walked along a stone pathway flanked by cherry trees. “Most visitors only see the central campus and mistake it for the entirety of Starcrest.”

“And the real Starcrest lies deeper,” Arthur observed.

Seol-ah nodded, pleased by his perception. “The central campus houses administrative facilities and general education classrooms. Beyond that”—she gestured toward a series of interconnected buildings with distinctly traditional Eastern architecture—”lie the specialized training grounds.”

They passed through an archway adorned with carvings of swords and spears, entering a vast courtyard where dozens of students practiced various martial forms. Unlike at Mythos, where training was often conducted with a certain performative flair, here the atmosphere was intensely focused. No wasted movements, no flashy displays—just the disciplined pursuit of mastery.

“Impressive,” Arthur commented, his eyes tracking a young man moving through a complex series of strikes. “Your standard curriculum is more advanced than Mythos’s specialized tracks.”

“The East values foundation,” Seol-ah replied simply. “Without roots, a tree cannot grow tall.”

They continued walking, passing through gardens where students meditated among carefully arranged stones and flowing water. Seol-ah explained how mental cultivation was considered equally important to physical training at Starcrest—a philosophy that had endured since the academy’s founding.

“And this,” she said as they arrived at an expansive pavilion built on the edge of a cliff, “is where elemental arts are practiced.”

The pavilion offered a breathtaking view of the mountains and the valley below. Students stood at various points along its edge, channeling mana into elemental manifestations that dissipated harmlessly into the open air.

“Gives new meaning to ‘throwing fire into the void,'” Arthur remarked with a hint of amusement.

“Safety first,” Seol-ah replied, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “We had an incident fifty years ago when two fire users decided to duel in the central courtyard. Three buildings needed to be rebuilt.”

Arthur’s eyebrow raised slightly. “Only three?”

“The architect designed Starcrest with student mishaps in mind,” Seol-ah said. “Most of the structures can withstand significant damage.”

They paused to watch a young woman manipulating water into intricate shapes, her concentration evident in the furrow of her brow. The water flowed in patterns reminiscent of calligraphy, forming characters that dissolved back into formlessness.

“Water calligraphy,” Seol-ah explained. “An ancient art adapted for mana practice. It teaches precision and control.”

“Beautiful,” Arthur said, studying the technique with evident interest. “And practical. No wasted resources, no permanent consequences for mistakes.”

Seol-ah nodded. “That’s the essence of Eastern training philosophy. Practice should be sustainable, repeatable, and deliberate.”

As they continued their tour, Seol-ah led Arthur to a section of the academy few outsiders ever saw—the historical archives housed in a building that predated the academy itself.

“This was once a temple,” she explained as they entered the stone structure. Inside, the air was cool and still, scented with age and the subtle tang of preservation enchantments. Scrolls and books lined the walls, some displayed in glass cases, others stacked neatly on shelves that reached to the ceiling.

“The history of mana cultivation in the East,” Arthur said, his voice appropriately hushed for their surroundings.

“Yes. Some of these records date back to the first appearance of mana in our world.” Seol-ah moved to a particular case, gesturing to a scroll contained within. “This documents the founding of the five great families.”

Arthur leaned closer, examining the ancient text with evident interest. “Your family’s history is here?”

“The official version,” Seol-ah replied, a subtle inflection suggesting there might be more to the story.

Arthur caught the nuance immediately. “And the unofficial version?”

Seol-ah considered him for a moment, weighing something in her mind. Then, with a slight nod of decision, she led him deeper into the archives, to a small alcove hidden behind a row of bookshelves.

“The first Moyong wasn’t born to power,” she said quietly, withdrawing a slender volume bound in faded blue cloth. “He was a wanderer who found a sword abandoned on a battlefield—a sword that spoke to him.”

She opened the book carefully, revealing illustrations of a man holding a blade that seemed to shimmer with its own light.

“A sentient artifact?” Arthur asked, his expression thoughtful.

“Perhaps. The accounts differ.” Seol-ah turned a page, revealing more illustrations. “What we know is that he learned from the sword, and from that learning came our family’s first techniques.”

“Is the sword still in your family’s possession?”

Seol-ah’s expression grew solemn. “It was lost during the Blood Moon War, three centuries ago. The search for it continues.”

Arthur nodded, understanding the weight such an artifact would carry for her family. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“Knowledge shared is knowledge strengthened,” she replied, carefully returning the book to its place. “Besides, you’ve given me something far more valuable.”

As they left the archives, the morning had fully blossomed into day. Students moved between buildings with purpose, the academy alive with activity. Seol-ah led Arthur to a secluded garden where a small stream wound between carefully placed stones.

“This is where I come to think,” she said, settling onto a bench beneath a maple tree. “The sound of water helps clear the mind.”

Arthur sat beside her, his posture relaxed yet alert—a warrior even in repose. “You’ve built something remarkable here,” he said, his gaze taking in the academy grounds visible from their vantage point.

“Not me,” Seol-ah corrected. “Generations before us. We’re merely adding our thread to the tapestry.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the gentle murmur of the stream.

“May I ask you something?” Seol-ah said finally.

Arthur turned to her, his azure eyes attentive. “Of course.”

“Your art—the Hollow Eclipse technique. It’s not just technique, is it? There’s emotion behind it.”

Arthur’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or respect for her insight.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “The most powerful techniques aren’t just about form or function. They’re about channeling something deeper.”

“What does Hollow Eclipse channel, then?”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, considering his answer. “Hunger,” he said finally. “The memory of starvation—not just physical, but spiritual. The hollow feeling of wanting something beyond reach.”

Seol-ah nodded slowly, understanding in her golden eyes. “That explains its power. And its name.”

“And your Infinite Horizon?” Arthur asked. “What does it channel?”

“Freedom,” Seol-ah replied without hesitation. “The yearning to break beyond limitations, to see what lies past the edge of the known world.”

A smile touched Arthur’s lips—a genuine one this time. “That suits you.”

“Does it?” Seol-ah looked surprised.

“You’ve always seemed… contained,” Arthur observed. “Like someone holding themselves in check. But yesterday, when you were working on the technique, that containment fell away. You looked… liberated.”

Seol-ah considered this, turning his words over in her mind. “The Moyong family has always valued discipline above all else,” she said finally. “Freedom isn’t something we often discuss.”

“Perhaps that’s why your art needed it,” Arthur suggested. “Balance requires opposing forces.”

Seol-ah nodded, thoughtful. “I’ll remember that as I develop the remaining movements.”

As the sun climbed higher, they continued their conversation, moving from martial philosophy to more practical matters—training regimens, the differences between Eastern and Western approaches to mana cultivation, the particular challenges of the exchange program.

“Your father seemed pleased with your progress,” Arthur noted.

“As pleased as he ever shows,” Seol-ah replied with a hint of dry humor. “But yes, elevating our family’s art to Grade 6 has… implications.”

“Political ones,” Arthur said, not a question.

“Everything in the East is political,” Seol-ah confirmed. “Especially power. With a Grade 6 art, we stand more firmly alongside the Kagu family and Mount Hua sect.”

“Will this change things for you personally?”

Seol-ah considered this. “More responsibilities, certainly. Greater expectations.” She paused, looking out over the academy grounds. “But also more freedom, in a way. Having proven myself capable of this achievement, my father may be less… directive… about my future.”

“The burden of talent,” Arthur said with a knowing nod.

“One you understand well,” Seol-ah observed.

Arthur didn’t deny it. “We’re given gifts for a reason,” he said instead. “The question is whether we choose our purpose, or it chooses us.”

“And which was it for you?” Seol-ah asked, her golden eyes studying him intently.

Arthur’s smile held something both sad and resolute. “Let’s just say it was a mutual agreement.”

Before Seol-ah could pursue this cryptic answer, the distant sound of a bell reached them—a signal that morning classes were about to begin.

“I should go,” Seol-ah said, rising from the bench. “I need to study.”

Arthur stood as well, inclining his head in a slight bow. “Thank you for the tour. And the conversation.”

“Thank you for helping me find the missing piece,” she replied, returning the gesture with equal formality.