The Extra's Rise - Chapter 438

Chapter 438: Crimson Dancer (1)
After freshening up in the opulent chambers provided by the Southern Sea Sun Palace, we changed into formal attire appropriate for the evening’s banquet. The quarters were undeniably luxurious—all dark polished wood, hand-painted silks, and gleaming precious metals—but they lacked one crucial modern convenience: reliable network connectivity. The palace’s antiquated systems were incompatible with our advanced devices, making even basic communication frustratingly archaic.

I adjusted my formal jacket, resigned to relying on physical messengers and pre-arranged meeting points like we were living in the previous century. In a world of instant communication and real-time data, being disconnected felt like losing a limb.

Palace attendants soon arrived to escort us through the labyrinthine corridors toward the grand hall. As we walked, the walls seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly quality, reflecting the crimson light of the Red Sun through carefully placed crystal elements. It was beautiful, certainly, but also deliberately intimidating—architecture designed to remind visitors of exactly whose domain they had entered.

Our path intersected with another group, and I immediately recognized a familiar face.

“Arthur,” Seol-ah greeted, her golden eyes catching the light as she offered a measured smile.

“Seol-ah,” I returned the greeting with a slight inclination of my head, maintaining the appropriate formality.

She stood flanked by her two friends: Aria Gu with her characteristic fiery intensity barely contained beneath a veneer of court manners, and Ava Peng, whose quiet strength and calculating gaze missed nothing. Both were daughters of prominent Eastern families, their presence here significant in ways that went beyond mere attendance at a formal function.

‘The East truly is the most fractured continent,’ I reflected.

Internal conflicts were carefully managed, rarely erupting into open warfare—because when facing external threats, the East had learned the hard price of division. They couldn’t afford such luxury, particularly not now.

Not with whispers of the vampires and Red Chalice cult growing louder once more.

The East’s victory over the vampires two centuries ago was celebrated in history texts, but those accounts glossed over how desperately close they had come to annihilation. Only the intervention of Tiamat, the dragon who had flown from the Southern Continent to incinerate the vampires’ stronghold, had turned the tide. The First Hero, Liam Kagu, whose strength had become nearly mythological, had then eliminated the survivors.

Without Tiamat’s decisive action, the East would have fallen. Caught between the Heavenly Demon and the vampire forces, they would have been overwhelmed completely.

And now? The vampires and the Red Chalice cult had grown stronger during their period of relative quiet. With the demons no longer dividing their attention, they focused on rebuilding their strength and extending their influence.

If they were to ally as they had almost two centuries ago, the East—perhaps the entire world—might not escape a second time.

Especially not with the Vampire Monarch himself being such a catastrophic threat. In the original narrative, he had systematically destroyed the Kagu family so thoroughly that even their name nearly vanished from history.

He wasn’t an enemy you allowed to recover his full strength. Dealing with him while he remained vulnerable was imperative—but first, the Southern Sea Sun Palace needed to be freed from the grip of the vampires and their cultist allies.

One carefully planned step at a time.

We arrived at the grand hall, where massive enchanted crystal chandeliers bathed the space in ethereal light that shifted subtly between warm gold and cool silver. The effect was mesmerizing, designed to disorient newcomers while flattering the palace residents.

Standing at the entrance, waiting with varying degrees of patience, were the four girls.

“Finally!” Rachel exclaimed, stepping forward to capture my hand in hers. “We’ve been waiting forever!”

She wore a pure white gown that seemed almost bridal in its elegance, the fabric catching the light in ways that made her appear to glow from within. The effect was both stunning and slightly confusing—it seemed excessive even for a formal banquet.

“Well, we have you for now,” Cecilia said with practiced smoothness, claiming my other arm with subtle possessiveness. Her dress was deep crimson, matching her striking eyes and contrasting beautifully with her golden hair. The cut was both regal and daring, befitting her status as Crown Princess.

“Indeed,” Seraphina agreed quietly, her ice-blue eyes assessing me with characteristic precision. Her flowing gown in midnight blue shimmered faintly with each movement, reminiscent of moonlight on water. The azure hairpin securing her silver hair added a touch of calculated elegance to her ethereal presence.

“You clean up nicely,” Rose observed with her characteristic calm, a hint of warmth in her amber eyes as she joined our circle. Her dress was a rich emerald that complemented her chestnut hair, styled in an elaborate updo that emphasized her elegant neck.

Each of them was breathtaking in her own way, commanding attention without seeming to try. Yet despite the crowded hall filling with Eastern nobility and palace dignitaries, their focus remained entirely on me.

It was simultaneously flattering and deeply unnerving.

The intensity of their collective gaze—each woman looking at me as though I were the only person of consequence in the entire palace—sent a prickle of awareness down my spine.

The grand hall continued filling as notable figures took their designated places. The room’s oppressive grandeur—vaulted ceilings supported by columns inscribed with ancient texts, floors of polished stone that reflected the enchanted lighting—seemed designed to make individuals feel insignificant beneath the weight of centuries.

At the head of the hall, Lord Daedric Solaryn ascended his ornate throne, his crimson gaze methodically surveying the gathering. His expression revealed nothing, but the slight tensing of his fingers against the armrests betrayed his carefully controlled alertness.

Seated nearest to him were Li Zenith, Nero Astrellan, and Magnus Draykar—their proximity to the Lord a clear indicator of their significance. Power recognized power, even across ideological divides.

The rest of us were guided to our assigned positions. Predictably, the four girls arranged themselves around me—Rachel and Cecilia claiming the seats on either side, while Seraphina and Rose took positions directly across the table. Seraphina’s faintly irritated glance at Rose suggested some private negotiation had occurred before our arrival, with results not entirely to her satisfaction.

Conversation rose around us, punctuated by the subtle music of crystal glasses touching in ceremonial toasts and the occasional burst of carefully modulated laughter. The aroma of exotic dishes wafted through the air as servers began to present the feast’s first course.

Yet beneath the veneer of celebration lay unmistakable tension. The Southern Sea Sun Palace wasn’t merely hosting a diplomatic function—this was a carefully choreographed display where every interaction carried layered meanings. The three figures closest to Lord Daedric—Li, Nero, and Magnus—served as constant reminders of why we had come and what truly lay beneath the surface.

I noticed the strategic glances exchanged between the girls—Rachel’s mischievous smile as she leaned closer than strictly necessary, Cecilia’s imperious adjustment of her position to maintain equal claim on my attention, Seraphina’s cool assessment of potential threats throughout the room, and Rose’s quiet observation of everyone’s behavior, missing nothing despite her seemingly relaxed demeanor.

The ambient music gradually faded, replaced by a single haunting melody that commanded attention without demanding it. Conversations hushed, utensils were carefully set aside, and all eyes turned toward the center of the hall where an open space had been preserved.

The lighting shifted, focusing into a single brilliant spotlight that illuminated the empty performance area. Anticipation rippled through the crowd as they waited for what was clearly a highlight of the evening’s entertainment.

And then she appeared.

Alyssara stepped into the light with movements so fluid they seemed more water than human. Collective gasps echoed through the hall as the Crimson Dancer claimed her stage, each deliberate step creating its own narrative of grace and control.

Her dancer’s attire, simultaneously modest and provocative, seemed to defy physical laws in how it accentuated her form. Diaphanous silk in shades of deep rose and blood red clung to her figure, revealing and concealing in an artful dance of its own. Her vibrant pink hair—her most distinctive feature—flowed around her like living flame, framing features that struck the perfect balance between strength and vulnerability.

The entire assembly appeared equally affected. Women stared with expressions ranging from professional admiration to undisguised envy, while men seemed transfixed, their desires transparent in their unguarded gazes.

Even the four princesses weren’t immune. Rachel’s playful confidence faltered slightly, Cecilia’s imperial poise tensed with recognition of a different kind of power, Seraphina’s analytical detachment gave way to grudging appreciation of technique, and Rose’s calm observation deepened into careful study of a potential threat.

This was Alyssara’s true power as leader of the Red Chalice Cult. Her dancing was not merely art but weaponized charisma, a means of disarming defenses that had nothing to do with physical combat. She didn’t need to kill like the vampires she served—her methods were subtler and often more effective. A glance, a gesture, a perfectly executed movement, and barriers crumbled without victims realizing their danger until far too late.

As she began her performance, commanding the rapt attention of everyone present, I wondered how many in this room—even those who considered themselves immune to manipulation—had already fallen under her influence.

I glanced toward Lucifer, noting his measured response. The faint color in his cheeks betrayed that he wasn’t completely immune to Alyssara’s performance, but his self-awareness and control remained intact. As expected of the protagonist, his mental discipline matched his combat prowess. Alyssara’s spell might entrance others, but Lucifer would not be so easily compromised, yet he was still blushing.

For some reason, that twisted my heart more than I wanted to admit.