The Extra's Rise - Chapter 514

Chapter 514: Hwaeryun Banquet (7)
The banquet settled into its familiar rhythm after my dance with Reika, the ebb and flow of conversation and music creating a backdrop of refined civilization. Yet I found my attention drawn repeatedly to her, standing near a cluster of Academy students who had approached her with the eager curiosity of youth recognizing greatness in their midst.

Reika looked as though her heart might burst from sheer joy. The smile that graced her features wasn’t the practiced expression of nobility or the careful mask of diplomacy—it was pure, unguarded happiness. She didn’t know how to manufacture false emotions; that sort of radiant contentment could only come from someone who had never dared hope to be truly seen, but now found herself bathed in light as if the sun itself had chosen to shine for her alone.

The transformation was remarkable. Where once she had moved through the world like a shadow, now she carried herself with quiet confidence. Not arrogance—Reika would never possess that particular flaw—but the self-assurance that came from understanding one’s place and purpose.

My gaze shifted across the ballroom, cataloging the various dramas playing out in plain sight. Jin and Kali were locked in what could generously be called a waltz, though the tension crackling between them suggested it was more akin to a duel conducted through dance steps. Their movements were too sharp, too precise, each turn and dip carrying the weight of unspoken arguments and stubborn pride.

Kali’s face held that particular expression she wore when she was simultaneously annoyed and impressed—a combination that seemed to be Jin’s specialty in provoking. For his part, Jin moved with his usual fluid grace, but there was something deliberately provocative in the way he guided her through the more challenging sequences, as if he was testing her limits just to see how she’d respond.

Meanwhile, Elias stood at the periphery like a patient sentinel, crystal glass in hand, observing the proceedings with the weary amusement of a teacher watching an classroom full of brilliant but chaotic students. The exhaustion he carried was subtle but unmistakable to those who knew him well—the burden of being the steady hand that kept our group grounded when ambition and passion threatened to pull us in too many directions.

Rachel and Seraphina had gracefully rejoined their respective diplomatic circles, their earlier dances with me already transformed into political capital through carefully orchestrated conversations. Both possessed the rare gift of making state business feel like intimate discourse, a skill that would serve the realm well in the challenging years ahead.

Lucifer had found his way back to Seol-ah’s side, and even from a distance, I could see the subtle shift in their dynamic. Whatever conversation had passed between them during their dance had clearly resolved something that had been building for months. There was a new ease in their proximity, a quiet understanding that spoke of barriers finally lowered.

But my attention inevitably returned to Reika.

As if sensing my gaze, her eyes found mine across the crowded room and held. There was no hesitation in her look, no shy ducking away as there might have been in earlier days. This was the direct regard of someone who had found her footing in the world and was no longer afraid to meet it head-on.

In the warm light of the chandeliers, I noticed again how much the awakening of her Gift had changed her. Her eyes caught the illumination with an otherworldly quality—not metaphorically, but literally. Where once they had been a simple dark brown, they now held patterns like flower petals within each iris, delicate and intricate as if nature itself had decided to craft something beautiful from the raw material of magic.

It was a side effect of awakening the Cursed Script, her unique Gift that had rewritten portions of her very being. The transformation went deeper than the physical, though that was the most immediately visible change. Her mana capacity had stabilized at low Ascendant-rank—a breakthrough that most adventurers spent decades pursuing, if they achieved it at all.

The Gift itself had evolved beyond its original crude mechanism of forcing mana rank advancement through sheer will and determination. Now it refined her existing power, tuning her magical resonance like a master craftsman adjusting the tension in a violin string. The instability that had once threatened to tear her apart from within had given way to a controlled enhancement that amplified her natural talents without overwhelming her foundation.

And I had given her my master’s sword art.

The decision still felt right, even knowing the magnitude of what I’d entrusted to her care. Magnus Draykar’s techniques were more than just combat forms—they were the crystallized essence of a legend who had walked into the pages of history by ending the Vampire Monarch’s reign of terror. Master had achieved what many thought impossible, becoming only the second human ever to reach high Radiant-rank, though the effort had cost him his life mere moments after his greatest triumph.

Some might wonder why I hadn’t learned the techniques myself, why I would give away such a precious inheritance rather than add it to my own arsenal. The answer was both simple and profound: Master had never intended them for me. If he had, the scrolls would have been placed in my hands years ago, during the countless hours we spent training together.

He had told me once, during one of our quieter moments between sparring sessions, that his path had been carved from rage, loss, and desperation—emotions that had no place in my development. It wasn’t a criticism of either approach, merely an acknowledgment that different warriors required different tools.

I was meant to forge my own techniques, to develop a style that fit me as perfectly as a blade shaped specifically for its wielder’s hand. Master’s way had been born from pain and the need for vengeance; mine would need to spring from different soil entirely.

But Reika… she would wield those techniques exactly as they had been written. Not because she lacked the creativity or skill to adapt them, but because she possessed something rarer than raw talent: the devotion to master a legacy without feeling the need to improve upon it. No shortcuts, no modifications, no attempts to make the art easier or more convenient.

That kind of respect for tradition, combined with the determination to honor it through perfect execution, was something I admired more than I had ever expressed aloud.

The thought prompted me to action. I made my way across the ballroom, navigating through clusters of conversation and the occasional dancing couple, until I reached the group surrounding Reika. The Academy students showed appropriate deference as I approached, though I noticed how they looked at her with newfound respect. Word of her advancement had clearly spread, as such news always did in our small community.

“Reika,” I said, and she turned to me immediately, that same radiant smile still gracing her features. “A word?”

She nodded and politely excused herself from the group, following me to a quieter alcove where we could speak without being overheard. The space was decorated with elegant tapestries depicting the Empire’s history, their rich colors muted in the softer lighting.

“I’m proud of you,” I said, the words carrying more weight than I had initially intended.

Her eyes widened with surprise, and I found myself looking away, suddenly conscious of the intensity of her gaze and the emotions it might reveal. There was something about the direct honesty of her attention that made maintaining eye contact feel almost too intimate for the public setting.

“I will never regret the choice I made to save you, Reika,” I continued, forcing myself to meet her gaze again. “Because you have proven yourself worthy in every conceivable way. You’ve worked harder than I could have asked for, shown dedication that goes beyond duty or obligation.”

She stood perfectly still, absorbing my words with the same focused intensity she brought to mastering new techniques. I could see the emotion building behind her transformed eyes, the way she was holding her breath as if afraid that speaking might shatter this moment.

“All I ask of you now is that you continue as you have,” I said, my voice carrying the formal weight of a vow. “Stand by my side as I pursue the heights of power, and let me know that when I reach my peak, I’ll have someone beside me who understands the cost of that climb.”

The silence that followed felt profound, weighted with significance that went beyond the simple exchange of words. I watched her lips part as if she might speak, then close again as she seemed to search for a response worthy of what had passed between us.

Finally, she moved with fluid grace into a formal bow, one hand placed over her heart in the traditional gesture of fealty. When she raised her head, her eyes held a depth of emotion that spoke to something far deeper than mere loyalty or gratitude.

“It would be my honor to be your sword,” she said, her voice steady despite the intensity of feeling behind it. “Your shield, your support, whatever you need me to be. I swear to you that I will never falter, never waver, never give you cause to doubt the faith you’ve placed in me.”

“Thank you, Reika,” I said simply, knowing that any attempt to match her eloquence would only diminish the moment. “That means more to me than you know.”