The Extra's Rise - Chapter 562

Chapter 562: A Blue Rose Blooms (4)
I noticed Rose and Arthur slipping away from the hall together, their hands interlocked with the kind of natural intimacy that spoke of deep understanding and shared anticipation. The sight brought a complex smile to my face—equal parts joy, melancholy, and something approaching relief.

It did hurt, admittedly, to see my daughter all grown up now, stepping away from the protective circle I had maintained around her for eighteen years. But she was walking into the hands of a very capable man, someone who had already proven his worth in ways that went far beyond conventional measures.

Guild master of a Gold-rank guild in the Slatemark Empire. Considered to be the future Paragon alongside Lucifer Windward. Already at peak Integration-rank with the Wall to Ascendant status clearly within his reach.

But most importantly, and most disturbingly…

A Nightingale.

I felt the weight of that realization settle in my chest like a stone as I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry despite the evening’s wine. To think that Rose would gain the affection of a Nightingale—it was simultaneously the greatest blessing and the most terrifying prospect I could imagine for her future.

It was more frightening, in many ways, than if she had been courting someone from one of the Seven Superpowers. At least with the Superpowers, their influence and capabilities were known quantities, documented and understood within the bounds of conventional political power.

The Nightingales operated by entirely different rules.

Now that I had achieved the rank of Marquis, I was privy to information that had been carefully withheld from lesser nobles. I understood, finally, the true meaning behind that family name and why it carried such weight in the highest circles of power. The facts about the Nightingale lineage were secrets known only to the Superpowers themselves, and even then, only to their most trusted leadership.

‘Of course,’ I thought with grim humor, ‘no ordinary man would dare to simultaneously court three princesses and the daughter of a marquis. Only someone with that kind of backing would have the audacity—and the protection—to attempt such an arrangement.’

But the fact that Arthur was a Nightingale made it all make sense. The rapid rise of his guild, the unprecedented partnerships he had secured, the way powerful figures seemed to defer to someone barely out of his teenage years—it all fell into place once you understood the true scope of what that family represented.

As I watched the last of the evening’s guests make their polite farewells, I found myself thinking about the journey that had brought us to this moment. Rose’s childhood, overshadowed by secrets I hadn’t understood at the time. The gradual revelation of truths that had shattered everything I thought I knew about my life. And now, this new chapter beginning with a young man whose family name carried implications I was only beginning to grasp.

I thought about Evelyn.

Even now, years after learning the truth, her name still carried the power to tighten something in my chest. Not with love—that emotion had died a brutal death the day I discovered who she really was—but with the complex mixture of regret, anger, and profound sadness that came with understanding how completely I had been deceived.

I had loved her once. Loved her with the kind of desperate, all-consuming passion that young men mistake for destiny. Evelyn had been breathtakingly beautiful, with her dark red hair that seemed to hold fire in its depths and jade green eyes that could make me forget everything else in the world. She had been intelligent, charming, mysterious in ways that had only made her more alluring.

When she had chosen me, I had felt like the luckiest man alive. I had believed, with the naive certainty of youth, that we were meant to be together, that our love story would be one for the ages.

Our wedding had been a grand affair, celebrated throughout the noble circles as a romantic triumph. Our early years of marriage had been blissful, filled with the kind of happiness that made me believe in fairy tales. And when Rose was born, tiny and perfect with my auburn hair and brown eyes, I had thought my life was complete.

For years, I had been content in that illusion. Evelyn had been an attentive wife, a caring mother, a gracious hostess who elevated our family’s social standing through her charm and intelligence. She had supported my political ambitions, offered wise counsel during difficult decisions, and seemed genuinely invested in our family’s future.

I should have recognized the signs. The way she sometimes disappeared for days at a time, claiming to visit family or attend social obligations that I was somehow never invited to join. The letters that arrived through private channels, written in codes I didn’t recognize. The subtle questions she would ask about magical defenses, political alliances, information that seemed slightly outside the bounds of normal curiosity.

But I had been blinded by love, and later by habit and comfort. I had constructed explanations for everything that seemed unusual, dismissing my occasional doubts as paranoia or jealousy.

The truth, when it finally emerged, had been devastating beyond anything I could have imagined.

Evelyn wasn’t just connected to the Order of the Fallen Flame—she was their Pope. The mysterious, terrifying figure who had orchestrated attacks against humanity, who had commanded the loyalty of some of our most dangerous enemies, who had been responsible for countless deaths and immeasurable suffering.

And I had shared a bed with her. Had trusted her with my deepest secrets, my political connections, my family’s vulnerabilities. Had given her a child.

The revelation had nearly destroyed me. Not just the betrayal, though that had been crushing enough, but the understanding of how thoroughly I had been used. Our entire relationship had been a carefully constructed lie, designed to place her in a position where she could gather intelligence, influence political decisions, and most importantly, produce an heir with specific magical capabilities.

Rose hadn’t been conceived out of love, as I had always believed. She had been planned, calculated, engineered for a purpose that still made my blood run cold when I considered it too closely.

Evelyn had needed a child with a stronger Gift than her own, someone who could serve as a weapon in whatever dark plans she had been orchestrating. My magical abilities, while respectable, weren’t extraordinary. But the combination of my bloodline with hers had produced something far more powerful than either of us possessed individually.

Rose’s Gift was remarkable—a level of magical potential that drew attention from the highest circles of power. If Evelyn had succeeded in her plans, if she had been able to corrupt our daughter’s development, the consequences could have been catastrophic.

Thank every benevolent force in the universe that Arthur had entered Rose’s life when he did.

I had watched my daughter struggle for years with the weight of her heritage, the shame of being connected to humanity’s greatest enemy, the fear that she might somehow carry her mother’s evil within her. She had withdrawn into herself, become quiet and uncertain, afraid to trust in her own worth or the possibility of genuine affection from others.

Arthur had changed all of that. Not through grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but through patient consistency. He had seen Rose not as the Pope’s daughter or as a political complication, but simply as herself. He had helped her understand that she was not defined by her mother’s choices, that she could choose her own path regardless of the circumstances of her birth.

Under his influence, Rose had blossomed into the confident, joyful young woman who had hosted tonight’s celebration with such grace. She had learned to trust in her own worth, to believe that she deserved love and happiness, to see herself as more than just the product of a calculated deception.

And now she was eighteen, legally an adult, free to make her own choices about her future. Free to love and be loved without the artificial constraints that had shaped her childhood.

The fact that she had chosen Arthur—or perhaps more accurately, that they had chosen each other—brought me a peace I hadn’t expected to feel. Yes, the Nightingale connection was intimidating, potentially dangerous in ways I couldn’t fully predict. But it also meant that Rose would have protection, resources, and opportunities that I could never have provided for her on my own.

More than that, I had seen how Arthur looked at her. Not with the calculating interest of someone seeking political advantage, not with the casual affection of a young man enjoying temporary pleasure, but with the kind of deep, genuine love that recognized her true worth.

He saw in Rose what I had always hoped someone would see—not the daughter of a traitor, not a political liability, not a source of shame or complication, but a remarkable young woman worthy of devotion and respect.

Tonight marked the beginning of a new chapter in Rose’s life, one where she would be free to explore the full scope of her potential without the shadow of her mother’s legacy hanging over her. She would face new challenges, certainly, and the complexities of her relationship with Arthur and the other three remarkable young women would require navigation of political and personal waters I could barely imagine.

But she would face those challenges as herself, confident in her own worth and secure in the knowledge that she was loved for exactly who she was.

As I made my way through the empty hall, directing the staff in their cleanup efforts and ensuring that the estate returned to its normal state of quiet elegance, I found myself thinking about the future with something approaching optimism for the first time in years.

Rose was no longer my little girl, dependent on my protection and guidance. She was a woman now, ready to make her own choices and face the consequences of those decisions with courage and wisdom I had helped nurture but could no longer directly provide.

And that, I realized, was all any father could truly hope for his daughter.