An Unordinary Extra

The metallic clang of enhanced aura rang out across the training ground, a symphony of power and precision as two figures clashed. Ian Viserion, his crimson hair catching the light like embers, pressed forward with a spear that seemed almost alive, flames dancing along its length. His opponent, Jin Ashbluff, wielded twin shortswords that gleamed with a dark, shadowed aura, the contrast between them as stark as night and fire.

Ian exhaled, the heat around him intensifying as his spear surged forward. Flames roared to life, converging with each thrust, forcing Jin back step by step. Jin's arms trembled under the strain, his dark aura cracking and splintering against the ferocity of Ian's attacks.

"Too slow," Ian remarked, his tone sharp but not unkind, as the spear streaked toward its mark once more.

Jin gritted his teeth, his Shadow Armor shimmering faintly around him. Even bolstered by his necromantic magic, the sheer physical force of Ian's assault was overwhelming. He crossed his blades in a desperate block, the collision sending sparks of fire and shadow flying, but the impact drove him to his knees.

"I win," Ian said simply, stepping back as his aura dimmed, the reptilian scales on his skin fading into smooth flesh.

"You do," Jin admitted, his voice calm, though his pride stung. He rose to his feet, brushing off the dirt with a practiced stoicism that belied the frustration simmering beneath.

Ian tilted his head, his crimson eyes glinting with curiosity. "Will that improve?" Jin asked, nodding toward the fleeting traces of dragon scales on Ian's forearms.

"The scales?" Ian said, flexing his hand as if testing their strength. "Yeah, they should get a substantial boost when I scale the Wall. Dragon Will isn't just for show, after all."

Jin nodded, absorbing the information with the same stoic expression, though his mind raced. Ian's power was undeniably growing, and their sparring sessions reflected it. He had always prided himself on strategy and cunning—qualities that allowed him to punch above his weight—but Ian's raw strength was becoming increasingly difficult to match.

"You've improved," Ian offered after a moment, his tone unexpectedly generous. "Your Shadow Armor held up longer than last time."

Jin allowed himself a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "In a straight fight, I'm still no match for you."

Ian shrugged, slinging his spear across his back. "True. But battles aren't always straightforward, are they?"

The comment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Jin's strength wasn't in brute force; it lay in his necromantic army, in his ability to command and control an overwhelming tide of the dead. In the chaos of true combat, he was a force to be reckoned with, his strategy often turning the tide against seemingly insurmountable odds.

But here, in the pure, unadulterated clash of one against one, Ian held the advantage.

"Done for now?" Ian asked, his voice edged with exhaustion as he leaned on his spear, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. Jin nodded silently, his breaths coming in measured intervals as he sheathed his shortswords with a practiced motion.

For a moment, the only sound in the training ground was the faint hum of dissipating mana and the distant calls of birds outside the estate.

"Hey," Ian broke the quiet, his tone lighter but carrying a note of hesitation. "We're getting stronger, aren't we?"

Jin's dark eyes flicked to Ian, his expression unreadable. "Is the brave prince of the South nervous?" he replied, his voice flat. The subtle undertone made it impossible to tell if Jin was joking or not, which only seemed to fluster Ian further.

Ian let out an awkward laugh, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "You know why, Jin," he said, his usual confidence cracking just a little. "It's not just him. Even Lucifer's pulling ahead, getting stronger every day."

Jin tilted his head slightly, considering Ian's words. "Lucifer has always been far ahead of us," he said simply, his voice devoid of envy or bitterness, as if stating a fact about the weather.

"True," Ian admitted, "but still."

He hesitated, running a hand through his flame-touched hair. "And on the topic of him," Ian continued, his tone now laced with a rueful grin, "I honestly wish it'd come out that he was, I don't know, secretly a year older than us. At least then it'd make some sense."

Jin's expression remained inscrutable, though something flickered behind his dark eyes. He knew who him really referred to—Arthur Nightingale. The man who had gone from an unremarkable figure to a towering presence that loomed over them all.

Arthur, who had taken the weight of the world and wielded it as effortlessly as a sword.

Arthur, whose mere existence seemed to defy the natural order of things.

For Jin, the matter wasn't just abstract admiration or competition. He had been bound to Arthur's will, alongside Kali, forced into reluctant service. At first, it had been a bitter pill to swallow, serving someone so seemingly ordinary. But that illusion had been shattered long ago.

Now, Jin could only look up at the man who had ascended so far and so fast that it felt like gazing at the stars. Arthur wasn't just ahead; he was a force of nature, reshaping the very boundaries of what they believed possible.

"He's exceptional," Jin said at last, his voice quiet but firm.

Ian glanced at him, surprised by the weight of the words. "Yeah," Ian replied after a pause, his tone softer. "That he is."

The two stood in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. For all their training, all their growth, the shadow of Arthur Nightingale loomed large, a reminder of just how far the summit truly was.

"And we are getting stronger," Jin said, his voice as calm and measured as ever, though there was an unspoken resolve beneath the words. "We don't have to be the Paragon, after all. Did you ever think you were going to be?"

Ian blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then, with a rueful chuckle, he shook his head. "Not since I met Ren and Lucifer, no," he admitted. "And now? Even less."

Jin nodded, his dark eyes steady, his tone matter-of-fact. "Then it's fine. All we can do is keep growing stronger, step by step. That's what matters."

Ian found himself nodding back, his earlier doubts easing under the weight of Jin's strangely grounding words. There was no grand speech, no fiery declaration—just a quiet truth that settled over him like the steady warmth of embers in a dying fire.

For all Jin's aloofness, there was something undeniably comforting in his perspective. Practical. Real.

"Dinner?" Jin asked, tilting his head slightly as he sheathed his blades with a quiet, practiced motion.

Ian's face lit up, his trademark grin returning in full force. "Thought you'd never ask," he replied, slinging an arm over Jin's shoulder as they made their way out of the training ground.

The air between them lightened, the unspoken camaraderie of two warriors who understood that their journey wasn't about chasing unattainable ideals, but carving out their own paths. And perhaps that was enough. For now, at least.