An Unordinary Extra

I woke slowly, the ache in my muscles a faint echo of the battle that had left me sprawled on the floor. The intensity of Mythic Transplant still lingered in my body, a vivid reminder of its power and its toll.

"Mythic Transplant," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck as I sat up, "strong, but… it's just too much for me right now."

It was a gift from Luna's qilinification that brought my body to extraordinary heights, but using it to its full potential felt like pushing a racing engine far beyond the red line. My God Flash became a blur of light capable of threatening even Immortal-rankers, but the cost was steep. Every cell in my body protested when I used it in tandem with my other abilities.

Not for the first time, I considered how fragile even the strongest bodies could feel when wielding power beyond their limits.

"Not yet," I murmured, the words as much a promise to myself as they were a concession. Mythic Transplant was a trump card, not a standard tool—something to be drawn on only when the edge of defeat loomed.

"Good, you're up," came Li's familiar voice. He stood nearby, his arms crossed, observing me with the piercing gaze of a master appraising his student. "Feeling better?"

I nodded, the stiffness in my neck easing as I rolled my shoulders. "Getting there."

He smiled faintly, though his eyes betrayed the weight of unspoken thoughts. "Arthur, have you thought about a third movement for your Grade 6 art?"

I blinked, caught off guard. The question had haunted me in fragments, a persistent whisper at the edges of my mind, but I hadn't settled on an answer. God Flash and Hollow Eclipse were distinct and powerful—speed and overwhelming dominance. But a third movement?

"Not sure yet," I admitted, my voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. "I've thought about it, but nothing feels… right."

Li nodded slowly, as if expecting my response. "Good. That means you're not rushing into it. A movement like this isn't just an addition—it has to complete the foundation you're building."

I tilted my head, curiosity sparking as he continued.

"I have an idea for it," Li said, his tone shifting into something firmer, more instructive. "What you need right now isn't another strike to overwhelm or evade. What you need… is something that unleashes your potential in a torrent. A barrage."

"A barrage?" I echoed, the word hanging in the air like the promise of a storm.

Li's gaze hardened, his hands moving in a deliberate arc, mimicking a pattern of strikes. "Right now, your art is about singular moments of brilliance. God Flash strikes like lightning, and Hollow Eclipse dominates with sheer force. But battle isn't always about singular moments, Arthur. Sometimes, you need a cascade—a relentless assault that leaves your opponent with no room to breathe, no chance to recover."

The words struck something within me, a chord resonating deep in the core of my Sword Heart. He was right. My fights so far had relied on decisive blows, overwhelming speed, or calculated dominance. But there had been moments—fights against Vaelor, against the cultist, even sparring with Li—where what I needed wasn't precision or power but sheer, unrelenting pressure.

I clenched my fist, the thought blooming into something more. A barrage wasn't just about striking repeatedly. It was about turning every strike into a piece of something greater, a flood that swept everything in its path.

Li's smile returned, faint but genuine. "Think of it as harnessing the chaos within you. A storm, Arthur, not a blade."

A storm. The image burned itself into my mind, vivid and raw. I could already feel the shape of it, the way my Sword Heart would guide the astral energy into a thousand streams, converging into a single, unrelenting tide.

"I'll need to refine it," I said, my voice steady.

"You will," Li agreed, his tone carrying both expectation and encouragement. "And when you do, it will be a movement worthy of the name you're carving into the world."

For the first time in weeks, the uncertainty lifted, replaced by a spark of something familiar. Ambition. Determination.

The third movement of my Grade 6 art—a storm born of chaos, channeled into perfection.

A storm that would carry my sword to even greater heights.

I felt a familiar mana signature brush against my skin, light yet distinct, like the first touch of snow. Turning, I saw her.

"Arthur," Seraphina said, her voice soft but steady as she approached. The descending sun bathed her in its warm glow, its orange rays catching on her silver hair, making her look almost otherworldly. Her ice-blue eyes softened as they met mine, their usual stoicism giving way to something warmer. She was ethereal, a vision framed by the tranquil chaos of twilight.

Behind her, a figure loomed—Mo Zenith, her father. Once a man of iron will and unyielding presence, he now carried himself differently. He had softened, though perhaps only in proximity to his daughter. There was still a sharpness to him, a subtle edge, but it no longer dominated him entirely.

The shift wasn't lost on me. I smiled inwardly. 'So it worked.'

Seraphina didn't hesitate. She opened her arms and wrapped them around me, her movements uncharacteristically tender. "I missed you," she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

"I missed you too, Sera," I replied, hugging her tightly. Her presence was a calming anchor, even amidst my storm.

Even as we embraced, I couldn't help but notice it—her mana. It thrummed through the air, powerful and steady, a testament to how far she'd come. The current Seraphina wasn't just formidable; she was extraordinary. Her growth spoke volumes—she was well on her way to reaching Ascendant-rank just after her nineteenth birthday, rivaling the achievements of legends like Sun.

In the novel's original timeline, Seraphina was nowhere near this level.

'I did this,' I thought, the realization sending a spark of pride through me. My presence, my actions—they were making those around me stronger. It was a thought that brought me quiet joy.

"When we had a nineteen-year-old Ascendant-ranker, the entire world was in shock," Mo said, his deep voice carrying a note of begrudging admiration as his eyes flicked toward me. "Now we have an eighteen-year-old Ascendant-ranker. How badly do you want to surpass the world, Arthur?"

"Until I can protect everyone I care about," I replied, my hand resting gently on Seraphina's back. "Like Sera."

Seraphina pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, her gaze sharp now, carrying the weight of her conviction. "I will fight alongside you, Arthur—not stand behind you, protected like a helpless child."

Her words were a blade of ice, cutting through any pretense. But her determination was one of the things I admired most about her. I smiled, lowering my forehead to hers in a quiet gesture of understanding.

"Of course, Sera. Just make sure to catch up," I said, my voice tinged with both challenge and affection.

She smirked faintly, a flicker of her competitive fire igniting in her eyes. "Don't get too far ahead, then."

Mo watched us in silence, his expression inscrutable. Perhaps it was pride, or perhaps it was the quiet calculation of a man who saw the threads of the future weaving before him.

"You're here to participate in the war?" Mo asked, his voice carrying the weight of battlefields long endured. His ice-blue eyes, so similar to his daughter's, locked onto mine as I nodded.

"Yeah," I replied simply, though the word felt too small for the gravity of what lay ahead.

"Honestly," he began, leaning back slightly, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword like a sentinel always ready, "with the reinforcements, the war has cooled down somewhat. Especially since Alyssara Velcroix disappeared."

That name, laced with equal parts venom and dread, made my eyes narrow instinctively. "Disappeared?"

"At least, that's what we believe," he grunted, his voice steeped in frustration. "We haven't seen her in months. But even with her gone, the vampires remain... tenacious. Their strength hasn't diminished enough to claim victory, even with three Radiant-rankers leading the charge."

I tilted my head, curious. "Is it because of their battle experience?"

He nodded solemnly. "You've fought them, so you know. Vampires don't just fight—they hunt. They wield their power with precision, with savagery. Every spell, every strike—they use it like a predator cornering its prey. And their followers, the cultists, are no different. They've adapted to the chaos, learned to wield it like a blade."

The lines etched into his face deepened, a reflection of too many losses endured. "We've lost far too many because we made the mistake of engaging them on equal footing."

I frowned, the memory of those battles stirring uneasily within me. Fighting vampires wasn't like dueling in tournaments or training against powerful foes. It was primal, desperate—a clash of instincts and cunning as much as raw power.

"They force you to fight their way," I said, my tone contemplative. "And anyone who can't adapt fast enough pays the price."

Mo's lips pressed into a thin line. "Exactly. They've honed their instincts over centuries. Every one of them has fought wars we can only imagine. And now their strength is bolstered by the chaos the cultists bring. A perfect storm."

His gaze turned steely, the weight of command settling back into his frame. "You'll need to be careful, Arthur. This isn't a duel, and it isn't a proving ground. These vampires—they don't care about your potential or your gifts. They only care about one thing."

"Blood," I said, the word cold as steel on my tongue.

Mo nodded gravely, the unspoken truth of the war stretching between us.

"But knowing you," Mo said with a faint, knowing smirk, "you'll turn this war into another notch on your belt of achievements. Should I just go ahead and name you an honorary Master of Mount Hua instead of an Elder?"

"I'm not worthy," I replied, the honesty in my voice ringing clear.

"Perhaps not yet," Mo conceded, his sharp gaze lingering on me, appraising and measuring. "But you will be, won't you?"

He tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting together as if puzzling out the intricate map of my potential. "Mid Ascendant-rank will be a good stabilising point for you. But high Ascendant-rank..." His voice trailed off, heavy with implication. "That's where you'll truly come into your own. Only then will you be able to use all these abilities of yours—properly, efficiently."

I met his gaze, unwavering. There was no need to deny it. The truth was written in the fire that burned within me. Even now, standing here, I could feel the weight of my untapped potential pressing against the edges of my mana reserves, straining for release.

"High Ascendant-rank isn't just a goal," I said finally. "It's a necessity. There's too much at stake to let anything hold me back."

Mo's smirk deepened, though his eyes retained their gravity. "Good. Hold onto that drive. You'll need it. And when you're ready—when you're standing tall at high Ascendant-rank, wielding all that strength you're so eager to master—we'll see about that Master of Mount Hua title."

"Deal," I said, the word a quiet promise, not just to him but to myself.