The Extra Can't be A Hero

At the second Demon Cult stronghold, buried deep within the scorched sands, Leon stood poised on a ridge, eyes locked on the ominous cavern yawning open beneath him. From its depths, a thick, malevolent energy pulsed like a heartbeat—slow, heavy, and wrong.

The air shimmered with the taint of demonic magic, and the ground seemed to recoil beneath his boots. Like the other base under siege, this one reeked of impending catastrophe. Tendrils of dark power writhed from the cave mouth, twisting the nearby dunes into warped, unnatural shapes.

Leon tightened his grip on his weapon, his jaw set. There was no room for hesitation. Whatever horror was incubating beneath the desert was nearing completion. Eldorin had to strike before the disaster broke loose and swallowed everything in its path.

"Are you ready?"

Leon spoke under his breath, but the weight of his words carried clearly across the tense silence. Venya—normally aloof and out of sync with the group's rhythm—stood focused, her ornate bow raised, an arrow of condensed mana already nocked and glowing faintly in the dim light.

They all knew what lay ahead: a Demon Cult stronghold that, by all signs, could be sheltering an Apostle—a creature of ruin and ancient power.

The air was thick with unease, every heartbeat sharpened by the knowledge of what they might face. Nerves were inevitable. But among the elite of Eldorin, fear never translated to hesitation.

Each warrior stood ready, weapons drawn, minds honed. Whatever awaited them within the depths, they would meet it head-on, unshaken, unbroken.

"Then I'll initiate… Sir Flydian, I'll leave this place to you."

"Understood."

Flydian the Unyielding.

He was a member of the Golden Dragon Order—a towering Knight of renown, and a rare powerhouse who had successfully condensed Six Suns. Though technically a subordinate of Horus, he now stood at Leon's side as part of a deliberate strategy to balance the might of the two strike teams.

A Pillar Knight, steadfast and immovable, serving as Leon's shield, though truth be told, Leon rarely needed shielding.

Leon lifted into the sky as the first tremors of battle rippled across the sands, his cloak fluttering like a banner in the wind. Then, with a calm breath, he released the restraints on his core.

Four radiant Suns burst into existence around him, orbiting his form like celestial guardians. But they were only the foundation. With a pulse of will, each one bloomed outward, spawning three smaller, satellite Suns until sixteen blazing orbs of pure mana circled him in symmetrical harmony.

Their golden light washed over the battlefield, casting long shadows and igniting awe.

This was the power of Leon's legendary cultivation technique—The Eighty-One Suns Heart Mantra.

A technique so vast in potential, it allowed him to condense a staggering eighty-one Suns theoretically, making him effectively a demigod.

Leon had mastered its early stages, and even now, with only a fraction of its full potential unleashed, he possessed mana reserves that dwarfed those of most high-level knights.

He was a force of nature among peers—overwhelming, inexhaustible, and utterly dominant. And now, with his Suns ignited and his focus sharpened, Leon was ready to let loose.

"Dawn."

Just as Sir Horus had done, Leon summoned a torrent of golden flame—fierce, divine, and vengeful. The Suns orbiting him flared in unison, and with a single sweeping motion of his arm, he cast the fire down upon the cultists' stronghold. The desert lit up like dawn, as waves of incinerating heat rolled across the dunes.

Everything in the flames' path—stone, bone, and shadow alike—was reduced to ash.

The inferno churned with relentless fury, intending to erase the base from existence. But then, the fire met something that refused to burn. Deep within the cult's lair, a spiralling vortex of twisted, cosmic energy erupted, demonic and unnatural.

It spun like a black maelstrom, devouring the golden fire, distorting the air. The ground trembled violently and then detonated in a thunderous roar. A jagged rift tore open in the centre of the base, and from it poured a swirling gateway, crackling with infernal magic.

Leon's eyes widened. He knew the moment he saw it.

He'd been baited—a trap.

Without hesitation, Leon surged backwards, retreating to gain distance. His breath caught for just a moment as the first wave emerged: twisted abominations, winged beasts, and towering demons with molten eyes and jagged blades.

The air filled with roars and shrieks from the Demon Realm, a grotesque symphony of war. Clicking his tongue in irritation, Leon landed beside his team, his Suns still blazing overhead.

"Tch, they knew we were coming!"

It was a miscalculation, albeit a small one. Eldorin hadn't been quiet about their arrival in Olavaguel, hence it made sense that the Demon Cult would be prepared for a raid. Therefore, Leon had been mentally prepared for a trap to be sprung, though not to this extent.

He raised a hand, voice calm but firm.

"Change of plans, let's kill them all in the open! Verso! Yeon! Use all of your magic to reduce their numbers!"

"Got it!"

"... sure."

The blind Verso responded with unshakable zeal, his voice ringing with conviction. Beside him, Yeon narrowed her eyes at the crisp command, tension flickering across her features. But neither hesitated. In perfect sync, the two magicians stepped forward, mana surging through their veins like wildfire, ready to unleash their power.

"Sir Flydian, protect them at all costs! Ines, heal and support them whenever you deem necessary."

"Got it!"

"L-Leave it to me!"

The tank and healer voiced their support—one with steady resolve, the other with hesitation, their energy contrasting but equally essential.

At the front of the formation, the Pillar Knight, Flydian, stepped forward, his massive signature shield gleaming under the dim light. With a low chant and a slam of his shield into the ground, a radiant wave of golden energy burst forth, washing over the entire raid group.

Each member felt a warm shimmer coat their bodies—Solstice Armour, a refined evolution of the famed Solstice Sanctuary. Unlike its predecessor, this version provided dynamic, reactive protection, forming a semi-living barrier around each ally that strengthened itself against incoming blows.

Flydian had forged this skill, and the effect was profound—defences boosted tenfold, every movement now backed by divine fortitude.

At the same time, Ines raised her arms, her voice weaving a melodic chant as glowing shamanic symbols spiralled around her. The ethereal runes drifted outward like embers caught on the wind, settling onto the raid members individually.

A surge of warmth filled their limbs—wounds mended faster, exhaustion lifted, and spirits steadied. Her shamanic blessing, though subtle, was relentless, providing enhanced regeneration that would keep them fighting long past their limits.

"As for Venya and Khali… kill at will."

"I was hoping you would say that!"

"Heh? A free-for-all? How rare!"

Both women flashed confident, pearly grins as the thrill of battle surged through them. Venya nocked an arrow with practised grace, her fingers twitching to unleash a storm of shots in rapid succession. Beside her, Khali spun her pale blue chakrams in smooth, hypnotic arcs—twin crescent moons glinting in the light. She shifted her stance low, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.

But before either could make the first move, the battlefield changed.

A sudden, unnatural chill swept across the desert. In a heartbeat, a storm of frost erupted across the sands. Without hesitation, Yeon had raised her staff and invoked her magic, casting a powerful spell that plunged the entire valley into an arctic wasteland.

Snow fell in thick, swirling flurries—so dense and violent they resembled a sandstorm in reverse. The weaker demons didn't even have time to scream. They froze in place, their twisted forms encased in ice, lifeless statues caught mid-roar.

But Yeon wasn't finished. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she conjured titanic spears of ice—each one the size of a house—and sent them hurtling across the frozen battlefield. They struck with brutal precision, shattering the immobilised demons into glittering shards, their remains scattered like broken glass in the snow.

The desert had become a graveyard of frost, and Yeon stood at the centre, unflinching.

Not to be overshadowed, Verso stepped forward and unveiled the full force of his arcane might. Though blind, his sight reached far beyond the physical.

With an elegant sweep of his hand, a radiant prism of refracted light shimmered above his palm, pulsing with concentrated mana. In the next instant, beams of pure, focused energy erupted—lasers that zipped across the battlefield in jagged, unpredictable arcs, bending like lightning bolts before slicing clean through scores of demons.

The assault was merciless.

Demons fell in droves, their bodies disintegrated by the precision of the light. Only those with the most formidable defences managed to endure the first barrage—but even they found no safety.

Verso's expression remained serene, his conviction unshaken. The prism above his hand multiplied, and soon the entire sky twinkled with motes of light, like a thousand tiny stars waiting to fall.

And fall they did.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Verso unleashed his finishing move: a celestial rain of lasers that rained down like divine judgment. Each bolt struck with surgical devastation, tearing through armour, bone, and darkness.

In moments, the demon army was no more, reduced to smouldering craters and silence.

For a long moment, none of his allies spoke. Then, a quiet, collective thought echoed through their minds:

Were we even needed?

Unsurprisingly, it was Leon who bore the weight of that unspoken doubt.

Verso and Yeon weren't just powerful—they were legends in the making. Any faction or mage order would have bent over backwards to recruit them. The fact that they had chosen Eldorin—drawn in by Amon and Yue's formidable charisma and vision—was proof enough of those two founders' immense pull.

And now, these titans stood not as figureheads or freelancers, but under Leon's direct command.

He could have questioned himself. Could have wondered whether he truly deserved to lead them, whether he was simply riding the coattails of giants. But Leon didn't indulge in self-pity.

Power respected power, and leadership demanded resolve. He clenched his fist as his Suns flared brighter in the sky. If anything, their brilliance only pushed him to burn hotter.

It wasn't only Amon who had grown stronger over the past three years—Leon had ascended to an entirely new tier of power.

Ascalon's legendary blade shimmered as its steel turned blinding white, wreathed in divine flame that pulsed with overwhelming heat. With unwavering focus, Leon channelled the immense mana of sixteen blazing suns into the sword, the sheer force making the air tremble around him.

In that moment, the Goddess's manifestation appeared—an ethereal figure of radiant majesty towering behind him, her presence flooding the battlefield with divine authority. Empowered by her light, Ascalon grew in brilliance and size, expanding into a blade as vast and formidable as a mountain, its holy fire burning with apocalyptic fury.

Without hesitation, Leon brought it down in a mighty arc, cleaving toward the heart of the Demon Cult's base. The corrupted monolith at its core screamed in defiance, shrouded in writhing demonic energy that tried desperately to resist the divine assault.

Shadows fought against flame, but the holy fire was relentless. With a deafening roar, the monolith cracked… then shattered into nothingness.

Just as the dust settled, Leon breathed a single breath of relief. And then—a voice.

Mocking, low, and laced with malice—it slithered into his mind, as if the very darkness he'd just destroyed had a final word to say.

"Hiiii~"

Leon was sent flying like a ragdoll, his body twisting mid-air before crashing hard into the sand. He tumbled across the desert floor, leaving a trail of disturbed earth, until he finally skidded to a halt near his comrades.

Grit stung his face and pain bloomed across his body, but it was the disorientation—sheer suddenness of the blow—that struck hardest. Shaking his head, he forced himself upright, golden fire flickering faintly around him as he steadied his breath. His eyes snapped to the source of the attack.

Standing a few paces away, the figure of a man emerged from the fading dust, strikingly handsome, with tousled grey hair and eyes the colour of poisoned emeralds. A crooked smile played on his lips as he casually rolled his shoulder, his arm twisted and blackened with demonic corruption, pulsing with raw power.

He flexed the monstrous limb like nothing more than a toy, then waved it at Leon in mock greeting.

"Aw, did that hurt? My bad," he said, chuckling as if they were old friends sparring rather than enemies locked in war. "But really, I expected better from this generation's hero."

His voice oozed arrogance, every word sharpened with playful menace.

"You…"

Gritting his teeth, Leon spat a mouthful of blood. This pungent stench, this sinister mana, there was no mistaking it…

"Apostle!"