The Extra's Rise

'What the hell is this?' Cecilia thought.

She stared at the scene before her, trying—failing—to process it.

The Tower of Magic was one of the most secure buildings on the planet, well renowned for its technological infrastructure. Arcane encryption, security protocols designed by some of the most brilliant minds in human history, surveillance systems capable of tracking mana signatures down to the finest detail.

And yet…

A boy—not a battle-hardened mage, not a legendary strategist, but a boy—was shattering through those defenses with nothing but a laptop, a smirk, and the casual arrogance of someone who made the impossible look like child's play.

Tens of thousands of mages.

Hundreds of floors.

A coordinated counteroffensive that turned a cult invasion into a desperate retreat.

Arthur wasn't just reacting to the chaos—he was controlling it.

His fingers danced across the keyboard, issuing rapid, calculated commands through the hacked comms. Every order was met with immediate, almost miraculous results. Entire floors stabilized. Swarms of cultists routed. Tactical groups of defenders moving like they'd trained for this moment their entire lives.

Cecilia's brain short-circuited.

This was… not normal.

She was thrown back—to a memory she hadn't thought about in a long time and from when she was about to enter Mythos Academy

She was walking alongside her father in the Imperial Gardens. The air was crisp, scented with the faint perfume of blooming star lilies.

Her father, Emperor Quinn Slatemark, walked beside her, hands clasped behind his back, his usual air of quiet dominance settled comfortably over him.

"Cecilia, do you know what a genius is?"

She had smirked, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder.

"Me and you."

Her father had laughed—a deep, amused sound, the kind that made people nervous when it came from an Emperor.

"Yes, yes. We are both considered geniuses by this world. But we aren't true geniuses."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Could you take down a Gold-grade guild by yourself?"

She scoffed. "Of course not."

"Even a Bronze-grade guild?"

"...No."

"Then you're not a genius."

She had bristled. "That's ridiculous!"

Her father's gaze drifted toward the horizon, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"Geniuses are ridiculous, Cecilia. That's the entire point."

She had glowered. "That doesn't make sense."

"It will," he said, his jade-green eyes sharp with something she couldn't quite name. "One day, you will see it. An anomaly. A being so unnatural that their very existence is an insult to logic. A genius so terrifying that effort and talent mean nothing in their presence."

Back then, she had dismissed it.

After all, how could a fifteen-year-old take down a guild? That was just a story, a fairytale told by a man who had spent too long staring down wars.

But now, in this very moment, with her own eyes, she saw it.

A boy, effortlessly weaponizing the Tower of Magic itself.

A boy, turning an entire Five Cults invasion into a game of strategy that he was winning.

An anomaly.

She had thought herself untouchable. She had grown up believing she was among the elite—one of the most talented prodigies of her generation. But right now, watching Arthur work, she realized something.

She had never even understood what a true genius was.

"I can't interfere in the higher-level battles," Arthur muttered, his voice calm, but edged with frustration. "But this should be enough."

Cecilia blinked, dragging herself back to the present.

Rose crossed her arms. "What about the spatial lock?"

Arthur sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Can't do anything about it. It's anchored to the top floor, where the Cult Leader is going toe-to-toe with Archmage Charlotte."

Cecilia's stomach clenched. That fight.

The Order of the Fallen Flame's Pope was there.

One of the most dangerous figures in the entire world.

"And we can't do anything?" she asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

Arthur shook his head. "We are nothing more than ants to them." He leaned back, stretching his arms as if he hadn't just outmanoeuvred an entire cult's invasion force with a hacked comm system. "We need to stay here. This place is safe enough."

"Alright," Rose agreed, her voice steady.

Cecilia nodded, but a slight frown tugged at her brows. She sniffed the air, her crimson eyes narrowing.
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"Why is there a floral smell?" she muttered. "It smells like… roses."

Arthur inhaled instinctively, his own senses picking up the faint, heady scent of blooming petals.

Rose stiffened. Her expression shifted—not confusion, not curiosity, but something else. Something closer to alarm.

Before any of them could react, the air rippled.

A single black rose appeared in the center of the room, its petals inky, almost liquid, as if they had been plucked from the void itself.

Arthur and Cecilia didn't hesitate. Attack first, ask questions later.

Lucent Harmony flared within him as he wove a five-circle light spell, pure radiance gathering in his palms. Beside him, Cecilia's crimson magic coiled and crackled—wild, chaotic, unrestrained.

Two spells, launched in perfect sync, raced toward the black rose.

Neither spell landed.

The moment they neared, more roses bloomed from nothingness—dark, twisting petals unfurling like creeping tendrils of midnight.

And then, the spells were simply... gone.

No explosion. No resistance. Just erased, as if they had never existed.

Arthur's breath hitched. That wasn't nullification. It was something far worse.

The air warped again.

A shadow took shape in the center of the room, emerging with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who had never needed to hurry a day in their life.

Dark red hair.

Jade-green eyes.

A presence like velvet-wrapped steel.

She looked like Charlotte.

But she wasn't Charlotte.

Rose didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't breathe.

Arthur's body tensed on instinct, every nerve screaming at him to react, to do something. But he couldn't move. Not because of magic, not because of some binding spell—but because the sheer weight of the woman's presence had turned the very air into something suffocating.

Cecilia, ever the fighter, gritted her teeth, her mana flaring again, chaotic and sharp. But Arthur already knew—it wouldn't matter.

The woman stepped forward, her movements unhurried, effortless, like she had all the time in the world.

She didn't even look at them.

Her gaze—hungry, possessive, eerily soft—was locked onto one person.

Rose.

A shiver ran down Arthur's spine.

Rose still hadn't moved.

The woman reached out, her fingers trailing so gently along Rose's cheek that it should have been a comforting gesture. It wasn't.

She tilted Rose's face up slightly, the edge of her thumb brushing over her jaw.

"I finally found you."

Her voice was a whisper—intimate, reverent, dangerously affectionate.

Arthur had never heard that voice before.

But the way it sent a chill crawling down his spine told him everything he needed to know.

Rose's breath hitched, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. But still, she didn't—couldn't—move.

The woman smiled.

"My treasure."