I'm an Extra, so What?
Chapter 135 - 135: The Same Sigil

As if recognizing him.

"Of course," Luka muttered. "It saw me at the first seed."

Serene threw her shield ahead like a discus—enchanted, pulsing with divine mana—and it smashed into the Maw's shoulder. It barely flinched, but the blow staggered it just enough.

Luka lunged.

His daggers, twin arcs of light, struck true—piercing into the Maw's ribs. The void-flesh hissed, recoiling, but it didn't bleed. Instead, it leaked time, fragments of moments pouring out in flickers—images of other places, other deaths.

Serene was behind him in an instant, catching her shield on the rebound and slamming into the thing's kneecap. It buckled, just slightly.

Lysa was chanting now—her hands bleeding from channeling raw anti-corruption sigils, laying hexes across the Maw's limbs to slow its motion.

"Now, Fenric!" Luka shouted.

The mage stood shakily, eyes glowing white-hot as he poured all his remaining mana into the obelisk.

With a scream, the obelisk cracked.

The Maw roared—not from pain, but from awareness. It knew it was being severed from the leyline. It lashed out.

A tendril struck Fenric.

He was flung like a doll, unmoving.

"FENRIC!"

Lysa's magic flared—screaming in rage, she poured everything she had into a rupture hex that tore the Maw's upper arm open. Serene followed through, slamming a divine-smite punch into the same wound.

A ripple ran through the creature's body.

Luka knew this was the moment.

"Arthur!"

Arthur was on his knees, sword forgotten, trembling.

"ARTHUR!" Luka barked.

Arthur looked up, face pale. "I didn't… I didn't mean to…"

"Then do something about it!"

Arthur's eyes flicked to the Maw.

He stood, shakily.

But instead of reaching for his sword—he backed up.

"I'm not… strong enough," he muttered. "You handle it."

Luka stared at him.

Then turned away.

"Figures."

The Maw began to gather mana again—its core pulsing with swirling threads of corrupted leyline energy. If it finished that charge, the entire valley would become undone.

Luka sprinted.

Time warped. Reality bent.

He leapt—over a collapsing ridge, through a blast of entropy-magic, dagger ready.

He reached the core.

"Burn."

Snow, flying overhead, unleashed a final concentrated burst of fire—pure white flame, a purifying breath that scorched even mana itself.

Luka stabbed straight into the heart of the Maw.

The core burst inwards.

The scream it released was not sound, not pressure—but absence. Everything went quiet.

Then—

Light.

A massive pulse of silver-blue energy exploded from the heart of the creature as the leyline reclaimed what had been stolen. The Maw fractured—splintered—shattered into stardust and vanished like it had never existed.

The obelisk collapsed.

The ritual failed.

The monsters fell.

Dead. Freed. Gone.

Silence returned.

Luka stood amidst the ruined battlefield, blades still dripping void ichor that evaporated on the breeze.

Serene limped toward him. Blood trickled down her temple, but she was alive.

Lysa dragged Fenric's body—badly wounded, but breathing.

Snow flitted down and curled up on Luka's shoulder, exhausted.

Arthur stood far behind them, untouched. Cowardice and shame clinging to him like armor.

"You… you won," Arthur said, hollow.

"No," Luka replied, voice flat. "We did. Except you."

Arthur's mouth opened. Closed.

He had no answer.

The sun finally rose on the far side of the ridge. Golden light touched the destroyed valley—lighting the ruined bones of the obelisk, the dead monsters, the broken trees.

But also—

The leyline shimmered, alive again. Healing.

Whatever had tried to hijack the world's magic had failed.

For now.

"Let's go," Luka said.

They turned away from the valley, their footsteps quiet but steady.

The walk back to the city was quiet.

Luka kept his eyes forward, Snow nestled against his neck. The baby dragon was sound asleep, too drained to even twitch. Serene walked beside him, occasionally adjusting her cracked shield with a grunt. Lysa and Gregor carried Fenric between them on a makeshift stretcher.

Arthur trailed behind, a shadow to the group. No one spoke to him.

When they reached the outer gate, the guards stiffened.

"Holy hells—what happened to you lot?" one asked, running forward.

Luka simply raised a hand. "Guild report first. Get your fastest runner. East Grove's tainted. Do not send anyone near it."

The guard nodded and bolted, calling for reinforcements.

Inside the city, word traveled fast.

By the time they reached the Adventurer's Guild hall, the receptionist had already cleared the floor. The common room—usually full of noise and ale—was empty. A squad of clerics and two high-ranking guild officials waited inside, along with a tense atmosphere thick enough to choke on.

Luka dropped a bloody satchel on the nearest table with a dull thud. Inside were fragments of the corrupted obelisk and one of the remaining bone-runed stones that hadn't disintegrated.

"Confirmation," he said. "Corruption seed. Leyline breach. Unknown origin."

One of the guild officers—a stern elf with silver hair and war scars across his face—picked it up with gloved hands.

"You survived a Maw-class entity," he said flatly.

"We didn't just survive," Serene muttered. "We stopped it."

"Barely," added Lysa, slumping into a chair and pulling Fenric's blanket tighter. "We lost a dozen magic arrays. Our mage nearly died. Luka took the brunt of it. Again."

The elf officer looked between them, eyes settling on Arthur.

"You were part of this mission too, yes?"

Arthur hesitated. "I—I was present."

"Present and cowering," Gregor muttered under his breath.

The room went still.

Arthur's face twitched. "I—You think I'm the coward here? I was trying to—"

"You left us to die," Serene said coldly. "Again."

Arthur's hands balled into fists. "You don't understand. That thing—it shouldn't have existed. The Guild should've sent a squad of Gold-Ranks. Not us!"

"But it was us," Luka said, tone calm but like steel underneath. "And you chose to run."

Arthur opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The silence felt final.

The guildmaster arrived a moment later—an older woman, small and wiry, with eyes like frostbite and a cane she clearly didn't need.

She looked at Luka first. Then the others. Finally, Arthur.

"You're all being reassigned for debrief and recovery. Medical tents have been set up near the north wall. You'll be under watch."

Then she turned fully to Luka.

"…You're being promoted."

The room didn't react. But the weight of it was undeniable.

"Effective immediately," the guildmaster continued, "you are recognized as a Rank-A field operative with hazard clearance and lead authority on any investigation tied to the corruption markers."

Luka blinked. "…I didn't file for promotion."

"You didn't need to. This isn't a reward. It's a burden."

She handed him a sealed scroll, pressed with the Guild's red wax. "There's going to be more. This wasn't a random mutation. Something intelligent is planting these obelisks. And you're the only one who's survived two incidents."

Luka nodded once. Quiet. Composed.

He didn't want the title.

But he'd take the responsibility.

"…And what about me?" Arthur asked, voice thin.

The guildmaster's gaze turned sharp.

"You're being reevaluated."

Arthur paled. "Re— You're demoting me?! I'm the Sword Prodigy of Varn!"

"No," she said. "We're debating if you even belong here."

A bitter silence fell. Arthur stood stiffly for a moment, fists trembling. Then he turned and stormed out, brushing past Luka without a word.

No one stopped him.

No one even looked back.

Later, after medical exams and a shallow meal, Luka sat on the roof of the Guild Hall with Serene beside him. Snow snored quietly between them, wrapped in a blanket and curled like a dumpling.

"You okay?" Serene asked.

"No," Luka said honestly. "But I will be."

They sat in silence for a while. The stars above were clearer now. The corruption had thinned in the sky, like a wound starting to close.

"You think this is the beginning?" she finally asked.

Luka leaned back, eyes scanning the constellations.

"I know it is."

He held up the bone-rune fragment.

"I've seen this marking before. Not in the wild. Not in a ruin."

Serene turned to him.

"…Where?"

"In the Academy archives. Buried in one of the old war journals."

Luka's eyes narrowed.

"Someone human used this once. Centuries ago. During the Leyline Crisis."

Serene stared at him.

"You think this is our own doing?"

"I think someone wants it to be."

The stars above shimmered. Below, in the city, the lamps still glowed—but somehow, they didn't feel warm anymore.

And far to the east, where the forest had been cleansed, a new wind began to blow.

Carrying with it the scent of ash.

And change.

.

.

.

Later That Night — Luka's Room

Luka sat at his desk, the bone-rune fragment resting under a flickering lamplight.

Snow lay curled on the windowsill, little chest rising and falling in steady sleep.

Serene had gone to sleep hours ago, after finally letting the clerics mend the bruises she'd stubbornly brushed off all day.

He traced the rune's edge with a thin blade—careful not to nick it. Careful not to activate anything.

It was cold.

Colder than stone should be.

Even after the firebomb, even after exposure to sunlight and heat, the rune retained its chill. And the power beneath it still… hummed.

Barely perceptible, like a whisper under your skin. Not enough to harm, but enough to promise it would if given the chance.

Luka sighed and reached for one of the old tomes he'd borrowed—unauthorized—from the Guild archives. Flipping it open, he turned to the marked page.

The same sigil.

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