I'm an Extra, so What?
Chapter 136 - 136: Transformed

Worn, scrawled in charcoal centuries ago, half-faded—but unmistakable.

Used during the Leyline Crisis. A period where humanity—some sects of it—experimented with corruption magic. Not chaos magic. Not demonic. Something older.

Forbidden.

"Bloodroot Theory: If leylines can feed life… then they can also feed decay. All it needs is a tether."

The obelisks.

Whoever was behind this wasn't just summoning monsters. They were rewriting leyline flow. Rotting the land from the inside out. Quietly.

Luka sat back, fingers steepled.

"Who's hiding this?"

Because someone was. He could feel it in the Guild's hesitation, in the way the city's magical wards weren't reacting. As if they'd been… altered. Compromised.

He exhaled slowly and looked out the window.

Then his door slammed open.

"Luka!" a voice barked.

Arthur.

He stood in the doorway, face red with rage, his coat unbuttoned and hanging like he hadn't even bothered to put it on properly.

"You think you're better than me now, huh?" he growled, staggering in.

Luka didn't rise. "You're drunk."

Arthur took another step, practically snarling. "I led this team. You were just backup! Background!"

"You left your team to die."

"I did what was smart! That thing was way above our paygrade! Don't pretend you didn't almost die too."

Luka's fingers tightened around the rune shard, but he didn't move.

"You came here just to shout at me?" he said flatly.

"No," Arthur snapped. "I came to warn you."

He stepped closer. His eyes were glassy. "The Guild? They only promoted you to make you a target. You think they're grateful? They're afraid. And when you screw up next—and you will—they'll toss you into the fire like they always do."

Luka stared at him.

And then, finally, stood.

"You're wrong."

"Oh yeah?" Arthur sneered. "You think they'll back you up when another Maw shows up? When some noble's kid dies on your mission? When you fail?"

"No," Luka said quietly. "But Serene will. Gregor will. Snow will."

He stepped forward now, just a foot from Arthur.

"And I'll back myself. Because I don't run."

Arthur stared at him.

And for a second—just a second—something cracked in his expression. Not rage. Not bitterness.

Fear.

Then he scoffed and turned, nearly tripping on the way out.

"Enjoy your spotlight, ranger. It never lasts."

Luka closed the door behind him.

Locked it.

And returned to his desk.

But not before muttering, "…It's not a spotlight. It's a torch. And I'll burn away whatever's coming."

.

.

.

The guild buzzed with tension.

Whispers of the corrupted grove had spread. So had rumors—about Luka's promotion, about Arthur's outburst, about the word "Leyline Crisis" being spoken again after centuries of silence.

But Luka wasn't listening to the gossip.

He was reading a report.

One from a small frontier village up north—Hallowcross. It had just come in.

Blighted crops.

Animal disappearances.

And an altar that had started glowing red at night.

He closed the report.

Then stood.

Snow stretched and chirped, ready.

Serene entered the guild hall a moment later, fully armored and eating something that looked vaguely like breakfast stew.

"We going?"

"We're going," Luka said.

Because this wasn't over.

The dirt road ended long before they reached the village proper.

Luka stood atop a narrow ridge, squinting through the morning mist at the distant outline of Hallowcross—just a smear of rooftops nestled in a cradle of twisted trees. The forest here felt... tight. Not like a natural canopy, but a cage of limbs closing in.

Serene dismounted, her boots crunching dry gravel.

"Quiet," she muttered. "Too quiet."

Snow landed on Luka's shoulder, his scales already dimming into a natural camouflage. The little dragon's tail flicked—agitated.

Even the wind here felt wrong. No birdsong. No rustle of small game. Just a cold breeze dragging through the leaves like breath through cracked teeth.

Luka tapped the hilt of his dagger and started walking.

The village looked abandoned at first glance. Doors bolted. Windows shuttered. No smoke from chimneys. But there were signs of life—barely.

A single older man was sitting at the well, eyes red from lack of sleep. He flinched when he saw them, hand darting to a rusted axe at his side.

"We're with the Guild," Luka said, raising a hand. "Responding to the report."

The man exhaled shakily and lowered the weapon.

"Thought they'd given up on us."

Serene tilted her head. "Why would they?"

"Because the last two scouts they sent never came back."

Luka and Serene exchanged a glance.

The man rubbed his temples. "Everything started with the shrine. Some old roots got unearthed near the south woods, and we found the altar under 'em. Thought it was some druid relic, but it… whispers, y'know? Makes you dream when you get too close."

"Dream of what?" Luka asked.

"Things underground. Big things. Hungry things."

He shivered.

"And now the livestock's gone. Crops're rotten. Couple villagers went to fix the shrine fence three days ago. Never came back."

Luka nodded slowly. "We'll handle it."

The man gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "That's what the last two said."

.

.

.

South Woods – That Night

They waited until nightfall.

The shrine pulsed faintly ahead—a ring of blackened stones around a gnarled stump, its roots soaked in a brackish liquid that steamed in the cold air. Insects skittered near it, twitching as if moved by invisible strings.

Snow hissed softly, wings stiff.

"It's stronger than the grove," Luka whispered. "The obelisk was artificial. This… this is old."

"Feral magic," Serene murmured, raising her shield. "Too deep in the world's veins to be natural anymore."

Suddenly—

Crack.

A branch snapped.

Not far off.

Then a shape crawled into view—half-human, half-husk, its flesh blackened and flaking, eyes glowing dim red. It moved like it had forgotten how to be a person.

It wasn't alone.

More staggered from the woods.

Eight. No—ten.

All villagers.

All twisted.

Serene gritted her teeth. "They were transformed."

"No," Luka said, stepping forward. "They were taken."

His dagger gleamed silver under the moonlight.

And the forest erupted into chaos.

The corrupted husks came fast, their movements jerky but powerful. Serene braced the first wave with her shield, sending two flying backward in an arc of impact that cracked the ground.

Luka flicked a blade forward—then another—each finding soft targets in the gaps between ribs and joints. They didn't bleed. They just stopped.

The stump-shrine pulsed with every death, like it was drinking in the violence.

And then it split open.

Roots tore upward, forming a grotesque cage as something clawed its way out—a beast of bark, bone, and muscle, stitched together by root-twine and glowing red seams. Its head was a deer skull, but its body resembled a spider with too many legs.

Luka cursed.

[CORRUPTED ROOTWRAITH]Level: 42Status: Anchored, Regenerating

"I'll handle the mobs!" Serene shouted.

Luka nodded—and charged the wraith.

The Rootwraith hissed, spitting out spears of thorned bark. Luka flipped midair, dodging one by a hair, and slammed into its side. His blade scraped—but didn't pierce.

It retaliated by slamming two limbs down like spears.

Luka vanished in a flicker of motion—reappearing behind it. He slashed the tendrils connecting its legs to the shrine.

One snapped.

Then another.

The creature shrieked—its body already beginning to repair.

Snow blasted a line of flame across the back of its skull, cracking the bone slightly.

It turned.

Too late.

Luka drove both daggers straight into the glowing seams on its chest and pulled.

The creature exploded in a burst of rotted plant matter and black mist.

Silence followed.

Then—

The stump shriveled. The ground stopped pulsing.

And the red runes died.

.

.

.

Dawn – Leaving Hallowcross

The villagers—those who hadn't been transformed—emerged slowly once the danger passed.

The old man approached again, a hint of tears in his eyes.

"We lost so many…"

"You still have your land," Luka said quietly. "It'll recover."

Serene helped Snow clean off some ash from his wings. "The shrine's dead now. You need to build something clean in its place. A wardstone, maybe. The druids'll know what to use."

They turned to leave.

But Luka paused.

Something far in the forest… shimmered.

A distant figure. Cloaked. Watching.

Then gone.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Someone's guiding these infestations."

Serene nodded grimly. "Which means this isn't the last one."

And they set off—again.

Heading west this time.

Where the next village had just stopped sending reports altogether.

.

.

.

Three Days Later – Trail to Hollow Vale

The rain hadn't stopped for hours.

A steady drizzle soaked the dirt path, turning it to muck. Trees leaned in from both sides, skeletal and leafless despite the season, their bark gray and veined with something that looked more like scar tissue than wood.

Luka adjusted his cloak and checked the map again. "We're close. Another half-mile."

Snow let out a soft chirp from his hood—low and tense.

Serene walked in silence beside him, her shield slung on her back, fingers twitching every time a twig snapped beneath their boots. She hadn't spoken much since Hallowcross.

"Still thinking about the villagers?" Luka asked, eyes on the path ahead.

"They were already dead before we arrived," Serene replied. "But yeah. I am."

Luka didn't press her further. He understood.

This wasn't adventuring anymore.

Not in the way the Guild sold it.