I'm an Extra, so What?
Chapter 91 - 91: Fighter Selection Trial (5)

Silence filled the air like an invisible fog, thick and unmoving, settling over the space between them.

To Arthur and Nike, the world had shrunk to just the two of them—an intimate battlefield of memories and pain, where nothing else mattered.

The wounded cries in the background, the wind rustling, even the shattered surroundings—none of it reached them.

Nike's breath caught in her throat.

Her heart pounded violently against her chest, as if trying to escape her ribcage.

Her hands clenched tightly into fists, nails digging so deep into her palms that thin lines of blood welled up, staining her fingers crimson.

She didn't even notice.

All she saw was Arthur—her childhood friend, now standing before her like a stranger cloaked in cold ambition.

She shook her head, slowly, a tremble running through her entire body.

"No…" Nike said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

It cracked and faltered, weighed down by disbelief and heartbreak.

Her knees felt weak, unsteady, and it took everything in her not to collapse then and there.

"…" Arthur's expression didn't change.

He simply lowered the hand he had offered her seconds ago and let out a long, disappointed sigh.

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, not in sadness, but in quiet resolve.

"Then it seems," Arthur muttered, almost as if speaking to himself, "I must save you… forcefully."

Without hesitation, he drew his rapier in one fluid, practiced motion.

The blade gleamed ominously, catching the dim light in a flash of steel.

He leveled the point at her, his gaze now steady and detached.

Nike instinctively backed away, her hand moving to her own weapon.

Her fingers closed around the familiar hilt, but her grip was shaky.

"What are you doing?" she asked, voice tight, her throat dry.

"…" Arthur took another step forward.

His boots crunched against the ground beneath them, each step echoing.

"I just need to beat you into submission," he said calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Once you've tasted defeat, you'll understand. You'll remember who you belong to."

Nike's eyes widened. "That doesn't make any sense!" she shouted, her voice rising with desperation.

"You're not thinking straight, Arthur! You're not—!"

But he didn't let her finish.

In an instant, Arthur surged forward with inhuman speed; the air snapping behind him like a whip.

His rapier struck out, aiming directly for her thigh.

Nike's instincts kicked in.

She gritted her teeth, twisted her body, and raised her sword just in time.

The blades met with a harsh, ringing clash—

Steel against steel.

Sparks flew.

"Nice block," Arthur said, almost casually, as he retreated a step—

Then lunged again.

His movements were fluid, elegant, terrifying.

A blur of silver and intention.

Nike tried to track his blade, her eyes darting to her left.

She thought she had him—but his attack changed direction at the last second, like a snake coiling mid-strike.

The rapier slashed across her side before she could adjust.

Pain bloomed instantly.

She gasped, stumbling back.

Her left hand flew to her side, blood seeping between her fingers.

She winced, but forced herself to stay upright, her right hand still holding her sword.

'That hurt…' Nike thought.

Arthur tilted his head slightly.

"Don't resist me, Nike. The more you fight, the more painful this becomes."

"…" Nike stared back at him, eyes fierce despite the pain.

"You're insane…"

Arthur smiled faintly.

"Maybe. But I'm still the one who was chosen. Not Luka. Not anyone else. Me."

He began to circle her slowly, like a predator toying with its prey, waiting for the next moment to strike.

Nike tightened her grip, swallowing her fear.

She had no choice.

With blood trickling from her wounds and pain shooting through her body, Nike knew that holding back would only end in defeat.

She had to give everything—everything—if she wanted to survive this.

If she wanted to bring her childhood friend back.

Without hesitation, she activated her skill.

[Bleed]

A red hue flickered around her blade as she launched herself forward like a fired arrow, both hands tightening around the hilt of her sword.

Her grip was fierce, knuckles white with determination.

With a sharp cry, Nike swung downward, channeling all her desperation into the strike.

Arthur, unfazed, simply chuckled.

A calm, amused sound that only deepened the sting in her chest.

With one hand tucked casually behind his back, Arthur raised his rapier and parried her blow with infuriating ease.

"Is that all you've got?" he said lazily, yawning as if she were no more threatening than a child throwing a tantrum.

"Shut up!" Nike shouted, her voice cracking as she pushed forward, sweat flinging from her brow with every movement.

She swung again.

And again.

Each strike faster than the last—

Reckless, wild, but fueled by sheer will.

Arthur deflected each one without effort, his blade moving in elegant, fluid arcs.

He looked more like he was dancing than fighting.

Frustrated, Nike pivoted suddenly and swept her leg low, aiming to knock him off balance.

But he was already in the air.

Arthur leapt over her sweeping leg and landed smoothly behind her.

Before she could react, he slashed his rapier across her side, reopening another wound.

A sharp pain tore through her torso, but she grit her teeth and refused to cry out.

Nike didn't stop.

'Just one hit… she thought, her breath ragged. If I can just land one attack, [Bleed] will activate. One hit—that's all I need!'

Desperation flashing in her eyes, Nike activated another skill.

[Whirlwind Step]

Her form blurred, her feet moving faster—lighter.

She twisted around her childhood friend in wide arcs, building momentum, her movements growing more rapid with every second.

Wind trailed behind her with each footfall, and even Arthur's eyes narrowed as he began tracking her with greater focus.

"Well…" he murmured, the faintest frown tugging at his lips, "this might be an issue."

Nike saw it.

The hesitation.

The small gap in his confidence.

And she took her chance.

With a scream, Nike hurled herself at him, her sword flashing in an arc meant to finish everything.

But Arthur, composed as ever, shifted at the last possible second.

His foot snapped forward and struck the flat of her blade, knocking it wide.

Before she could recover, his rapier slashed across her thigh.

Pain erupted, white-hot and searing.

Nike let out a gasp as her leg buckled.

She fell forward, crashing to the ground hard.

The world tilted sideways for a moment, and all she could feel was the throbbing agony pulsing from her leg.

Her sword slipped from her grasp, clattering beside her.

'Damn it…'

She tried to rise.

She forced her muscles to obey.

But her leg screamed in protest, completely unresponsive.

'Just one hit!' Nike begged herself.

'Come on—move! Please!'

But her body refused.

Tears stung her eyes—not from pain, but from the helplessness gnawing at her chest.

She couldn't even grab her weapon.

Her arms trembled, her strength gone.

All she could do was kneel, blood dripping from her side, her leg throbbing like fire.

She looked down in shame, shoulders trembling.

Nike's lips parted in a whisper only she could hear.

"…It's so over."