The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 77: Thirst Beneath the Mask

Chapter 77: Chapter 77: Thirst Beneath the Mask

The streets of Valon had grown quiet, darkness gathering like thick ink spilled across a canvas. Cold moonlight filtered through thin clouds, casting eerie patterns on old, weathered cobblestones. Most citizens had long retreated into the safety of their homes, leaving only faint lanterns glowing behind shuttered windows.

Kaelith moved silently through the empty streets, his steps graceful and deliberate. With his dark cloak and calm, dignified posture, he appeared no different from any noble enjoying an evening stroll. The few passersby who noticed him quickly looked away, sensing instinctively that his presence was best avoided.

He turned onto a narrower road, weaving between ancient, dilapidated buildings—far from the main thoroughfares, beyond watchful eyes.

Only then did Kaelith pause, letting the night settle around him.

Slowly, he raised his hands, examining them as the glamour faded, revealing the pale skin of his fingertips turning darker, shifting rapidly into obsidian-like claws.

He exhaled softly, eyes closed. His body twisted and reshaped itself subtly—bones elongated, his elegant features sharpened, dark veins emerging across skin that was growing steadily blacker, rougher.

His eyes snapped open, blazing briefly with deep, molten crimson.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he flexed his new claws, observing them with casual appreciation. This form had always felt more honest, more satisfying.

"Much better," he whispered into the chill night air.

Kaelith tilted his head slightly, senses expanding. He listened closely to the distant murmurs of the city, searching for the faintest pulse of warmth, the tantalizing flow of lifeblood.

Tonight he would feed. Tonight he would grow stronger.

And Valon—so proud and powerful—would unknowingly nourish its own undoing.

Kaelith moved silently, deeper into the maze of Valon’s forgotten alleys. With every step, his presence expanded like an unseen web, reaching out into the night. He paused, listening intently.

There.

The faint, rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat, like a distant drum. A whisper of warmth, drawing him forward.

He turned another corner and saw her—a young woman, huddled beneath a flickering streetlamp, hurriedly trying to make her way home. She glanced around nervously, sensing the danger but unable to pinpoint its source.

Kaelith smiled softly, stepping forward into the faint lamplight. Instantly, his monstrous form was shrouded by a brief flicker of illusion, appearing to her as a harmless nobleman with gentle eyes.

"Lost, are we?" he said softly, his voice smooth, reassuring—almost melodic.

The woman startled, turning sharply. Her eyes met his, momentarily wary before softening inexplicably.

"I... just took a wrong turn," she stammered quietly. "I’m fine."

"Oh, I’m sure you are," Kaelith murmured gently, stepping closer. "But it’s dangerous here at night. Allow me to accompany you."

Her hesitation faded, her gaze growing distant as the charm of his voice took hold. She nodded slowly, entranced, and moved toward him.

Kaelith raised one hand, gently caressing her cheek, feeling the pulse beneath her warm skin. He leaned closer, whispering softly, almost tenderly:

"Relax..."

In an instant, his illusion shattered. His gentle hand became blackened claws gripping tightly around her throat, though she didn’t struggle—couldn’t, beneath his hold.

His eyes burned crimson in the darkness.

Her breath trembled once before falling still, mesmerized by a terrible calm.

Kaelith’s other hand hovered inches from her chest, fingers spread open. With a muttered word in a guttural, ancient tongue, crimson threads of blood emerged from her pores, floating upward into his waiting grasp.

As the glowing streams touched his palm, his veins pulsed and darkened visibly. Power surged, strengthening him, feeding a hunger that ran far deeper than flesh.

The woman’s skin paled rapidly, eyes vacant. She never screamed. She never had the chance.

When the last droplets of life faded, Kaelith released her, allowing her hollow form to crumple softly onto the cobblestones. He stood silently, eyes closed, savoring the newfound strength coursing through him.

"One step closer," he whispered, turning away.

"One step closer to remaking everything."

Leaving no trace but shadows behind, he vanished once more into the silent night of Valon.

In the quiet shadows of a narrow street, Kaelith stopped once more. He closed his eyes, breathing steadily as the surge of stolen life faded slowly into a controlled stillness.

A moment later, his form began to shift once again.

Darkened claws retracted, replaced by long, elegant fingers. His roughened, demonic skin softened, regaining its former pale, noble appearance. His burning crimson eyes cooled into a deep, composed violet. The monstrous presence diminished, veiled behind a mask of refinement.

With a slight adjustment of his cuffs and a calm brush of his cloak, Kaelith vanished. In his place stood Professor Lereus—quiet, dignified, and utterly unassuming.

He raised one hand briefly, adjusting the collar of his academy coat, ensuring no sign of tonight’s feeding remained. Satisfied, he stepped forward onto the main street, emerging from the darkness into the gentle glow of streetlamps, now merely another figure among the evening pedestrians.

As Lereus, he walked steadily toward the Imperial Academy, each step carefully measured, each movement precise and ordinary. Passing students and faculty members greeted him politely, unaware of the darkness hidden behind his courteous nod and faint smile.

His mind had already returned to his task—carefully planning the students he would soon summon, erasing threats before they became problematic.

Tonight’s hunger was sated.

Tomorrow’s tasks awaited.

With the serene confidence only a predator in disguise could carry, Professor Lereus moved onward, blending seamlessly into the life of Valon once more.

Professor Lereus’s office was dimly lit, illuminated only by a small, mana-infused lamp on his desk. Shelves lined with neatly arranged books stood silent along the walls, lending the room a sense of dignified calm. Yet, this peace was sharply contrasted by the carefully prepared list spread across the polished wooden desk.

Sitting comfortably, Lereus leaned forward, his quill tracing lightly across the parchment as he reviewed the names.

Gideon von Hall – First year, negligible mana capability. Low priority.

Maya de Solren – Second year, potential but unfocused. Low priority.

Jeric von Donnell – First year, quick reflexes, minimal threat. Low priority.

He moved methodically, calmly assessing each student, categorizing their strengths, weaknesses, and threat levels neatly in his mind.

As his eyes drifted further down, the significance of the names clearly increased:

Garron Bale – Physically strong, disciplined, effective under pressure. Potential threat.

Laziel Varn – Intelligent, resourceful, socially influential. Next target.

Selene von Iskandar – Mana prodigy, cold, precise. Dangerous.

Marcus – Talented swordsman, charismatic leader. High priority.

Clara de Nivaria – Quick thinker, talented strategist. Threatening.

Roberto – Physically strong, observant. Monitor closely.

At the very bottom of the list, distinctly underlined twice:

Noel Thorne – Unpredictable, unknown capabilities. Highest priority.

Kaelith’s gaze lingered thoughtfully on Noel’s name, his violet eyes narrowing subtly. A faint, cold smile curved at the edge of his lips.

"You’re already causing trouble," he murmured softly, amusement coloring his tone. "But not for much longer."

Carefully, he folded the parchment and slid it into a discreet compartment within his desk.

His next move was clear. Laziel Varn would be his first step toward dismantling any future opposition.

And no one would suspect a thing until it was far, far too late.

Class had just ended, and the students were filing out of the classroom in quiet groups, whispering about the day’s lessons. Laziel Varn lingered a bit longer, carefully packing away his books and parchment notes into his leather bag. As usual, his movements were deliberate, organized, reflecting a mind used to precision.

Professor Lereus stood calmly at his desk, collecting his own materials. His violet eyes flickered subtly toward Laziel, observing him briefly before speaking in a casual, measured tone.

"Mr. Varn," he called softly, the classroom now almost empty, "a moment, please."

Laziel glanced up in mild surprise, nodding politely as he approached the professor’s desk.

"Professor?" Laziel asked respectfully, adjusting the strap of his bag.

Lereus offered a composed smile, his gaze steady but warm enough to feel genuine. "I’ve noticed your aptitude for advanced magic theory. You’re quite talented."

Laziel’s expression brightened slightly, though he kept his composure professional. "Thank you, sir. I do my best."

"I can see that," Lereus continued calmly. "Which is why I wanted to offer you an opportunity. I’ve been seeking an assistant—someone capable enough to help me manage certain advanced lessons and projects. You came immediately to mind."

Laziel paused briefly, clearly surprised, then quickly masked it. "It would be an honor, Professor. I’m certainly interested."

Lereus’s smile deepened slightly, just enough to convey genuine approval. "Good. Meet me in my office this evening after classes end. There are some matters I’d like to discuss in private before we finalize anything."

"Of course, Professor," Laziel responded, nodding once more with eagerness. "I’ll be there."

"Excellent," Lereus replied softly, turning back toward his notes with quiet dismissal. "I look forward to our talk."

Laziel left the room promptly, excitement evident in his stride.

Only once the student had vanished from sight did Lereus’s carefully warm expression fade back into cold neutrality.

"A promising start," he murmured softly to himself, neatly stacking his notes. "And so very trusting."

The faintest of smiles touched his lips, cold as ice.

It was almost too easy.

The hallway outside the faculty wing was quiet—eerily so.

Most students had returned to their dormitories, and the faint hum of magical lanterns cast long, soft glows against the stone walls. Laziel Varn walked alone, the sound of his boots echoing lightly through the empty corridor.

He reached Professor Lereus’s office and found the door slightly ajar, as if inviting him in.

He knocked gently anyway.

A calm, refined voice answered immediately from within.

"Come in, Mr. Varn."

Laziel stepped inside.

The office was immaculate—elegantly decorated with carved wooden shelves, glowing crystals embedded in the walls, and a large desk near the back, organized with unnerving precision. A kettle of herbal tea steamed gently on a tray nearby, untouched.

Lereus sat behind the desk, his fingers lightly interlaced, gaze calm and steady.

"Thank you for coming," he said smoothly, motioning to the chair across from him. "Please, have a seat."

Laziel nodded, sitting down without hesitation. "I appreciate the invitation, Professor. I’ve always admired your clarity in teaching."

Lereus gave a soft, appreciative smile.

"Kind of you to say. I take my role seriously."

He paused, studying Laziel briefly.

"You’re talented. Not just in theory, but in how you think."

Laziel didn’t hide the pride that surfaced on his face.

"That’s why I wanted to speak privately," Lereus continued, reaching slowly into a drawer and pulling out a thin file. "This academy needs students like you to rise above the noise. To lead."

He slid the folder forward—but Laziel didn’t immediately open it.

Instead, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Lead... what exactly, Professor?"

Lereus met his eyes without blinking.

"Change."

A silence stretched between them—comfortable, but charged.

The lights dimmed slightly. The tea’s steam no longer curled upward.

Laziel didn’t notice.

But Lereus did.

His fingers twitched once beneath the desk, magic silently preparing behind a flawless smile.