The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 81: Capítulo 81: The Drunken Hammer

Chapter 81: Capítulo 81: The Drunken Hammer

Noel wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled low, obscuring his face from view. His academy uniform was nowhere to be seen—tonight, blending in was more valuable than prestige.

The air was cold against the outer walls of the academy, where he now stood alone beneath the pale light of the mana-lamps. Beyond the gates lay the capital of Valon, and he intended to reach it before the hour turned late.

Pinned to the inside of his cloak was the emblem of the student council—official, enchanted, and unmistakable.

Two guards stood at the gate, both in their twenties. One held a spear, the other a sword strapped to his hip. Judging by their posture and polished gear, they hadn’t graduated from the academy long ago. Now, like many others, they’d ended up working these quiet night shifts.

One of them squinted toward Noel’s hooded figure.

"You know you’re not allowed to leave at this hour, kid?"

The other stepped forward, arms crossed.

"Yeah. Ever since the Headmaster’s new policy, the rules are stricter. Best turn around and go back."

Noel didn’t speak. He simply reached into his cloak and produced a silver-inlaid letter and the council emblem.

The wax seal was unmistakable: Seraphina of Valor.

"I don’t think going against the Imperial Princess would be a wise move... don’t you agree?" he said calmly.

The two guards glanced at the signature, then back at him. Their faces paled slightly.

"That’s... that’s her signature. Apologies—we didn’t realize who we were speaking to."

’You really are useful, Seraphina,’ Noel thought, tucking the letter away.

One of the guards shifted uncomfortably.

"Still... please remember the situation the academy is in. If another student disappears—"

"Hey, keep your voice down! That hasn’t been made public yet." the other hissed.

Noel raised a hand lightly.

"Don’t worry. I know what you’re referring to. And relax—I’ll come back in one piece."

With that, he stepped past them without another word, his cloak fluttering slightly behind him as he vanished into the dark.

"HEYYYYY, WAIT!"

The voice rang out sharp and familiar.

Noel stopped mid-step, shoulders tensing slightly as he turned. He already knew who it was—there was no mistaking that voice.

Elena was rushing toward the gate, slightly out of breath and clearly annoyed.

"Mind telling me what the hell you’re trying to pull?" she demanded.

The two guards glanced between them, stunned.

"Don’t worry about her," Noel said flatly. "She stays. Don’t let her through."

The guards exchanged a look, then nodded and stepped in front of Elena.

"Excuse me? What do you mean I stay?! I got your letter. I’m coming with you."

’Tch... Should’ve guessed that damned pigeon actually made it in five minutes. Should’ve factored that in.’

Noel sighed, then looked at her. "Why do you want to come?"

"Because it’s dangerous. And I’m not letting you go alone."

"You know I can handle myself, right? I mean, you’ve seen it firsthand. Well, from a distance—but still."

"Exactly why I’m coming."

"...What?"

One of the guards raised a hand awkwardly.

"Hey, look, I get that couple arguments can get heated, but maybe take it somewhere else? Not exactly the best time or place, and you’re starting to draw attention."

Elena flushed red instantly, caught completely off-guard.

"W–We’re not a couple!"

The guard chuckled. "Ah, I see. Sorry, my bad man."

’What the hell was that? It’s not like I confessed or anything...’ Noel thought, annoyed.

He let out a short sigh. "Fine. But change clothes—you can’t go around wearing your academy uniform. And bring some money."

Elena’s eyes lit up in victory as she spun around and dashed off.

Noel leaned against the gatepost, arms crossed, waiting.

Roughly ten minutes later, Elena returned.

And she was... well, noticeable.

She wore a stylish traveling outfit—not exactly subtle—tight-fitting black pants, high boots, and a deep burgundy coat with silver trim. Practical, but far too clean to blend in.

Noel blinked once.

"You didn’t have anything less... eye-catching?"

"What? That’s all you’re going to say?" she huffed.

"First, we’re stopping by a shop. Then we go to the place."

"What place? Hey—answer me!"

Noel didn’t respond. He just started walking.

Elena grumbled behind him, but followed anyway.

A few blocks later, they stopped by a general outfitter. Noel bought her a dark cloak almost identical to his own—hooded, worn, and completely forgettable.

Once she had it on, they blended in much better.

Without another word, the two of them headed for The Drunken Hammer.

They arrived just in time to see two men flying out the front door—literally.

The wooden doors of the tavern burst open as a brawl spilled outside, sending both fighters crashing into the muddy street. One of them groaned, the other didn’t move.

Before Elena could react, Noel grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her close, shielding her with his body.

"Careful," he muttered. "In this place, losing focus isn’t a luxury. Stay close to me, just in case."

She nodded quickly, a bit shaken. "Alright."

They stepped inside.

Chaos greeted them.

Drunken men shouted from every corner, some singing off-key, others slamming tankards on warped tables. The air reeked of sweat, ale, and smoke. A mana-powered device in the back—crude but effective—blared loud music, something between a battle hymn and a tavern banger.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Elena asked, eyeing the crowd warily.

"Absolutely. No one dragged you here, remember?" Noel replied, expression unreadable.

"Right... but I don’t exactly feel safe in here."

Without answering, Noel took her hand.

His grip was firm, steady—not tender, but protective.

"Like I said, stay close. I want both of us walking out of here in one piece."

They weaved through the crowd, dodging elbows and tankards, until Noel spotted him.

’There you are, dwarf.’

"Come on. I found him."

"Found who?"

They stopped at a battered round table in the back, where a group of rough-looking men were in the middle of a game of magical poker. At the center, laughing and red-faced, sat Balthor the Hammer.

He was unmistakable.

A dwarf no taller than 1.3 meters, but built like a blacksmith’s anvil. His fiery red beard hung in thick braids, his cheeks flushed, and a massive tankard of ale rested by his elbow. He had the kind of presence that filled a room—even while sitting down.

The gold on the table? Almost all of it was stacked in front of him.

Noel stepped forward.

"Evening. Got room for one more?"

Balthor squinted up at him, chuckling through a hiccup.

"Always—if you’ve got coin, lad. Hahahaha!"

Noel let a small pouch drop onto the table. It landed with a satisfying clink.

’The last of what I’ve got.’

The cards were already being shuffled.

The game was about to begin.