The Extra's Rise

Evelyn's lips curled into a delighted smile as power surged from her daughter.

Finally.

That annoying seal was gone.

For years, the Tower of Magic had suppressed her treasure, burying that beautiful, monstrous potential under layers of spellcraft and deception. But now—now it was free.

And yet, something was off.

Not in the way her daughter stood, trembling with newfound strength, nor in the air that cracked and twisted around her as reality itself bent under her presence.

No. It was something else.

A sigh cut through the charged silence.

A male voice.

"Nobody will be giving anybody back," the voice muttered, irritated, almost bored.

Evelyn's entire body stiffened.

Slowly, she turned.

Arthur Nightingale stood there.

Alive.

She blinked, once, then twice.

That wasn't possible.

She had watched her black rose petals slice through him, watched his body unravel at a fundamental level. He hadn't simply died—he had been undone.

Yet there he stood, looking as though he had just woken from a nap.

"You're alive?" she murmured, genuinely surprised.

Arthur looked up at her, tilting his head as if examining a minor curiosity. Then, he smiled.

"Interesting trick," he said lightly, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "So that's why Charlotte isn't interfering."

Evelyn's breath caught.

Her fingers twitched.

'How did he notice that?'

Charlotte was on floor 200. That was too high for someone like him to sense.

Impossible.

And yet—he had.

She studied him again, her dark green eyes narrowing.

Something about him was wrong.

"Hmm," Arthur mused, rolling his shoulders. "This body is too weak to deal with even a small fry like you."

The casual insult barely registered before he lifted a hand to his chest.

A pulse of mana rippled through him, sharp and precise.

A single drop of blood slid from the corner of his lips.

Evelyn's eyes widened.

In an instant, she felt it.

The shift.

The change.

The snap of something ancient and fundamental within him breaking and reforming.

The first stage of the Integration process—completed.

His strength tripled in a heartbeat.

But it still wasn't enough.

Not even close.

Evelyn relaxed, a slow, lazy smile curling at the edges of her lips.

"Cute," she murmured.

Arthur smirked, wiping the blood from his mouth.

"You know what the problem with idiots like you is?" Arthur said, voice casual, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Evelyn arched an eyebrow, waiting.

Arthur smirked. "Frogs in a well. You think you've seen the world, but you've never even crawled out."

Evelyn's amusement vanished.

Miasma and mana surged.

The air collapsed around him.

Her attack wasn't just fast—it was beyond what someone at Arthur's level should even be able to perceive. It was the kind of overwhelming force that erased lesser beings from existence before they even knew they had died.

There was no chance for him to dodge. No time. No possibility.

And then—

The attack was cut.

Slashed apart.

Effortlessly.

Evelyn stilled.

Her pupils shrunk.

That shouldn't be possible.

She stared at the place where her magic had been—where it had once surged forward, a force of destruction that could have obliterated an army. Now it was scattered, severed, undone.

Not blocked.

Not countered.

Cut.

"Sword Unity?" she whispered, a chill creeping down her spine. "What the hell?"

Sword Unity—the pinnacle of swordsmanship, the final mastery beyond all blade techniques. A power that only Radiant-rank swordmasters could grasp.

And Arthur was using it?

That was impossible.

No, not just impossible—absurd.

Arthur twirled his sword, testing the weight, looking vaguely bored.

"Don't be surprised yet," he said, flashing her a grin that was far too confident for someone facing a Radiant-ranker.

"The battle is just beginning."

Evelyn's eyes flickered.

She moved—a blur of black roses and miasma, an instant before Arthur lunged forward.

And then—

A third force erupted between them.

Light exploded, searing through the battlefield like a falling star.

A staff struck the ground, sending out a shockwave of mana so powerful the air itself shuddered.

Evelyn was forced to leap back.

Arthur skidded to a stop, blinking against the sudden flare of magic.

And then—

A familiar voice rang out, sharp and irritated.

"You know, I turn my back for one minute, and you try to die."

Arthur exhaled. "Charlotte."

Charlotte Alaric stood there, radiant, furious, and very, very done with everyone's nonsense.

Her emerald eyes locked onto Evelyn.

"Sister," she said coldly.

Evelyn laughed, taking a slow step back.

"Ah, there she is," she drawled. "The prodigy. The 'strongest spellcaster in the world.'"

Charlotte didn't look amused. "I don't have time for your games, Evelyn."

Evelyn tilted her head. "Oh? But I was just about to take my little treasure back."

Charlotte's expression darkened. "Like hell you were."

And then, the real battle began.

Power Clashed—But The Outcome Was Never In Doubt.

It was a battle between Radiant-rankers.

Light against darkness.

Precision against chaos.

Charlotte against Evelyn.

Magic ruptured the air, warping the very space around them.

Evelyn's attacks came in waves of black roses, blooming with eerie, twisting power, their petals sharp enough to slice through reality. Miasma churned, forming tendrils of darkness that lashed at the Tower's very foundations.

Charlotte didn't falter.

Her magic was pure, controlled.

She wielded spells without hesitation, layering defensive formations and countering every one of Evelyn's twisted distortions.

But even as she fought, her gaze flickered to Arthur.

He was still standing. But barely.

Blood dripped from his lips. His breathing was uneven. The backlash from whatever he had done was beginning to catch up to him.

And then—he collapsed.

Charlotte was there before he hit the ground.

She caught him, her arms wrapping around his collapsing form as his consciousness faded.

"Arthur—!"

Her heart stopped for half a second, her breath catching—

He was alive.

Barely.

But whatever insanity he had pulled off had drained him completely.

Evelyn stood a few feet away, watching them, her jade-green eyes unreadable.

Then, she smiled.

Not in amusement. Not in mockery.

Something else.

Something colder.

"A monster," she whispered, her gaze locked on Arthur's unconscious form.

Charlotte's arms tightened around him.

Evelyn exhaled, brushing a strand of dark red hair behind her ear.

"No matter," she murmured, already stepping away. "He's not ready yet."

The air twisted.

Dark roses bloomed in her wake.

And then—she was gone.

Silence fell.

The battle was over.

But Charlotte knew—this was far from the end.

Arthur lay limp in her arms, his body still trembling from the strain of his sudden advancement.

Across from them, Rose had collapsed where she stood, her breathing unsteady.

Cecilia, too, had fallen, her body finally giving in to exhaustion.

They had survived.

Charlotte exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she surveyed the battlefield. The last of the cultists had retreated, their presence erased from the Tower of Magic.

The spatial lock—a twisted, high-level distortion that had caged them inside—was now nothing more than residual energy fading into the ether.

Charlotte had undone it with ease.

"Finally done," she muttered, rubbing her temple.

But before she could even begin to relax, her senses flared.

Something was wrong.

She moved instantly, flickering across the Tower's halls in a blur of motion.

The healing ward was quiet.

Cecilia, Rose, and Arthur lay on their beds, their bodies recovering under layers of restorative magic. The air hummed with stabilizing spells, their mana signatures faint but steady.

It should have been peaceful.

It wasn't.

A flower had bloomed.

A blue rose, its petals shimmering with an otherworldly glow.

It sat in the air, floating just above Rose's chest, twisting slightly as if breathing.

A healer stood nearby, visibly unnerved.

"Master, I was about to call you," she said the moment Charlotte entered. Her voice was even, but her hands were clenched at her sides. "I'm not sure what this is."

Charlotte studied the flower, her emerald eyes narrowing.

A supernatural creation.

A fragment of something far older, far stronger than normal spellcraft.

But even then—

She reached out. Read exclusive content at My Virtual Library Empire

Her fingers brushed against the petals, and with a mere flick of her mana, the rose unraveled, vanishing into nothing.

The healer blinked.

"That's it?"

Charlotte sighed. "It's just her Gift. Don't worry."

The healer hesitated. "Are you sure? That was—"

"I'm sure," Charlotte cut in, glancing at Rose's sleeping form. "She's just… waking up."

And if her Gift was anything like Charlotte suspected—

Things were about to get a lot more complicated.

Charlotte left the ward, her mind already moving to the next issue.

She stepped into her office, the weight of the day pressing down on her, but she didn't sit.

Instead, she reached for her phone.

Dialed.

It rang once.

Then—

"Well, look who it is," a familiar voice hummed. "Charlotte Alaric. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Charlotte didn't waste time.

"Eva."

A chuckle. "You sound tired. Busy day?"

Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose. "Put Rose Springshaper in Class A."