The Extra is a Genius!?

A long, resounding blast echoed through the forest edge.

Not from any horn or trumpet—but from a tall obelisk-like structure carved with dozens of runes, positioned near the clearing where all the participants stood. Its center pulsed with light as the sound rang out, and in that instant, every participant’s bracelet flickered to life.

A faint glow surrounded their wrists, followed by a soft chime. The magic embedded within had activated—an emergency defense system that would trigger only when the user’s life was in critical danger. The fail-safe. Their one and only.

Dozens of shimmering orbs floated up from another cluster of runes nearby, each engraved with sigils for vision and tracking.

Magical drones.

One orb zipped toward each participant, hovering a meter behind them.

Noel glanced over his shoulder at his assigned drone. "Well, guess privacy’s out the window," he muttered under his breath.

Across the clearing, students began murmuring. Nervous laughter accompanied with heavy breathing. Some stared at the forest like it was a beast waiting to swallow them whole.

From a raised platform, Lord Albrecht Thorne and the other heads of noble houses looked on in silence. Behind them stood the judges’ tent, where a massive crystalline wall shimmered into view—divided into dozens of frames, each showing a different participant’s feed in real time.

Noel didn’t wait.

While others turned to whisper final words to their teammates or hesitated with last-minute strategy debates, he simply lowered his stance and broke into a sprint.

He dashed toward the treeline with a clarity that cut through the nerves clouding the others.

Branches cracked beneath his boots, and the shade of the forest swallowed him within seconds.

The game had begun.

The moment Noel crossed the treeline, the sounds of the crowd and the platform faded—swallowed by the hush of the forest. Sunlight filtered weakly through the canopy above, casting fractured patterns over the mossy ground.

He didn’t slow.

His movements were fluid, every step calculated, every root dodged, every shift in terrain accounted for. His breathing was steady, controlled.

’The first to go deep has the best chance at securing a good spot. Less fighting others wich only means more hunting.’

Most would waste time dealing with Common-ranked beasts near the edge. Not him. Noel was aiming for the heart of the zone, where the Rare and Elite monsters would roam freely. Riskier, but more rewarding—and less populated.

Behind him, his assigned observation orb floated silently, recording everything.

Noel cast it a sideways glance.

"I wonder if they can hear me through that thing. Wouldn’t want the judges eavesdropping on my commentary."

A faint rustle snapped his attention to the left.

He ducked behind a thick tree trunk instantly, hand resting on the hilt of Revenant Fang. His eyes narrowed, senses focused. But it was just a squirrel-like creature darting across a branch.

"Too jumpy," he muttered, stepping out again.

As he moved, his mind briefly returned to the others—Marcus, Clara, Elena. Most of them would form teams, use tactics, play safe. He didn’t blame them. But he didn’t trust anyone enough to split kills. And more importantly, he had a plan.

’First we get in deep. Secondly I need to find water. Then I set a temporary base. And lastly I start hunting.’

He hadn’t brought much—just his sword, the basic belt pouch with some bandages and fire-starting tools, and the clothes on his back. Weapons were allowed. Food or extra gear wasn’t.

He scanned the woods ahead—dense, but navigable. The kind of terrain where monsters could ambush from above or below.

’Perfect.’

A sharp grin pulled at the corner of his lips.

’Let the others play it safe. I came here to win.’

Back at the central viewing pavilion, tension simmered beneath the elegant folds of noble garments.

Inside the large tent reinforced with mana-threaded cloth, the heads of each participating family stood before a massive, levitating projection—composed of dozens of smaller scrying panels. Each one displayed a live feed from a participant’s observation orb, enchanted to follow their every move.

Lord Albrecht Thorne stood with his arms folded, eyes sharp as steel. To his left, Lady Mirelle watched in silence, her expression unreadable as she tracked the figures on the screens.

"That’s Elena von Lestaria," said a noblewoman from House Lestaria, her voice proud but measured. "She’s wasting no time. Straight to the ridge paths. Really smart."

"She’s always been efficient," murmured another.

"Clara de Nivaria and the Marcus boy seem to be sticking together," came a comment from a middle-aged nobleman, stroking his beard. "Not surprising. That one’s loyal to a fault."

Albrecht didn’t comment. His gaze flicked across the feeds—until it landed on one: a solitary figure cutting swiftly through the brush.

Noel.

A murmur rippled as a few nobles noticed the same screen.

"That boy’s going in alone?"

"Bold. Or foolish."

Lord Albrecht’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "He has his reasons."

A few heads turned toward him.

Mirelle didn’t shift her gaze, but her lips curved just slightly. "It seems young Noel’s been full of surprises lately."

Albrecht said nothing more. He didn’t need to.

In truth, he was watching very closely.

Not just as a father—but as a man who hadn’t expected that son to be the one drawing so many eyes. Not after everything.

And yet, there he was—plunging headfirst into the deepest part of the Beastwood, alone.

’If you fall,’ Albrecht thought, ’no one will be there to catch you.’

But the boy hadn’t fallen yet.

And judging by his footwork... he didn’t plan to.

Noel weaved between thick tree trunks and thorny underbrush, his breathing steady despite the constant sprint. Fallen leaves crunched underfoot, and branches tugged at his coat sleeves as the forest gradually thickened, growing darker with each step.

The deeper he moved into the Beastwood, the more the air changed—cooler, heavier, almost charged.

’This is it. Real edge-of-the-map territory.’

Above him, the orb assigned to monitor his progress floated quietly, glinting faintly between the leaves. He shot it a brief glance but ignored it afterward. There was no point pretending he wasn’t being watched.

’I came here to win, there’s nothing important that happen here in the novel so I don’t have to plan anything.’

He slid down a small slope, his boots hitting dirt hard before transitioning into a low crouch. Bushes rustled nearby—not from monsters, just wind. For now.

A few minutes later, he came upon a break in the dense growth—an open glade with a small, moss-covered boulder in the center. He approached, scanned the area, then knelt down to draw a crude map on a strip of parchment he’d hidden in his sleeve.

He marked his current position with a tiny "X".

’Need water first. Food after. If I’m lucky, I’ll find a stream near the cliffs. That’s where the tree moss grew thickest on the satellite view during prep.’

He tapped the parchment with two fingers, committing the route to memory, then folded it away.

Then—he stilled.

A low, distant growl.

His hand moved to the hilt of Revenant Fang on instinct.

From the edge of the clearing, a creature crept forward—canine in shape, but far too large. Matted fur, glowing yellow eyes, and jagged bone-like growths along its spine.

’Common class, probably. Still... first one of the day.’

Noel exhaled slowly.

The beast snarled and lunged.

Revenant Fang cleared its sheath in one fluid motion, gleaming black under the canopy’s broken light.

Noel didn’t shout.

Didn’t hesitate.

He simply moved.

One step forward—low, fast.

Steel whistled. The wolf’s momentum carried it forward—

—and its body crumpled mid-air, sliding to a halt behind Noel in silence.

Noel straightened, flicking blood off the blade.

"One down," he muttered. "Let’s keep count."

The moment the beast’s corpse hit the forest floor, a sudden ding echoed in Noel’s ears—not out loud, but inside his mind, crisp and unmistakable.

A system notification blinked into view before his eyes, sharp and golden against the green canopy:

[Canine Beast – Slain]

[Core Progress Earned: +0.02%]

[Current Progress: 37.02% – Novice Rank Mana Core]

Noel froze.

"What!?" he blurted aloud, instinctively looking around to see if someone had heard him. Only trees and that floating orb stared back.

He stared at the message again, blinking.

’Are you fucking serious? Since when?! The system’s never done this before.’

Another window materialized under the first:

[Core Progression tracking enabled]

[Source: Combat-based Mana absorption]

[Experience gain varies by target difficulty]

He exhaled sharply and muttered, "So after the Bloody Banquet arc... the system’s evolving?"

His heart pounded—not from fear, but from something else. A rush.

Excitement.

’This changes everything. If I can grow stronger by fighting... by killing—’

He cut the thought short.

’No. Let’s not dive too deep into that part yet.’

Still, he couldn’t hide the grin creeping up his face.

"Only 0.02% though? Stingy bastards," he muttered, sheathing Revenant Fang. "But yeah... the thing dropped in two seconds, so maybe that tracks. Probably scales with how dangerous they are."

He glanced at the floating orb. "Hope you’re getting this, system. I’m about to turn this forest into a buffet."

A gust of wind shook the leaves above as he moved on. Eventually, he found a small natural alcove between two massive tree roots and a rock outcrop. It wasn’t much—but it would do.

He dropped to one knee and started clearing debris, stacking a few stones, tying together thick branches with vines to form a low-angled lean-to.

It wouldn’t keep a real monster out.

But it would block the wind and keep him dry if it rained.

Noel laid some leaves inside, sat down, and leaned back, still grinning faintly.

’Hunt to grow. Real-time progress. No stupid levels. Just power.’

His fingers ran across Revenant Fang’s hilt.

"Let’s test how far this little world’s willing to let me go."

The faint crackle of firewood filled the night air. Beneath the darkened canopy of the forest, Noel sat cross-legged in front of his makeshift lean-to. Shadows danced across the bark and stone as flickering flames licked at a small chunk of meat skewered on a sharpened stick.

It sizzled lightly—wolf meat.

Not his first choice. Not even in his top fifty.

But it was food.

He bit into it slowly, chewing with a blank stare on his face, eyes reflecting the firelight. The meat was gamey, dry, and barely seasoned with crushed leaves he’d hoped weren’t poisonous.

Another chime echoed softly in his head, and the familiar golden script appeared before him:

[Current Progress: 37.22% – Novice Rank Mana Core]

’That’s it? Ten beasts for just 0.2%?’

He sighed, leaning back against the cold stone behind him.

"Guess I really shouldn’t have expected more."

The progress was real—but slow. Slower than he liked. These low-tier beasts barely gave anything, and while they were easy to cut down, it would take hundreds—thousands—to reach the next threshold.

’This method won’t cut it. Not with just Common-ranked beasts.’

His eyes drifted toward the glowing orb still floating a short distance above the canopy—recording everything. He knew the nobles were watching. Judging. Measuring.

And he had no intention of being measured like a farm animal.

"I need a new plan," he muttered, tossing the stripped bone into the fire. "Tomorrow, I go deeper. Find something stronger. Riskier."

His gaze sharpened.

’If I want real power—I’ll have to earn it. Blood and teeth.’

He laid down on a bed of leaves and moss inside the lean-to, arms crossed behind his head. The fire’s warmth brushed his feet as the cold wind whispered through the trees outside.

Above the forest canopy, the stars blinked faintly, hidden behind the haze.