The Extra is a Genius!?

The forest was quiet. Not peaceful—never peaceful—but quiet in the way that warned of watching eyes.

Elena moved like a shadow beneath the trees, boots barely disturbing the moss as she slipped between gnarled roots and towering trunks. The light filtering through the leaves was pale and fractured, casting dancing patterns across her pale green cloak. Her breathing was calm. Focused.

She had been walking for nearly an hour. Not a single wasted step.

Her twin shortblades were strapped to her back, silent and balanced. Her senses were tuned to the rhythm of the woods—listening for movement, for breath, for anything that didn’t belong.

’Just like I trained—deep in the dark, silent as shadow, always alone, damn I sounded like an edgy boy.’

The other heirs had scattered chaotically when the signal sounded, most of them rushing for quick kills and easy targets. It was the kind of behavior that separated hunters from amateurs.

Not her.

Elena had no intention of sharing credit or points. No alliances or distractions. She had a goal, and she would reach it.

’One week. That’s all they gave us to prove we’re worth our names.’

The trees thickened as she moved deeper into the designated hunting zone. She knelt for a moment near a patch of disturbed earth. Prints—small claws, fast creature. Probably nothing worth more than a single point.

She stood again, eyes narrowing.

’Not worth the time. Keep moving.’

Elena adjusted the straps of her gear, then continued forward with purpose. The woods shifted subtly—the air denser now, the leaves darker, older.

And that’s when she felt it.

Not beast.

Human.

She froze mid-step, her hand instinctively moving toward one of her blades.

’I heard voices just ahead—men, from the sound of it.’

She stepped off the trail, sinking into the underbrush like a ghost.

Her breath slowed. Her heartbeat didn’t change.

The voices were clearer now.

"...she’ll come this way eventually. Just keep watch."

’So I’m being hunted now.’

Her grip on the hilt tightened, but her expression didn’t change.

She didn’t panic.

She just waited.

And listened.

Elena remained motionless behind the thick ferns, her back pressed against a knotted tree trunk, breath steady.

The voices grew clearer—three of them. All male. Young and armed.

"I’m telling you, she’s going this way. We saw her heading northeast."

"Good. I’ve had enough of nobles acting like they’re better than the rest of us."

"She’s von Lestaria," one sneered. "About time someone reminded her she’s not untouchable."

Elena’s fingers flexed once over the hilt of her left blade.

’Three of them. All walking upright like they own the forest. None of them smart enough to shut up.’

She waited until their steps passed within ten meters, then moved.

No noise. Just motion.

She stepped out of the brush in one fluid movement, appearing as if she’d materialized from the trees themselves. Her cloak didn’t flutter. Her expression didn’t change.

The nobles froze.

The one in front—a boy from a lesser coastal house, with a short spear—actually flinched.

"Well, look at that," he said, recovering quickly. "Was wondering when you’d show up."

The second—taller, with dark green armor and a crooked nose—rested a hand on his longsword.

"You’re fast," he said. "But not fast enough to hunt solo out here."

Elena tilted her head slightly. "You’re wasting your time."

"We’re not here to kill you," the third boy added, a smaller one with a dagger at his hip. "Just keep you busy. Can’t have you snatching the lead again like last year."

’So that’s it. They’re not even after points. They’re here to sabotage.’

Her expression didn’t shift. Calm, still. But inside, her mana stirred.

"You should’ve stayed on the path," the first one said, stepping forward.

She took a slow breath.

And whispered, "Vinea Surge!"

The ground beneath their feet suddenly bulged. Roots burst from the soil, twisting and snapping toward their legs like snakes.

The three boys shouted and stumbled back, two of them already getting tangled.

The one with the spear cursed. "Damn it, she cast!"

He raised his weapon—too slowly.

Elena’s hand was already glowing.

The roots coiled fast, thick and alive, pulling at legs and ankles with precise force. Two of the nobles were already on the ground, snarling and cursing as the earth itself refused to let them move.

Elena didn’t wait.

Her right hand swept upward, mana swirling around her fingertips as she cast the next spell without hesitation.

"Terra Darts!"

The air shimmered, and jagged shards of stone burst from the ground like spikes. One dart grazed the shoulder of the spear-wielder, slicing through his cloak and drawing blood. Another hit the wrist of the boy with the dagger, sending his weapon clattering into the underbrush.

"Bitch!" one of them yelled, struggling to tear free.

’You should’ve kept walking.’

The tallest boy finally freed a leg and raised his hand to cast something of his own—mana glowing unstable around his palm.

Elena didn’t give him the chance.

Her voice was calm, but sharp.

"Sylvan Bind!"

A tree behind them groaned as its branches twisted unnaturally. Two long limbs bent low, snapping forward like whips and slamming into the third noble’s side with a thwack. He flew sideways, hitting the dirt with a breathless grunt.

The remaining two stopped moving. Their faces were pale now—not just from fear, but recognition.

They had underestimated her.

And now, they were very aware of it.

Elena stepped forward, blades still sheathed.

"I could’ve ended that fight in ten seconds," she said flatly. "I gave you a chance to walk away."

None of them answered.

She turned her back to them, stepping over a root and walking deeper into the woods.

Behind her, the forest settled again—branches swaying slowly, vines creeping back beneath the soil.

’Idiots.’

She didn’t look back.

She didn’t need to.

The dense forest around them buzzed with life—chirps, rustles, distant roars—but Marcus and Clara moved through it like they’d rehearsed this a hundred times.

Marcus crouched low behind a moss-covered log, eyes scanning the small clearing ahead. Clara was beside him, one hand extended, brushing gently over the dirt, her mana pulsing through the roots beneath.

"They’re close," she whispered. "Just beyond the ridge. I count three—boar-shaped, hunched backs. Probably Common-class."

Marcus adjusted the grip on his sword, his voice calm. "We go standard flank. You start with the vines—I’ll handle left and center."

Clara smirked. "You always take the flashy part."

He returned the grin. "You always get the kills anyway."

She rose slowly, both hands glowing with a soft green aura. Then, with a deep breath, she chanted:

"Vinea Snare!"

From beneath the brush ahead, thorned vines erupted, lashing out and wrapping tightly around two of the beasts. They squealed—twisted, mutated boars with jagged tusks and bloodshot eyes—thrashing against the sudden grip of nature.

Marcus didn’t wait.

Mana surged down the length of his blade, sharpening its edge into a razor-thin sheen. He dashed forward, slashing in a horizontal arc that cut across the thick hide of the nearest boar. It dropped with a squeal.

The second tried to break free—only to be silenced by Clara’s dagger piercing through its skull from a distance, thrown with precision.

The third beast, untouched, charged toward them with foaming jaws and wild eyes.

"Yours," Clara called out.

Marcus turned to meet it.

But instead of dodging, he raised his sword vertically, focused his mana—and roared:

A sharp wave of silver mana burst from the blade, slicing clean through the air and hitting the beast mid-charge. It collapsed before it could take another step.

They both stood still for a moment, breathing.

Then Marcus said, "Three points."

Clara nodded. "And no wasted energy."

"Next."

They didn’t celebrate.

They simply moved on, fading back into the trees with quiet steps—two halves of one rhythm.

Inside the grand pavilion, the atmosphere had shifted from formal to razor-focused.

Nobles stood or sat before the magical screens, each scrying panel displaying the perspective of a different participant—some already bloodied, some floundering in the undergrowth, others showing promise.

Lady Erielle von Lestaria leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her chin as she watched Elena’s feed. The girl had already taken down two beasts and neutralized three other participants without drawing her blades once.

"She’s a prodigy," Erielle murmured.

A few nearby nobles nodded silently. Others whispered with envy.

At another projection, Marcus and Clara moved with seamless coordination—dodging, flanking, landing blows with clinical precision.

"Those two were raised to complement each other," noted Lord Darius De Nivaria, arms crossed, a rare look of satisfaction on his face. "And they’re not even trying to show off."

From across the room, Lady Mirelle Thorne stood with her arms delicately folded, her eyes half-lidded as if disinterested. But her gaze flicked again and again to the screen with the black-cloaked figure moving solo through the deeper regions of the woods.

Noel.

His orb feed had been silent for nearly an hour.

Just movement, and then—flashes of fire.

Lord Albrecht Thorne stood beside her, unmoving. He said nothing.

A nobleman from House Fenwell cleared his throat. "He’s alone. That’s bold, but foolish. Rare-class beasts dwell out there."

Noel’s orb feed flared again.

A flash of heat. A Rare-class lizard collapsed, twitching, smoke rising from its charred chest.

Then the boy appeared in frame—scratched, breathing hard, but standing.

Another one lunged.

He spun, sword glowing, and shouted:

"Fireball!"

The screen rippled with flame.

Lady Mirelle’s brow rose faintly.

Albrecht’s arms remained crossed. But his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

No words left his mouth.

But in that moment, every noble watching understood something.

The Thorne boy wasn’t bluffing.

The clearing stank of scorched moss and iron-rich blood.

Noel exhaled through gritted teeth, his boots skidding back across the dirt as the second Rare-class lizard lunged. Nearly two meters tall, covered in dark green scales with a serrated tail that cracked like a whip—it was fast.

Faster than he liked.

The first one lay dead, its chest still smoldering from the last Fireball, but this one was smarter. It had circled, waited. Now it struck.

Noel barely ducked beneath the swipe of its claws, rolling across the forest floor and rising in one smooth motion.

His ribs ached. His coat was torn. His mana was running low.

’Of course they’re smarter in pairs. That would’ve been too easy.’

The lizard turned, hissing, golden eyes flaring with primal hunger. Its muscles tensed again.

Noel gripped Revenant Fang tighter.

"I’m not dying to something that hisses."

The lizard sprang forward.

Noel met it halfway.

He slid under its open jaws, planting one foot, and slashed upward across its side. Scales parted. The beast howled and spun, tail whipping toward his head—

He ducked low and shouted:

"Fireball!"

The explosion clipped its torso, blasting it sideways. It staggered to all fours, snarling, smoking.

’Still moving? Damn tough bastard.’

He shifted stances, raised his hand again—then paused. Not enough mana for another clean spell.

So he sprinted.

The beast lunged too, both forces colliding.

Steel met flesh.

Noel rammed his shoulder forward, dug his feet into the ground, and buried Revenant Fang deep between its ribs. It shrieked once—and dropped.

Noel panted, sweat dripping down his brow, hand still clenched around the hilt as the lizard’s final breath escaped.

He stumbled back, half-collapsing onto a rock, his entire body heaving.

A familiar chime rang in his mind.

[Rare-class Beast Slain – +0.10% Core Progress Earned]

[Current Progress: 37.32% – Novice Rank Mana Core]

Noel chuckled hoarsely.

"Only point ten? Seriously, you cheap system you hear me?"

He leaned back against the tree behind him, blood on his coat, fire fading from his palms.

’Fine. You wanna make me earn it? I’ll earn it.’