The Extra becomes the Villain's Bodyguard-Chapter 45: Royal Guard

[Before everyone received the notification]

Seven days. Seven days since Neville had abandoned the false security of his campsite, and the wilds had done nothing but sharpen their teeth against him. His pack hung light on his shoulders, his boots scuffed to the welt, and every rustle in the undergrowth carried the promise of violence. But none of that mattered now.

Because of the cliff.

It wasn’t a wall—it was a verdict. A sheer, merciless face of weathered stone, slick with tendrils of moss and crumbling shale, rising thirty feet into the fading light. The path he’d been following simply ended here, as if the earth had grown bored of his journey and cut him off. One misstep, one flake of rock giving way beneath his fingers, and he’d be nothing but a red smear on the boulders below.

Neville’s jaw tightened. No going up. Go around. But the cliff stretched endlessly left into a snarl of briars and right into a slope of loose, treacherous scree. The sun was bleeding out behind the trees. Time was running short.

The ground beneath him was a trap—jagged stones lurking beneath knotted roots, thorns waiting to bite. Every step risked a twisted ankle or worse. The air hung thick with the scent of damp earth and something sharper, something coppery.

Then—the sound.

A wet, clicking growl, like a knife dragged across bone.

Neville turned. Slowly.

The goblin stepped from the shadows.

It wasn’t some stunted, cowardly thing like the first ones he saw.. It was like the brute he jumped in into the portal, but this one looked much fiercer and more aggressive. This was a predator... dense muscle coiled beneath leathery green skin, its body a nightmare of corded strength. No weapons. It didn’t need them. Its claws were blackened talons, its teeth a jagged yellow ruin. And its eyes—oh gods, its eyes—glowed like dying embers, locked onto him with pure, feral hunger.

He wanted to move back and not confront it, but...

The goblin moved.

Neville barely had time to raise his spear before the monster was on him.

With a single, contemptuous swipe of its clawed arm, the creature shattered the wooden shaft like kindling. The sharp crack of splintering wood echoed in Neville’s ears, his grip suddenly empty, his breath catching in his throat. No. No, no, no—

The monster didn’t hesitate.

Its massive foot lashed out in a blur, a brutal, skull-crushing arc aimed straight for his temple. Neville’s instincts screamed—move or die—and he twisted aside just in time. The kick whistled past his ear, close enough to stir his hair, close enough to make his heart stutter.

He rolled, scrambled to his feet, pulse roaring in his ears. The monster snarled, saliva dripping from its jagged maw, its yellow eyes burning with predatory focus.

It came at him again, claws raking the air where Neville had been a split second before. He ducked, sidestepped, his boots skidding on loose rock as he barely avoided another swipe. The creature was fast—unnaturally fast—but Neville was learning.

The first lunge had been a blind charge. The second, a calculated strike. Now, as the monster feinted left before striking right, Neville saw the pattern. He pivoted, letting momentum carry him just out of reach.

His ability was helping him predict and get better, but he couldn’t use this forever...

His muscles burned. His lungs heaved. But his movements were sharper now, his dodges tighter.

Then the fatigue hit.

His legs trembled. His vision blurred at the edges. Every dodge was slower than the last, every gasp of air thinner. The monster didn’t tire—it pressed, relentless, its attacks coming faster, harder.

Neville’s body screamed in protest. One misstep. One stiffened muscle. That was all it would take.

And the monster knew it.

It coiled, ready to pounce—

Neville braced.

He had one last move.

And if it failed, he was dead.

Neville couldn’t dodge forever.

His body was failing, his reflexes dulling. One more charge, one more glancing blow, and he’d be too slow—too weak—to react. So he did the only thing left.

He stopped running.

Planting his feet, he braced himself, dagger clenched in a white-knuckled grip. The monster, sensing his hesitation, coiled like a spring—then lunged.

The impact was a sledgehammer to his chest.

A sickening crack echoed through his ribs as the monster’s bulk slammed into him. Pain exploded, sharp and electric, stealing his breath in a single, strangled gasp. His vision swam, his knees buckled—but he didn’t fall.

Not yet.

Through the agony, his arm moved on instinct.

With a guttural cry, he drove the dagger downward, aiming for the soft, pulsing hollow at the base of the monster’s neck. The blade punched through flesh and sinew, biting deep—until it met resistance, then severed with a wet, final crunch.

The creature’s body went rigid.

Its claws, raised for another strike, spasmed and fell limp. Its jaws, inches from Neville’s throat, slackened. A shudder ran through its massive frame—then nothing. No breath. No movement.

Dead weight crushed him.

Neville gasped as the monster’s bulk collapsed onto him, driving him into the dirt. The pressure on his broken ribs was excruciating, his lungs burning for air he couldn’t draw. He writhed, trapped beneath the corpse, his fingers scrambling for purchase in the blood-slick earth.

Then—teeth.

Even in the paralysis, the monster’s instincts raged. Its jaws snapped shut on Neville’s stomach, fangs punching through flesh. White-hot agony lanced through him, a scream tearing from his throat as he felt the wet rip of his own skin.

With a roar of pain and fury, he shoved against the monster’s head with his free hand, muscles straining. The dagger was still buried in its neck—but he had one chance.

Gritting his teeth, he wrenched the blade free—then drove it straight into the creature’s remaining eye.

The steel sank to the hilt.

The monster twitched once.

Then, finally, it was still.

The forest fell silent.

No growls. No snarls. Just the ragged, shuddering sound of Neville’s breath as he lay pinned beneath the beast, blood pooling beneath them both. His ribs screamed. His stomach burned. Every inhale was a knife twisting in his chest.

But he was alive.

For now.

Slowly, weakly, he began to push. The monster’s corpse didn’t budge.

He was still trapped. Too tired to move it.

And the world was fading at the edges.