The Extra Can't be A Hero-Chapter 170: The Sword Saint (8)

Malachi collapsed to his knees mere minutes after escaping Amon's deathly gaze. The burns searing his flesh flared with renewed agony, but it was not pain that twisted his stomach—it was revulsion. He doubled over, vomiting not from injury, but from disbelief and bitter humiliation.

Malachi, the Bone Sword. Apostle of Subservience. Once hailed as one of the top three swordsmen in the world—a man whose reputation alone could break the will of lesser warriors. Yet he had fallen to a junior's blade.

Not just any junior—a boy barely past twenty. He was over three times Amon's age, a veteran forged through decades of bloodshed and battle, yet he had been forced into retreat. The shame festered like an open wound.

Malachi was disgusted—disgusted by his weakness, his failure, and above all, by the terrifying brilliance of the boy who had bested him.

But the words from Amon's mouth still lingered in his mind.

"You're a Demon, not a human."

It was the terrifying truth, and it was something that Malachi subconsciously rejected. He'd always known he was tethered between the lines of humanity and demonhood, but Malachi always believed that he would retain his honour as a Knight.

Until today.

"How foolish to believe I could hold onto the best of both worlds."

Malachi wore a bitter smile as he thought back to the young man who had reduced him to this state. Amon's strength was overwhelming but not insurmountable. Due to his age, there were gaps in his transformation, and even an outside observer could tell that Amon couldn't hold that form for long.

But those were issues that could be fixed with age and experience, which Amon had plenty of time to acquire.

"Our records show that he's twenty-two… Perhaps, he'll be the next Solaris Founder or Solaris Saint."

The two greatest humans in recorded history. One was the original Dragon Hunter, founder of House Solaris in the aftermath of the Great Dragon War. The other was revered as the most powerful human ever to live—the Solaris Saint, the relentless scourge of Demons and their eternal enemy.

She was the one who single-handedly ended the Great Demon War, driving back the first wave of demonic invasion. Some chronicles claim she could tear continents from the earth and part the seas with a mere wave. In forgotten tomes and obscure records, she is spoken of not as a mortal, but as something far beyond—a being closer to divinity than humanity. To many, she was the first true Transcendent.

A woman who took a seat at the right hand of the Goddess.

But even the Solaris Saint… was never this powerful at twenty-two.

"Our plans are all going haywire… just because of this young lad."

Malachi never broke his smile, continually amused by all the scheming and plotting the Demon Cult did… they were unravelled by this young man's grit and determination.

[So you failed…]

A secondary voice echoed within Malachi's mind, forcing his train of thought to come to an abrupt end. Even though the voice was distant and haunting, the Apostle wasn't startled for a second. Without hesitation, he knelt in reverence as an illusory figure emerged in front of him.

"I have no excuses."

[No, the boy has grown faster than we'd imagined. We must recalculate all of our plans once again.]

The Prophet sighed, though his resolve remained unshaken. Fate was never a straight line—it twisted, branched, and converged in ways few could predict. The possibilities were endless, a web of shifting outcomes. No matter how deeply he peered into the threads of destiny, there were always shadows—blind spots that slipped beyond his sight.

But as of late… his vision has been clouded by one, singular man.

[If I permitted you… Would you be able to defeat him?]

"..."

Malachi thought about it for a brief moment before nodding: "Yes, but it would be a pyrrhic victory at best. I would be incapacitated and unable to fulfill my mission of procuring the Sword Saint."

[Are you saying that he's equal to the Sword Saint?]

"No… The Sword Saint is far stronger."

The Apostle immediately denied the Prophet's conjecture. Yes, Amon had surpassed all metrics placed upon him and was easily among the top ten most powerful individuals currently alive. Alas, the Sword Saint is on a whole other plane of existence.

And during that brief exchange… Malachi confirmed it.

"The Sword Saint is on the fence—swayed by your promise to him. Otherwise, we wouldn't have been able to shatter the barrier that easily."

[I see.]

Hearing the first good news of the day, the Prophet's cold expression broke into a fragile smile.

[If that's the case, I will send you reinforcements.]

"I apologise for my incompetence."

Malachi responded with true remorse. Not just because he had failed the mission, but because of what the Prophet had to give up. Currently, the Demon Cult's resources were running thin. While they had obtained a surplus of followers, only a few could be considered assets worth deploying. Additionally, the other Apostles were currently preoccupied with their respective missions.

So, who could the Prophet send at the moment?

[I will begin the ritual… to summon a Demon Count.]

❖❖❖

Back at the Sword Saint's secluded abode, a heavy silence settled over the small chamber. Amon sat comfortably, his eyes lowered, his thoughts a turbulent storm of doubt and unfinished words. Across from him, the Sword Saint sat in a similarly composed posture, his weathered face betraying no emotion, though the faint furrow of his brow hinted at the weight of the earlier disruption.

The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, the remnants of a conversation interrupted hanging in the space like dust motes in a shaft of sunlight. Both men remained still, neither willing to break the silence, each wrestling with their own thoughts—how to resume, what to say, how much to reveal.

Time dragged on, marked only by the soft creaking of the wooden beams overhead and the distant chirping of cicadas. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Sword Saint stirred. He exhaled slowly, his voice low and calm as he finally broke the silence.

"Thank you for protecting me."

"No… You hardly needed protection."

Amon gave a firm shake of his head, a silent but unmistakable rejection of the Sword Saint's assertion that he had been under his protection. The truth, as Amon saw it, was clear—throughout the battle, the Sword Saint had remained a passive observer.

At any moment, he could have drawn his blade and joined the fray against the Demon Cult. Yet he hadn't. He had simply watched.

And strangely, Amon bore no resentment for that. On the contrary, he appreciated the restraint. Because just as the Sword Saint had chosen not to intervene on Amon's behalf… he could just as easily have chosen to stand against him.

That thought lingered heavily in Amon's mind. He couldn't read the old warrior's true intentions. Was the Sword Saint truly committed to the cause of humanity, bound by a sense of honor and duty? Or was he a man shaped by whims and personal ambition, whose loyalty swayed like reeds in the wind?

Amon didn't know, and he didn't wish to gamble his life on it.

"Shall we continue where we left off?"

"..."

Amon's words made the Sword Saint's heart pound. Before they were disturbed by Malachi, the Sword Saint was about to divulge the main reason why the Demon Cult approached him and why he had to seal himself from the outside world.

"Eternal life, the Prophet promised me that much."

The Sword Saint's motivation was clear. After all, no one would be content to let their bodies wither away from old age, let alone a talented, pinnacle warrior like the Sword Saint. Hence, as time passed, the offer from the Prophet was made all the more tempting.

"I see… Will you accept it?"

"..."

Amon spoke in a flat, emotionless tone, his eyes calm and unreadable, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. Yet the weight behind his words was unmistakable. Beneath the surface of his composure lay a quiet but unwavering resolve.

The message needed no embellishment: if the Sword Saint ever chose to stand against humanity—if he ever became a threat—Amon would not hesitate. He would act swiftly, decisively, and without remorse. No matter the cost, he would bring the Sword Saint down.

And that steadfastness amused the Sword Saint.

Why?

For he was once like that.

"Yes, I was going to accept it."

"..."

The Sword Saint's words stirred Amon's imagination. If that senile old man was ready to betray humanity, Amon wasn't going to hold back. Rather than watch him turn into the First Calamity, Amon was willing to behead the man right now. But the problem was…

'Can I do it?'

Defeating the Sword Saint was no simple feat—not even close.

Amon had grown tremendously, his strength honed through countless battles and relentless training. By most standards, he now stood among the top ten strongest individuals on the planet—a peerless warrior in his own right.

But the Sword Saint was not "most standards."

He was the peak, the solitary figure who stood above all others. The undisputed number one. If it were anyone else, Amon might have felt confident—at least assured of a fair fight, if not victory. But as he reached out with his senses, cautiously probing the Sword Saint's aura, he was met with something vast and impenetrable.

A wall of power so immense, so refined, it defied comprehension. It wasn't just strength—it was mastery, the kind that rendered all comparisons meaningless.

Nevertheless…

'No, I must do it.'

Even if Amon had to challenge the sky, he must hold his sword high. At least, that was what Leon would have done. And just as he was about to make the first move, the Sword Saint's aged voice stopped him.

"I was going to accept it, but now… I'm not too sure."

At his words, Amon's motivation simmered away, and his mana waned. The Sword Saint smiled at the young Knight's restraint and continued:

"Your display proved something to me… There is still room for human evolution. Perhaps… there is a way for me to obtain eternity without reaching out to the Demon Cult. Therefore…"

The Sword Saint—no, Kassadin Bromm—stared straight into Amon's golden eyes as he said:

"Show me… The way to eternity."

"Show you? How?"

"You tell me," the Sword Saint broke into a playful smile as he enunciated each word:

"Traveller from another world."

"!!!"

For the first time since coming to Espandavale… Amon seriously considered ending the Sword Saint's life right then and there.