The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 40: The Hunt of Inheritance

Noel awoke to the golden warmth of morning light spilling through the large arched window. A soft breeze slipped past the slightly open pane, rustling the curtains and carrying with it the faint scent of pine and distant smoke from the kitchens.

His body still ached a little from the sparring the day before, but it was the thoughts in his head that weighed more than his limbs.

'The Hunt of Inheritance...'

That's what it was called. Not a game, not a seasonal outing. It was a centuries-old tradition that served as both spectacle and proving ground. Each year, one of the great noble houses of Valor would host it in a designated territory, and their heirs—young and ambitious—would be thrown into a controlled wilderness to face magical beasts and each other.

A ritual of power. Of pride. Of blood.

'In the novel, House Lestaria took the win. Elena shined the brightest... Marcus was the underdog that came close. The Thorne name? It was an afterthought.'

He remembered that much. But what came after the Hunt was vague. Elena returned... off. Not broken, not traumatized, but changed.

'And now I'm here. A new variable with too much knowledge, and not enough guarantees.'

'There's no telling what this version of the Hunt will turn into.'

A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Young master," came the soft voice of his personal maid from the other side, "Lord Thorne expects everyone at breakfast. It's already begun."

He swung his legs out of bed, rubbing his face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

He took a deep breath before heading for the door.

'Guess it's time to hear the official announcement.'

The long mahogany table stretched across the length of the high-vaulted dining hall, flanked by towering windows that let in the bright morning light. House banners fluttered lightly with the breeze, their sigils embroidered in gold and deep navy—colors of House Thorne.

Noel stepped into the room, and as always, the air shifted.

At the head of the table sat Lord Albrecht Thorne, posture iron-straight, eyes like cut stone. His presence silenced the room more than any shout ever could.

Noel's siblings were already seated.

To his left sat Lady Mirelle, composed and graceful, sipping her tea like it was a battlefield tactic. Beside her, Kael, the eldest, wore a passive smirk, his elbow resting lazily against the chair's ornate edge.

Next to Kael was Damon, broader and less elegant, tearing into a loaf of bread like it had personally insulted him.

Across from them, Lady Serina laughed softly at something Sylvette whispered in her ear—no doubt some passive-aggressive observation. Beside them sat Livia, perfectly groomed as ever, yet her smile looked thin this morning.

Noel took his seat quietly—unacknowledged by most.

Until the Patriarch spoke.

"This year," Albrecht began, his voice gravel and steel, "the responsibility of hosting the Hunt of Inheritance falls to House Thorne."

A stillness dropped over the table like a drawn blade.

"I expect absolute competence from all of you," he continued. "Twelve noble families will be attending. Lestaria, De Nivaria, Rhiannon, Baelcroft... and others less significant."

Everyone nodded. Except Noel. He simply waited.

His father's eyes swept across the room. "This is not some pageantry. This is our chance to display strength. Our family has faded into irrelevance for too long. I expect us to rise from the ashes. Understood?"

"Yes, Father," came the murmured chorus.

But when Albrecht's eyes settled on Noel—cold, assessing—they lingered.

"I heard," he said slowly, "that you bested three of our soldiers recently."

Noel kept his posture relaxed. "I did."

"You've improved."

It wasn't praise. Not exactly. But it wasn't disdain either.

"Your brothers still struggle to beat them," Albrecht added flatly, directing the comment across the table.

Kael's smirk twitched. Damon clenched his jaw.

Lady Mirelle was quick to intervene. "They've both made great strides since then. Their true skill shines in actual combat, not sparring games."

Lady Serina nodded politely. "Indeed. I'm sure they would fare much better if given the chance now."

"Perhaps," Albrecht said with a shrug. "We'll see soon enough."

And just like that, the pressure in the room shifted.

Noel didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence held weight.

The tension still lingered in the air like a storm that hadn't passed. Kael was the first to speak, voice calm but laced with sharpened pride.

"We'll prove it during the Hunt, Father," he said, setting down his wine glass with just enough force to make it echo.

Damon followed suit, scoffing under his breath. "You'll see. They won't be laughing at House Thorne this time."

Lord Albrecht didn't reply immediately. He simply leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled under his chin.

"I've heard similar promises before," he said. "What I require now is results. Make sure you don't just talk."

Kael's jaw flexed, but he nodded. Damon grunted. Across from them, Livia rolled her eyes with practiced elegance.

"Speaking of performances," Albrecht continued, shifting his gaze to his eldest daughter, "Livia."

She straightened instantly, sensing something heavy coming.

"You will be wed to Veyron von Lestaria, eldest heir of House Lestaria."

A stunned silence fell across the table.

Livia blinked. "I... what?"

"It's already arranged," Lord Thorne said. "The engagement will be formalized during the Hunt. Consider it another alliance solidified for House Thorne."

Her hand trembled slightly over her fork. "You didn't even ask what I wanted."

Albrecht's gaze cut to her like a blade.

"Because your desires are irrelevant in this matter."

"Father—"

"This is not a discussion, Livia."

She bit her lip, furious, but said nothing more. Her shoulders tensed, and her gaze dropped to her untouched plate.

Lady Mirelle looked pleased. Lady Serina seemed hesitant to speak, but stayed silent. Sylvette watched with interest, a faint, unreadable smile playing on her lips.

Noel observed it all quietly, pushing a piece of bread across his plate without appetite.

'This family's a fucking opera.'

And yet, as much as he hated to admit it—this was the world he was born into now. One where choices weren't always yours to make.

But his?

His fate, at least, he'd pry from their hands with blood if he had to.

As the last course was cleared from the table and the maids began collecting the silverware in silence, Noel placed his napkin down and cleared his throat.

"May I be excused, Father?" he asked, voice even.

All heads turned toward him. Kael and Damon sneered subtly. Livia barely looked up. Sylvette blinked with vague amusement.

Lord Albrecht studied him for a moment. Not disapproving. Not exactly approving either.

"Fine," he said at last. "Go. Rest if you must—your performance in the coming days will speak louder than anything you do now."

Noel stood, giving a shallow, formal bow.

"I understand."

Albrecht's voice came again, firmer. "I expect much from you, Noel."

Noel paused.

'I know.'

But he didn't say it. He just gave a short nod and turned away from the table.

As he walked out of the dining hall, the pressure around his shoulders lifted just slightly—but the weight of expectations remained, clinging to his spine like cold iron.

'They're expecting fireworks. I'll give them an explosion. Oh... Y'all gonna see the new Noel Thorne."'

The inner courtyard of House Thorne was a hive of motion.

Servants rushed between the stables and the loading areas, securing provisions and crates of equipment. Horses were lined up in rows, saddles freshly brushed, manes groomed. Decorative banners bearing the Thorne sigil — a silver wolf's head on a black field — fluttered from the lead carriages.

Noel stood to the side, arms crossed, observing it all.

His own bags had been packed since the morning. Not by servants — he'd done it himself. Old habit, maybe. Or just a need to feel in control of something.

One of the stablehands approached. "Young master Thorne. Your carriage will be the fourth in line, with the other heirs. You'll be riding alongside the young lords Kael and Damon."

'Fucking wonderful.'

He gave a curt nod and waved the boy off.

From across the courtyard, he could see Kael and Damon mounting their own horses. Both dressed in travel leathers lined with their family's crest. Both laughing at something one of the knights said. Both pretending Noel didn't exist.

"Business as usual," he muttered under his breath.

Lady Serina walked past him a moment later, speaking with two maids. When she saw Noel, she gave a brief smile, soft but distant. "Be sure to rest when you can, dear. The road to the Beastwood is long."

He inclined his head. "Yes, Lady Serina."

Lord Albrecht stood by the lead carriage, arms behind his back, inspecting every last strap and latch with silent scrutiny.

Even from a distance, Noel could feel the man's presence like a sword hanging over the neck.

'I'll prove it.'

But not for them.

The sound of hooves on stone echoed through the Thorne estate as the convoy finally began to move.

It was mid-morning, but the sky remained overcast — a dull gray that pressed down on everything like a weight. The carriages rolled out one by one, each escorted by armed guards on horseback. There were over a dozen in total, some filled with supplies, others for nobles, attendants, and personnel.

Noel sat inside the fourth carriage, back straight, arms folded across his chest. Across from him, Kael lounged with practiced arrogance, legs stretched out and boots crossed.

Damon sat by the window, drumming his fingers against the wood frame.

Not a word between them.

Not since they'd climbed in.

And that was fine by Noel.

'Didn't exactly dream of family bonding time anyway.'

The carriage creaked as it rocked gently along the forest road. Outside, the scenery passed slowly — rolling hills, skeletal trees, distant birds wheeling through the air. Occasionally, they passed small villages or merchant outposts, but none dared interrupt the noble convoy.

A servant rode beside them on horseback, periodically relaying orders down the line. From what Noel gathered, they were aiming to make camp near a river outpost by nightfall.

Kael yawned theatrically, breaking the silence. "Hope none of you snore. Would ruin the atmosphere of nobility we're all supposed to embody."

Noel didn't respond.

Damon scoffed. "Don't worry. I'm sure the youngest will curl up like a mutt and sleep outside if we ask nicely."

Noel's gaze flicked to him, calm and unreadable.

"I'm more useful awake than either of you have ever been asleep."

Kael chuckled. "Careful, brother. That tongue of yours might get you in trouble one day."

'Try me.'

But Noel said nothing else. Just leaned back and looked out the window again.

The trees grew thicker. The road narrowed.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, the Beastwood awaited.