The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 233: THE KING OF THE SENIORS

Chapter 229: The King of the Seniors

The hologram of Arthur Pendragon faded, but the weight of his gaze seemed to linger in the lecture hall long after the image dispersed.

"Class dismissed," Evelyn had said.

But nobody moved.

The silence was heavy, filled with the sudden, crushing realization that the "Skyfall Heroes" were not the apex predators of this Academy. We were just the loud freshmen.

"Arthur Pendragon," Eric William whispered, the name tasting like bile in his mouth.

He stood up, smoothing his pristine uniform, but I saw the tension in his shoulders. "I thought he was on an extended expedition in the Deadlands."

"He was," Leon Lionheart replied, staring at the empty air where the hologram had been. "He cleared a B-Rank gate solo last month. That’s the rumor."

"Solo?" Aiden Stromfang gulped, his earlier bravado regarding his TV appearance vanishing.

"A B-Rank gate? That’s... that’s instructor level."

I sat in my seat, tapping my pen against the desk, my mind racing through the game’s database.

Arthur Pendragon.

In The Eclipse of Hero, he wasn’t a villain.

He was an obstacle. He represented the "Old Guard" of the Academy—the traditionalists who believed that strength came from time, discipline, and bloodline purity.

He viewed the "Golden Generation" of the first years not as heroes, but as reckless, media-obsessed children who had gotten lucky.

And he was strong.

His affinity, [Gravity], was a high-tier variant of Earth magic. It allowed him to crush opponents without ever touching them. He was the reason the Second Years were terrifying.

"Twelve spots," Lyra Braveheart murmured, doing the math. "One is taken by Arthur. That leaves eleven. There are fifty of us in Class 1-A. And there are over a hundred Second Years in the combat track."

"It’s a cull," I said, standing up.

The class turned to look at me.

"The Selection Trials aren’t designed to find the best team," I explained, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "They’re designed to humble us. The Faculty thinks we’ve gotten big heads because of Sky Island. They want Arthur and the seniors to beat the arrogance out of us before we go to the Dwarf Kingdom."

"Let them try," Magnus Daven growled, his competitive spirit flaring. "I’m not scared of a few upperclassmen."

"You should be," I said simply, walking toward the door. "They have a year of growth on us. And they’re pissed off that we stole their spotlight."

I walked out of the lecture hall, leaving the heavy atmosphere behind.

But the hallway wasn’t much better.

The news of the Tournament and the Selection Trials had already spread. As I walked down the corridor, I felt eyes on me.

Not the adoring gazes of the lower classes. These gazes were heavy, sharp, and filled with challenge.

Second-year students.

They leaned against lockers, polished their weapons, and watched the "heroes" emerge from class. They didn’t look impressed. They looked hungry.

I ignored them, keeping my expression bored, but my [Quantum Analysis Mind] was active, scanning mana signatures.

C-Rank. C-Rank. C+ Rank.

Evelyn wasn’t lying. The average mana density of the senior class was significantly higher than ours. While our top ten were freaks of nature, their rank-and-file soldiers were solid, seasoned warriors.

I needed to prepare. Not just for the trials, but for the destination.

The Kingdom of Nidavellir. The Ironhold.

I made my way to the Great Library. It was a sanctuary of silence, a place where I could think without being asked for an autograph or challenged to a duel.

I found a secluded table in the back, hidden behind stacks of dusty tomes about Northern geography.

I pulled out a map of the Dwarf Kingdom.

It was a fortress nation, built into the tectonic spine of the world. It was the land of smiths, engineers, and unparalleled wealth.

But it was also a place of immense, ancient power.

I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes, letting the lore of the game wash over me.

In The Eclipse of Hero, the Tournament Arc wasn’t just a sporting event. It was a convergence point. A place where the plot threads of the world began to knot together.

And the center of that knot was the Divine Weapons.

"If I remember correctly," I mused, my internal monologue reciting the lore entry I had memorized years ago in my old life, "some Divine Weapon holders were mentioned in the game..."

I ticked them off on my fingers mentally.

"The Dwarf King holds the Divine Grade Weapon Mjölnir."

The Hammer of Storms and Earth. A weapon that could shatter continents. It was the symbol of the Dwarf race, and it would be there, in the capital, likely displayed during the opening ceremony.

"The Mermaid King has the Ocean Trident." Currently deep underwater, irrelevant for now.

"The Mage Tower has the Grimoire of Knowledge." The Archivist held that. It was basically a cheat code for magic.

"The Sword of Light, the first hero weapon, is in the William Family."

I paused, a dry smile touching my lips.

That was the public knowledge. That was the official lore.

The William family claimed guardianship of the Holy Sword. They believed it was safe in the Sky Island Vault, waiting for a worthy heir (Eric) to claim it.

But the timeline had changed.

I tapped the dimensional pocket on my belt.

Inside my Void Vault (which I had successfully upgraded last night using the Void-Heart Fragment), the lead-lined chest sat securely.

The Sword of Light wasn’t with the William family. It wasn’t in the Sky Island ruins.

It was in my pocket.

"The Staff of Apomyius is with the Demon King Beelzebub." A weapon of pestilence and rot.

"The Artemis Divine Bow is with the Elven Queen." High in the World Tree.

"The Soul Bracelet is with the King of Denmard."

"And lastly, the Life Crystal is with the Holy Church."

That made eight known locations.

Then there was Draken. The Dragon Sword of Doom. The weapon I held, disguised as a high-grade artifact.

"From the 12 Divine Weapons known to the people..." I thought, tracing the lines of the map.

"In the future, the Holy Sword was supposed to choose Leon Lionheart. And with me there... it makes 10 Divine Grade Weapons that will appear before the eyes of the world."

Ten.

If I went to the tournament, carrying Draken and the hidden Excalibur... and the Dwarf King brought Mjölnir... and the representatives from the Elven and Human kingdoms brought their national treasures...

The mana resonance in that stadium would be enough to crack the sky.

It was a powder keg.

And the Demon Cult knew it.

"They aren’t just targeting the students," I realized, the strategy clicking into place. "They’re targeting the weapons. They failed to get the Sword on Sky Island. So now, they’re going to the place where the other weapons are gathering."

The Tournament was a trap.

"Hey. Wilson."

The voice was deep, resonant, and carried a physical weight that made the dust motes in the library air freeze.

I opened my eyes.

Standing at the end of the aisle was a mountain of a young man.

He was huge—easily six foot five, with shoulders that strained the fabric of his black Academy blazer.

His hair was the color of dried blood, cut short and severe. His eyes were grey flint, cold and hard.

On his shoulder sat the three stars of the Student General.

Arthur Pendragon.

He didn’t have a weapon drawn. He didn’t need one.

The air around him felt heavy, compressed by his passive [Gravity] affinity. It was hard to breathe just standing near him.

He was looking down at me, his expression one of mild, bored curiosity. Like a lion looking at a particularly noisy mouse.

"Captain," I said, not standing up. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Arthur walked forward. Thud. Thud. His footsteps were heavy, echoing in the silence.

He stopped at the edge of my table. He looked at the map of the Dwarf Kingdom.

"Studying the terrain?" Arthur asked. His voice was a low rumble.

"Preparation prevents poor performance," I replied, quoting a loading screen tip.

Arthur scoffed. A short, sharp puff of air.

"You First Years," he said, shaking his head. "You think reading books and posing for cameras makes you soldiers."

He leaned down, placing his hands on the table. The wood groaned under the pressure.

"I saw the footage, Wilson. Sky Island."

I held his gaze. "And?"

"I saw Leon’s fire. I saw Eric’s shield. I saw your little squad running around setting traps."

He leaned closer.

"It was sloppy. It was desperate. And you survived because the Council bailed you out. If Vane hadn’t shown up, you’d be dead. All of you."

"Survival is a binary state, Captain," I said calmly. "Dead or alive. We’re alive. That’s not sloppy. That’s a win."

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. The gravity in the room spiked. My pen rolled across the table and fell off the edge, hitting the floor with a sound like a gunshot.

"You have a smart mouth for a commoner," Arthur said softly. "I don’t like smart mouths. I like strength. Pure, unadulterated strength."

He straightened up, the pressure easing slightly.

"Evelyn says you’re an ’Anomaly’. She says you deserve a shot at the team."

He looked me up and down, his gaze dismissive.

"I disagree. I think you’re a trickster. A mascot. And I don’t want mascots on my team. I want warriors who can stand on the line when the world is ending."

He turned his back on me.

"The Selection Trials start on Monday. Do yourself a favor, Wilson. Don’t show up. Save yourself the embarrassment of being crushed by your betters."

He walked away, his cape swirling behind him.

I watched him go.

He was strong. Ridiculously strong. His aura felt like a physical wall. He was B-Rank, easily. Maybe pushing higher.

In the game, Arthur Pendragon was a wall that Leon had to climb. A symbol of the impossible standards of the old world.

But I wasn’t Leon. I didn’t care about his approval.

I looked down at the map of the Ironhold.

"Don’t show up?" I whispered, a cold smile touching my lips.

I picked up the pen from the floor. It was cracked from the gravity pressure.

"Sorry, Captain. But I have a delivery to make."

I checked my inventory. The [Void-Heart Fragment] was still there, pulsing with dark energy.

I needed to craft. I needed to prepare.

If Arthur wanted strength, I would show him strength.

But not the kind he understood.

I stood up, gathering my maps.

The vacation was definitely over. The Tournament Arc had begun.

And I had a title to defend.

(To be continued)