The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 238: THE IRON-HORSE

Chapter 233: The Iron-Horse

The rhythmic thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum of the magi-tech engine was a constant vibration beneath my boots, a stark contrast to the silent, gliding elegance of the Celestial Wind airship we had taken to Sky Island.

If the airship was a floating palace designed for luxury, the Iron-Horse was a fortress on wheels designed for war.

The interior of the carriage was clad in riveted steel and dark mahogany.

The windows were reinforced with mana-hardened glass, thick enough to stop a ballista bolt. Outside, the world was blurring past in streaks of grey and white.

I sat near the back of the carriage, leaning my head against the cool glass.

The lush green plains of the central continent were long gone.

In their place rose the jagged, unforgiving peaks of the Northern Mountain Range—the natural barrier that separated the human kingdoms from the Dravunmir Dwarf Kingdom.

"It’s getting colder," Maria whispered, pulling her Arcadia Academy coat tighter around her shoulders.

She sat across from me, her breath already starting to mist in the air.

"It’s not just the temperature," I said quietly, keeping my voice low. "Look outside."

She turned to the window. The scenery wasn’t just snowy; it was oppressive.

The mountains here didn’t look like natural formations.

They looked like teeth. Sharp, jagged spires of black rock jutted out of the snow, twisting into unnatural shapes.

The sky above was a heavy, slate grey, swirling with clouds that looked more like industrial smog than water vapor.

[Warning: Environmental Mana Density Increasing.]

[Gravity Distortion Detected: 1.2x Standard Earth Norm.]

The blue holographic window flickered in the corner of my vision. I dismissed it with a thought.

So, it begins.

The Northern Continent. .

In the original novel, this was often referred to as the "Graveyard of the Weak."

The ambient mana here was denser, heavier, and laced with metallic particles from the thousands of years of dwarven industry and ancient volcanic activity.

For a normal human, just breathing this air was exhausting. For a mage, it felt like swimming through mercury.

I glanced around the carriage.

The Arcadia Representative Team. Twelve students selected to stand against the best the world had to offer.

Leon Lionheart sat near the front, staring intently at the map on the central table.

His golden eyes were bright, unbothered by the pressure.

If anything, his aura seemed to be reacting to the environment, flaring slightly to push back the heavy atmosphere. Typical protagonist physiology.

Beside him, Aiden Stromfang was already asleep, snoring loudly.

The guy had the survival instincts of a bear; he’d probably wake up stronger.

But the others weren’t faring as well.

Eric William looked pale.

He was gripping the armrest of his seat, his knuckles white.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple despite the chill.

As a noble used to the refined mana of the capital, this raw, dirty energy was likely wreaking havoc on his mana circuits.

"Are you alright, Lord William?"

The voice cut through the drone of the engine. It was smooth, commanding, and laced with an unspoken pressure that rivaled the gravity outside.

Arthur Pendragon.

The Second Year, Class A. The Captain of our team. And the scion of the legendary Pendragon family.

Arthur stood up from his seat at the head of the carriage.

He was tall, with hair the color of spun gold and eyes like polished sapphires. He wore the black uniform with a natural grace that made it look like royal armor.

He didn’t just stand; he loomed.

Eric flinched, straightening his posture immediately.

"I am fine, Captain. Just... adjusting."

Arthur didn’t smile.

He walked down the aisle, his boots clicking sharply on the metal floor.

Varkas, the Vice-Captain and a man who looked more like a bandit than a student, watched silently from the shadows, cleaning a dagger.

Gareth, the massive tank who took up two seats, simply grunted.

"Adjusting," Arthur repeated, stopping in the center of the car.

He looked at the First Years—at me, Maria, Leon, Lyra, Aiden, Seraphina, and Eric. "Do you think the Imperial Institute will give you time to adjust? Do you think the Dwarves will pause the tournament so you can catch your breath?"

The silence in the carriage was heavy. Even Aiden stopped snoring, cracking one eye open.

"We are crossing the border," Arthur said, his voice dropping an octave.

"The gravity in the Dwarf Kingdom is roughly twenty percent higher than in Arcadia. The mana is volatile. Your spells will misfire. Your stamina will drain twice as fast. And the people we are going to fight?"

He paused, letting the question hang in the air.

"They were born in this," Elara Vance said. She was sitting near the window, her legs crossed.

She was a Second Year Wind Mage and Kaelen’s cousin, though she lacked his timid nature. She was sharp, agile, and currently levitating a small coin between her fingers to test the air resistance.

"The Dwarves, the Northern Barbarians, the students from the Ironblood Academy... for them, this is a playground. for us, it’s a swamp."

"Correct," Arthur nodded to Elara. "We are the visitors here. We are the soft, pampered children of the South in their eyes. The Sky Island incident gave us a reputation, yes. But reputations don’t block swords."

He turned his gaze specifically to us, the First Years.

"I don’t care that you are First Years. I don’t care that you are prodigies in your own classes. On this train, you are soldiers of Arcadia. If you fall behind, if you embarrass the Academy because you couldn’t handle a little gravity... I will leave you on the platform."

It was a harsh speech, but necessary.

Arthur Pendragon wasn’t a tyrant, but he was a perfectionist. In the novel, his pride was his greatest strength and his fatal flaw.

He viewed victory not as a goal, but as a requirement of his existence.

"We understand," Leon said, standing up. He met Arthur’s gaze without flinching. "We won’t let you down."

Arthur held his gaze for a moment, then nodded once. "Good. Get some rest. We arrive at the Ironhold in two hours. I want everyone in full gear before we dock.".

He turned and sat back down. The tension in the room dissipated slightly, but the physical weight remained.

I shifted in my seat, opening my status window mentally.

[Status]

Name: Michael Wilson

Rank: E+

Strength: C+

Agility: B-

Stamina: C+

Mana: B

Charm: C

(Note: Stats adjusted by [The Extra’s Deception]. True stats are hidden.)

My real stats were hovering in the A- rank range now, thanks to the hellish training with Master Thorne and the rewards from the Sky Island Arc.

The gravity here... I felt it, but it wasn’t debilitating. It felt like wearing a weighted vest during a warm-up.

However, I had to play the part.

I let out a slightly ragged breath, wiping fake sweat from my forehead. "Intense guy," I muttered to Maria.

Maria looked at me, her blue eyes analyzing my face. She was sharp. Sometimes too sharp. "You look less affected than Eric," she noted.

"I have good endurance," I lied smoothly. "Used to run with weights."

"Is that so?" She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push it. She turned back to her book, though I noticed her hand was glowing faintly with frost mana.

She was acclimating herself, cooling her internal temperature to match the environment. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Smart.

I looked out the window again. We were entering a tunnel.

The world went black, save for the magi-lights flickering inside the carriage.

This Tournament on the surface, it was a sports festival. A "Mini-Olympics" designed to foster peace between the nations. But I knew the script.

The "Peace" was a façade.

The Dwarf King, Thorgar Stoneforge III, was losing his grip on his kingdom.

The conservative faction of the Dwarves wanted to close the borders. The radical faction wanted to expand. And lurking in the shadows of the smog-filled capital was the Demon Cult.

They weren’t just here to cause chaos. They were here for something specific.

I tapped my finger on my knee.

I had the Breaker’s Hammer in my inventory—a B-Rank item specifically designed to shatter constructs and heavy armor.

Thorne had given it to me for a reason. He knew what kind of enemies lurked in the Ironhold. Not just dwarves, but golems. And... things that wore iron skin.

Clang.

The train emerged from the tunnel.

The light that flooded the carriage wasn’t sunlight. It was the glow of molten fire and magi-tech neon.

We had arrived at the outer rim of the Dwarf Kingdom.

"Look at that," Jax, the Second Year Rogue, whistled from the back.

Below the train tracks, a massive valley opened up.

But it wasn’t a valley of nature. It was a valley of industry. Massive pipes, thick as skyscrapers, snaked across the landscape, pumping steam and mana.

Great foundries belched orange fire into the sky. And in the center of it all, rising like a mountain of steel and stone, was the Ironhold. The capital city.

It was ugly. It was magnificent. It smelled of sulfur and money.

"Arrival in ten minutes," the conductor’s voice crackled over the speaker. "Prepare for disembarkation."

I stood up, stretching my limbs. The gravity pulled at my bones, demanding acknowledgment.

"Ready?" Leon asked, stepping up beside me. He was grinning. The sight of the city had ignited his fighting spirit.

"Ready as I’ll ever be," I replied, checking the hidden pockets of my coat.

Daggers. Potions. Flash bombs. Wire.

I wasn’t here to win a trophy. I was here to make sure my friends didn’t die when the confetti turned to ash.

"Let’s go," Arthur commanded.

The Iron-Horse began to slow, its brakes screeching like a dying dragon. We were entering the belly of the beast.

As the train hissed to a halt, I felt a familiar sensation prickle at the back of my neck. My Quantum Analysis Mind pinged softly, not a warning, but a notification of observation.

Someone was watching the train. Not with eyes, but with mana. A scan.

Is it the Dwarves? Or the Cult?

I kept my face impassive, blending into the background behind Leon and Arthur. The best place for an Extra was in the shadow of the Hero. From there, I could see everything.

The doors hissed open. The smell of coal, roasted meat, and ozone hit us like a physical wall.

"Welcome to the Ironhold," Varkas grunted, stepping out first.

I followed, stepping onto the metal platform. The ground vibrated.

The game had officially changed. The tutorial was over. This was the real world.

(To be continued)