The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 247: THE KING’S SPEECH
Chapter 242: The King’s Speech
The echo of the match announcements hung in the air like smoke.
Arcadia Academy vs. Steel Wall Bastion.
The home crowd was still buzzing, a low-frequency vibration that rattled the fillings in my teeth. They weren’t just happy; they were predatory. They had drawn the "fallen heroes" of Sky Island for the first round, and they intended to eat us alive.
"A tough draw," Arthur Pendragon murmured, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood like a statue amidst the chaos of the arena floor, his eyes fixed on the opposing team. "The Steel Wall is known for attrition. They don’t win quickly; they suffocate you."
"Let them try," Varkas grunted, cracking his knuckles. The sound was like a gunshot.
But before the strategy talk could begin, a hush fell over the stadium. It wasn’t the silence of anticipation; it was the silence of submission.
High above us, in the floating glass fortress of the VIP box, King Thorgar Stoneforge III rose from his throne.
The movement was slow, heavy. Every inch of his plate armor ground against itself. To the three hundred thousand spectators, he looked like a titan of old, a living mountain of iron and beard. But to me, watching with the cold, analytical eyes of an Extra, he looked like a man wading through invisible tar.
"Citizens of the Ironhold!"
Thorgar’s voice didn’t need a magical amplifier to command attention, though the runes carved into the stadium walls certainly helped carrying it. It was a voice that sounded like tectonic plates shifting.
"Guests from the Twelve Lands! Students of the Blade and the Art!"
He raised his hands. The gauntlets were intricately carved with the history of his clan.
"You come here seeking glory. You come here seeking gold. But the Ironhold offers neither to the weak."
He turned slightly, gesturing to a pedestal covered in a velvet cloth that had risen beside his throne.
"For centuries, the Grand Continental Tournament has been a test. A crucible to separate the slag from the steel. But this year... this year is different."
He gripped the cloth.
"The world grows dark," Thorgar rumbled, his voice dropping an octave, becoming somber. "Shadows lengthen in the corners of our kingdoms. We do not need athletes this year. We need warriors. We need Legends."
He pulled the cloth away.
CRACK-BOOM.
A bolt of lightning, pure and blindingly blue, struck the VIP box from the artificial sky dome. It didn’t shatter the glass; it passed through it, absorbed by the object on the pedestal.
There, resting on a block of unrefined adamantite, was a hammer.
It wasn’t large—perhaps only slightly bigger than a standard war mallet. But the presence it exuded was heavier than the entire Colosseum. It was crafted from a metal that seemed to shift between grey and storm-blue. Runes of ancient power pulsed along the handle, breathing with a rhythm that matched the thrumming of the city’s core.
The Divine Weapon: Mjölnir. (Or at least, this world’s interpretation of it).
"The Hammer of Storms," Leon whispered beside me. His golden eyes were locked onto the weapon, his pupils dilated. "I can feel it. It’s... singing."
"Stop staring," I nudged him with my elbow. "It’s not for you. It’s a prop."
"It’s beautiful," Maria breathed, the frost mana around her reacting to the storm mana of the hammer.
King Thorgar placed his hand on the handle. He didn’t lift it—he couldn’t, not in his condition—but just the contact sent a shockwave of pressure rolling across the arena.
"The victor of this tournament," Thorgar announced, "shall not only receive the title of Grand Champion. They shall be granted an audience with the Ancestors. And they shall be given the chance... to lift the Hammer." 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶
The crowd erupted.
"To lift Mjölnir is to be recognized as a King!" Gareth shouted over the noise. "He’s offering succession? Is he stepping down?"
"No," Arthur said sharply. "He’s desperate."
Arthur was right. A King didn’t offer his symbol of power unless he had no other choice.
While the students of the twelve academies stared at the weapon with greed and awe in their eyes, I shifted my gaze.
I looked at the King.
[Skill Activated: Quantum Analysis Mind]
The world desaturated. The colors bled away, replaced by the stark blue grid of mana flow.
I zoomed in on Thorgar.
[Target: Thorgar Stoneforge III]
[Race: High Dwarf]
[Rank: SS (Suppressed)]
[Status: Critical]
The data streamed into my mind, fast and ugly.
His mana core, usually a burning furnace of earth and fire energy, was choked. A web of black veins—Nether Parasites—was wrapped around his heart and lungs. They were pulsing, siphoning his vitality and feeding it... somewhere else.
I followed the flow. The mana wasn’t just vanishing; it was being transmitted.
My eyes traced the invisible black thread from the King’s chest, backward, into the shadows of the VIP box.
There stood the "Advisor" I had noticed earlier. A tall figure in deep crimson robes, standing perfectly still in the dark corner behind the throne.
[Scan Blocked]
[Mental Interference Detected]
I gritted my teeth, pushing more mana into my eyes. Break it.
The scan flickered, penetrating the outer layer of the robe’s concealment enchantment.
[Target: Unknown]
[Race: Demon (Disguised)]
[Rank: General Class]
[Affinity: Mind / Shadow]
My breath hitched.
It wasn’t just an advisor. It was a Demon General. Standing right there. Five feet from the Emperor of the Human Empire, ten feet from the High King.
And then, the figure moved.
The Advisor turned his head. He looked through the glass, down at the arena floor.
He looked directly at me.
A spike of ice slammed into my brain.
[Warning: Psychological Attack Detected.]
[Passive Skill ’The Extra’s Irrelevance’ is mitigating damage.]
I stumbled, grabbing Leon’s shoulder to steady myself.
"Wilson?" Leon looked at me, concerned. "You okay? The pressure too much?"
"I’m fine," I lied, blinking away the static in my vision. "Just... the lightning. It was bright."
I lowered my gaze immediately. He saw me. Or he sensed the scan.
I had made a mistake. I had peeked behind the curtain, and the thing looking back was way above my pay grade.
King Thorgar released the hammer. The lightning faded, but the static charge remained in the air.
"Prepare yourselves!" Thorgar shouted, his voice straining. "The path to the throne is paved with broken blades! Let the First Stage... BEGIN!"
He slumped back into his throne, exhausted by the mere act of standing. The Advisor stepped forward, placing a hand on the King’s shoulder—a gesture that looked comforting to the crowd, but I knew was a re-application of the control spell.
The crystal screens flared to life.
[MATCH 1]
[Solaris Blade Academy]
[VS]
[Verdant Glade Institute]
"Clear the field!" Grandmaster Brokk bellowed.
The teams began to file out toward the waiting rooms.
"Let’s go," Arthur said, turning his back on the King. "We have strategies to discuss. The Steel Wall won’t be easy."
As we walked into the dark tunnel, leaving the blinding light of the arena behind, the image of the King burned in my mind.
He wasn’t ruling the kingdom. He was a battery. And the Demon General was draining him dry to power... what? The gate? The invasion?
"Michael," Eric William whispered, walking beside me. He looked shaken. "Did you see the King’s shadow?"
I froze. "What?"
"When the lightning struck," Eric said, his voice trembling. "For a second. His shadow... it didn’t match his body. It looked... horned."
I looked at Eric. The pompous, arrogant noble who usually couldn’t see past his own reflection. He had high mana sensitivity—a trait of the William bloodline.
"You’re imagining things, Eric," I said quietly. "It was just the light."
"No," Eric insisted, clutching his staff. "I know dark mana when I see it. My great-uncle died to it. The King is..."
"Eric," I cut him off, grabbing his arm. I pulled him close, speaking directly into his ear. "If you value your life, you never speak of that again. Not here. Not ever."
Eric looked at me, wide-eyed. He saw the seriousness in my face. He swallowed hard and nodded.
"Good," I said, letting him go. "Focus on the match. If we lose to the dwarves, the King’s shadow is the last thing you’ll need to worry about."
We entered the Arcadia locker room. It was a stone bunker, smelling of cold iron.
Arthur immediately went to the whiteboard.
"Steel Wall Bastion," Arthur began, drawing a formation. "They use a Phalanx Turtle strategy. Five heavy shields in front, Geomancers in the back. They grind you down until you make a mistake."
"Boring," Leon muttered, testing the edge of his sword. "I’ll smash through them."
"You will not," Arthur corrected. "Their shields are enchanted to reflect kinetic force. The harder you hit, the harder you get thrown back."
"So what do we do?" Varkas asked.
Arthur looked at me. "Wilson. The environmental report."
I stepped forward. I had downloaded the arena schematics during the Opening Ceremony while pretending to fix my glove.
"The arena for the first round isn’t sand," I said, projecting a hologram from my wrist-com. "It’s a variable-terrain plate. For the match against Steel Wall, the algorithm has selected The Iron Grid."
"The Grid?" Elara asked.
"A floor made of shifting metal grates over a pool of molten slag," I explained. "Heat vents erupt randomly. Visibility is low due to steam."
"Perfect for dwarves," Gareth groaned. " terrible for us."
"Exactly," I nodded. "They have heat resistance and magnetic boots. We don’t."
I paused.
"However," I continued, reaching into my Void Vault (disguised as my bag). "I anticipated this."
I pulled out a box of small, silver disks.
"What are those?" Rion—no, wait, Rion was Solaris. This was Jax. "What are those?" Jax asked.
"Thermal Insulators," I said. "Attach them to your soles. They create a thin layer of cryo-mana. It won’t freeze the floor, but it will stop your boots from melting. And..."
I held up a second item. A bag of sand.
"Sand?" Eric scoffed. "What are we going to do, throw it in their eyes?"
"It’s not sand," I said. "It’s powdered glass mixed with iron filings. When the Geomancers try to pull earth from below the grate, you scatter this. It disrupts the mana bond. Their walls will crumble."
Arthur looked at me. A slow smile spread across his face.
"Dirty," he said. "I like it."
"It’s not dirty," I said, deadpan. "It’s chemistry."
[OUTSIDE - THE ARENA]
The gong sounded.
SOLARIS BLADE ACADEMY vs. VERDANT GLADE INSTITUTE
We watched on the monitor.
The Verdant Glade team—the elves—took the field. They immediately summoned vines and roots, trying to turn the iron floor into a garden.
But Solaris...
Rion Blazeheart stepped forward. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked intense, almost feverish.
"Burn," he whispered.
His team unleashed a torrent of fire. But it wasn’t the clean, orange flame of standard magic. It was streaked with black veins.
The Elven vines didn’t just burn; they shriveled and rotted instantly. The fire spread across the iron grid like living liquid.
"That’s not normal fire," Elara noted, watching the screen with horror. "The mana signature... it feels sick."
I watched closely. Rion’s neck was pulsing. The Nether injection was active.
The Elves stood no chance. In three minutes, it was over. The Verdant Glade team was carried out on stretchers, suffering from mana burns that wouldn’t heal with normal potions.
WINNER: SOLARIS BLADE ACADEMY
The crowd roared, loving the brutality.
"They’re strong," Leon said, his grip tightening on his sword. "Stronger than at the tavern."
"They’re cheating," I muttered under my breath.
The screen flashed.
NEXT MATCH:
ARCADIA ACADEMY vs. STEEL WALL BASTION
"It’s time," Arthur said. "Helmets on."
We stood up.
I checked my gear. My Breaker’s Hammer was ready. My boots were modified. And my pendant... well, hopefully, I wouldn’t need the suicide-prevention runes I’d installed last night.
As we walked to the tunnel, I looked back at the monitor one last time.
The camera panned to the VIP box. The King was slumped in his throne, looking like a corpse. The Advisor was gone.
He’s moving, I realized. The General is on the move.
But I couldn’t chase him. I had five angry dwarves with tower shields waiting to crush my ribs.
"One problem at a time," I told myself.
I stepped out into the heat.
(To be continued)
