The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 314: THE SCAPEGOAT
Chapter 310: The Scapegoat
The summons arrived at dawn, carried not by a messenger, but by a pulse of mana that vibrated the very walls of the Guest Spire.
" The High Council requires your presence in the Hall of Verdicts," Captain Aelion announced, the door to our quarters sliding open. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not cast magic. And do not look Elder Valen in the eye."
We were marched out of the Spire, flanked by a dozen Silver Guards.
The city of Sylvaren was waking up, the bioluminescent moss on the buildings dimming as the artificial "sun" crystal above the World Tree began to glow. To the citizens we passed, we were a curiosity—a battered human hero, a commoner, and two changed girls. They didn’t see the rot beneath the silver plating. They only saw the glamour.
"Look at them," Maria whispered, her breath misting in the morning air. "Smiling. Trading. Existing. They are walking on a necro-layer of dead roots and they don’t even know the ground is hollow."
"Ignorance is efficient," Selena replied, her eyes scanning the structural integrity of the bridges we crossed. "Knowledge of imminent collapse would reduce productivity by 48\%."
I kept my head down, my [Quantum Analysis Mind] active. We were being led toward the base of the World Tree, to a massive amphitheater grown from the roots themselves.
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The Hall of Verdicts
The Hall was a masterpiece of intimidation. The seats were carved from white marble, rising in concentric circles around a central podium. Above, the canopy of the World Tree formed a natural dome, though I could see the leaves there were turning a sickly grey.
At the center of the podium stood Elder Valen.
He was tall, even for a High Elf, wearing robes of woven moonlight and silver. He held a staff topped with a crystal that pulsed with the authority of the Council. He didn’t look like a villain; he looked like a grandfather. A benevolent, wise, and absolutely ruthless grandfather.
"Bring forth the witnesses," Valen commanded, his voice amplified by the acoustics of the roots.
We were shoved onto the podium.
"Leon Lionheart," Valen said, looking down at us from his raised dais. "You claim to be a Hero. You claim to have saved the Princess Selena from the ’Rot’ you say infects our lands."
"It’s not a claim," Leon said, stepping forward, his voice echoing with righteous anger. "We fought the Beastmaster. We saw the infection in the Heart-Root. The King—"
"The King is ill," Valen cut him off smoothly. "His mind is clouded by the Shadow-Fever. He imagines enemies where there are only loyal servants."
Valen raised his staff. The air in the center of the amphitheater shimmered, coalescing into a massive magical projection.
The image resolved into a woman. She was kneeling in a cell, bound by glowing vines that dug into her skin. Her robes were torn, her face pale, but her eyes were defiant.
Leon gasped. "Professor Lysandra!"
It was our mentor. The woman who had taught us the history of Arcadia, who had warned us about the dangers of the North.
"We found the source of the corruption," Valen announced to the assembled nobles and guards in the stands. "It was not a natural decay. It was an assassination attempt."
He gestured to a table where several items lay displayed: a black crystal vial, a dagger etched with Void runes, and a journal bound in human skin.
"These were found in the private quarters of Professor Lysandra, the human ’scholar’ sent by Arcadia Academy," Valen declared. "She has been conducting rituals to infect the Spirit Roots, weakening the King to pave the way for a human takeover."
"Lies!" Leon roared, his hand reaching for his sword hilt before remembering it had been confiscated. "She loves this city! She’s the one who told us to save it!"
"A clever ruse," Valen sneered. "She sent you into the wilderness to die, hoping to martyr a ’Hero’ to start a war. But we found her out."
I watched the projection, my mind racing. It was sloppy. Too neat. A classic "Frame the Mentor" setup straight out of a B-Tier political drama.
"Michael," Maria whispered, the temperature around her dropping dangerously. "The artifacts. They are emitting a thermal signature consistent with the Nether-Forge. Lysandra is a Light Mage. She cannot touch Void artifacts without burning her hands."
"I know," I murmured. "It’s a plant."
"Analysis," Selena’s voice cut in, monotone and rapid. "The journal displayed on the table is bound in ’leather from the Western Plains.’ Professor Lysandra is a vegetarian and refuses to use animal products. Probability of ownership: 0.003\%. Conclusion: Fabricated Evidence."
"We know it’s fake," I hissed. "But the crowd doesn’t."
I looked at the nobles in the stands. They were murmuring in anger, glaring at the projection of Lysandra. Valen had played them perfectly. He gave them a villain they could understand—a foreign human witch—so they wouldn’t look at the rotting tree behind her.
"Elder Valen!" I stepped forward, projecting my voice. "If she is the culprit, why haven’t you executed her? Why hold a trial?"
Valen looked at me, his eyes cold. "Because the High Arbiter, Valessia Dawncree, requires a confession before a soul can be judged. Lysandra has refused to speak."
He leaned forward, his benevolent mask slipping just enough to reveal the shark beneath.
"But the World Tree demands justice. In three days, at the height of the Lunar Eclipse, Professor Lysandra will be subjected to the Root-Strangulation. She will be fed to the Tree to replenish the mana she stole."
"Three days?" Leon choked out. "You’re going to kill her in three days?"
"Unless," Valen smiled, "you can prove otherwise. But be warned, humans. The Royal Archives are sealed. The King is dying. And you are merely guests."
He slammed his staff down.
"The session is adjourned. Take them back to the Spire. And double the guard on the traitor Lysandra."
As we were marched back to the Spire, the weight of the situation settled on us.
"They’re going to kill her," Leon whispered, pacing the room. "They framed her because she knows something. She must have found the source."
"She found the backdoor," I said, sitting by the window and turning the King’s signet ring in my hand. "Lysandra is an Archeologist. She probably dug too deep into the history of the Blood Elves and found out exactly what Valen is doing."
"Then we go get her," Maria said. She was standing by the door, tracing the grain of the wood with a finger that was turning the timber white with frost. "I can freeze the lock on the dungeon. We shatter the bars, take the Professor, and leave this city."
"Inefficient," Selena countered. She was sitting on the floor, disassembling and reassembling her scythe with mechanical precision. "The dungeon is located beneath the Spirit Roots. It is guarded by two A-Rank constructs. A frontal assault has a survival probability of 12\%. Furthermore, rescuing the target does not solve the primary objective: The Rot."
"Selena is right," I said. "If we break her out, we’re just fugitives. We need to clear her name. And to do that, we need to know what she knows."
I looked at the group.
"We need to visit the prison," I said. "Tonight."
"The prison is maximum security," Leon noted. "How do we get in without starting a war?"
I pulled a small, shimmering piece of fabric from my inventory—a remnant of the Void Silk I had harvested from the Spider Queen back in Arc 3, combined with the stealth materials I had gathered in the Iron Wilderness.
"We don’t fight our way in," I said. "We walk in. I’ve been working on a little crafting project."
I held up the fabric. It rippled, blending perfectly with the background until it seemed to vanish.
[Item: Void Stealth Cloak (Prototype)]
[Rank: B]
[Effect: Renders the user invisible to optical and mana-based detection for 10 minutes.]
"Maria, I need you to create a diversion," I said. "Something loud. Something bright. Something that pulls the Silver Guard away from the dungeon entrance."
Maria smiled. It was a terrifying expression that didn’t reach her dead eyes.
"A diversion?" She raised her hand, a ball of blue fire-ice spinning in her palm. "I can provide a catastrophe. Will that suffice?"
"Perfect," I said. "Leon, Selena, you’re with me. We’re going to have a little chat with the Professor."
The Scapegoat was the lock. The Royal Archives were the key. And we were about to break both.
(To be Continued)
