The Extra Who Stole the Hero's System-Chapter 45: The Face Of Asmodeus

The severed head of Lord Sapphire lay on the ground, a testament to Herald’s terrifying power and his unwavering resolve. His words, "But it doesn’t matter, you would work with me whether you like it or not, because what I would tell you, about the cult will utterly ruins your world," it was a chilling pronouncement of my new, inescapable reality. I was no longer an extra; I was a pawn, dragged onto the main stage by a force I couldn’t comprehend, let alone try to defy.

My mind, despite the horror of the scene, immediately began to intellectualize, to calculate. Herald was undoubtedly powerful, perhaps the strongest character I had encountered. But his methods were brutal, his non-chalant attitude towards mass murder deeply unsettling. What if his fight against the cult was careless, driven by pure vengeance, putting me at unnecessary risk? My primary goal was survival, not righteous crusades.

I began to weigh the good and bad of being Herald’s apprentice.

The Good:

•Unparalleled Training: Being Herald’s student would undoubtedly boost my overall sword skills to an unimaginable degree. He was the hero’s master, after all. This was a direct, accelerated path to power, far beyond what I could achieve through conventional means or even my system’s stat boosts alone. I couldn’t always rely on the system’s overrides; physical prowess was a fundamental necessity in this world.

•Information Access: Herald clearly possessed some form of knowledge about the cult, about the true threats lurking in this world. Being his apprentice meant access to that information, understanding the enemy, which will be crucial for my survival.

•Protection, sounds paradoxical: While Herald himself was a magnet for danger, his sheer power also offered a level of protection against lesser threats. Few would dare cross him.

The Bad:

•Extreme Risk: Following Herald meant being thrust into the heart of the conflict against the Face of Asmodeus, a dangerous, insidious cult. This was the opposite of my "stay low, survive" strategy.

•Loss of Autonomy: Herald clearly intended to make me his "disciple," his "hand." My freedom, my ability to choose my own path, would be severely curtailed.

•Moral Compromise: His methods were ruthless. Would I be forced to participate in acts I found morally reprehensible? Would I become a "monster" myself?

•Exposure: While he knew that I possessed somewhat of a special ability, he doesn’t currently know the full extent of the Narrative Override Engine, which is still my secret. The problem is if he would eventually discover it? And what would he do then?

•Unpredictability: Herald was an ancient, powerful being driven by a centuries-old vendetta. His actions, while effective, seemed to lack conventional reasons.

"You talked about a storm brewing," I asked, my voice still a little shaky, but firm. "What are the objectives of this so-called cult?" I needed to compare their motives in this timeline to what I knew from the novel. If their goals were the same, then perhaps I could just do what the original protagonist, I would simply use the system to replicate the hero’s final victory – was still viable, making Herald’s forced apprenticeship less necessary.

In the novel, the Face of Asmodeus’s main aim was clear: to gather all fourteen shard crystals. These crystals, scattered across the continent, formed the ancient barrier that separated the demon realm from the human realm. The cult wanted to collect them all, dismantle the barrier, and merge the two realms, ushering in the reign of the Demon Lord Asmodeus, their dark deity. It was a clear, apocalyptic goal.

Herald turned his head. "Objectives?" he repeated, a faint, almost dismissive chuckle escaping him. "I truly don’t know much about their grand schemes. They are a shadowy organization, their motives often shrouded in layers of deceit. But they seem to be consistently targeting the shard crystals. It has to have something to do with the demon realm."

My heart sank. "You truly don’t know much?" That was a shocking admission. The novel had portrayed Herald as having an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the cult, their history, their plans. Was this a lie? Or had the ’Reality Divergence’ already altered the narrative so significantly that even Herald’s knowledge base was affected? If he didn’t know their full objectives, then my plan to simply replicate the hero’s ending using the system was far riskier. I couldn’t assume their goals remained the same.

I couldn’t get any reasonable, comprehensive answer from him. The vague, almost dismissive response left me with more questions than answers. I decided to stick with the original cult motive for now, as my working theory. If their goal was indeed to merge the two realms and usher in the Demon Lord’s reign, then perhaps I could still do exactly what the hero did at the end of the novel using the system. Following Herald wouldn’t be strictly necessary to defeat the Demon Lord, only to survive the immediate threats. But that’s if the cult’s objectives truly remained the same. I couldn’t brush off Herald right off. He was still a powerful, vital piece of the puzzle, even if his knowledge was incomplete or his methods extreme.

My gaze drifted to Lord Sapphire’s lifeless body, then to the scattered, broken forms of his guards. Herald’s actions were driven by something profound, something ancient. I needed to understand his motives, to assess if his reasons for fighting the cult aligned with the novel’s original narrative, or if they too had diverged.

In the novel, Herald’s crusade was born from a singular, devastating trauma. He was once a war hero in the Great War of Unification, a brilliant strategist and a formidable warrior. During the war’s ending periods, he made a fateful encounter with a cult member. This encounter led to the brutal, instantaneous death of everyone at his battle camp – his comrades, his friends, his lover, everyone he knew and loved – except for him. He was the sole survivor, left to witness the carnage, to carry the weight of their loss. He was driven by a primal rage, a centuries-old vendetta against the cult that had stolen everything from him. It was a story of profound loss and unwavering, burning revenge.

"Is it revenge you want, Herald?" I asked, my voice low and probing. "Or do you want to satisfy your own sense of justice?"

Herald turned fully towards me. His expression was unreadable, but a profound, ancient weariness seemed to settle over him. He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he began to ask me questions, his voice a low, almost hypnotic murmur, each question a probe into the depths of my own understanding of loss and vengeance.

"What will you do to a man that killed ten people you knew?"

"If forgiveness won’t bring them back, then what’s the point of letting go?"

"Would you still call it justice if it meant becoming the very monster you hated?"

"Do you think the dead would want you to carry their pain... or bury it with them?"

Each question was striking the core of my own moral compass, forcing me to confront the darkness within myself, the rage that had driven me to kill the assassin. I had no answers. Not truly. My experiences, my understanding of loss, were minuscule compared to his centuries of pain.

Herald watched me, as I struggled with the weight of his questions. He knew. He knew I couldn’t answer them. He knew I couldn’t comprehend the depth of his suffering.

"If you can’t answer all these questions," Herald finally concluded, his voice calm, yet utterly definitive, "then you can’t feel what I felt more than three hundred years ago. Then never ask me what I seek from finding the cult."