The Extra's Rise-Chapter 85: Homecoming I

The Slatemark Empire spanned the entirety of the Central Continent, the largest and arguably the most influential of the five continents. Home to nearly three billion of the world's ten billion people, it was a beacon of prosperity. Unlike the other continents, which grappled constantly with miasmic species and cults, the Central Continent had been spared such chaos. As a result, the Empire flourished, offering its citizens a quality of life unmatched anywhere else.

At the heart of this empire was Avalon City—the capital. A sprawling metropolis housing thirty million people, it accounted for one percent of the Empire's entire population. Covering fifty thousand square kilometers, Avalon wasn't just a city; it was a world unto itself.

My only other point of reference for a city like this was Luminarc, one of the Northern Continent's twin capitals. Luminarc was grand, yes, but Avalon? Avalon was on a completely different level. Its scale, its technological marvels, its effortless blend of futuristic design and serene living—it was in a league of its own.

And it was here that my family lived. Well, Arthur's family, technically.

Arthur's father was a knight captain as well as a guild master—a mid-Integration rank swordsman and a six-star adventurer. He headed a reputable guild that brought in enough money to comfortably cover the exorbitant fees of Mythos Academy. In other words, they were rich. Very rich.

I booked a self-driving car to take me to their—our—home. The journey through Avalon was a spectacle in itself. Towering skyscrapers loomed above me, their sleek designs glinting in the soft light of the afternoon. Automated drones flitted through the air, delivering packages with perfect precision. The streets below were immaculate, bustling with life yet strangely quiet due to the whisper-quiet electric vehicles zipping along their dedicated lanes. It was peaceful in a way I hadn't expected. Serene, even.

The car eventually pulled up to the apartment complex—a highly secure, ultra-modern skyscraper that screamed "old money meets cutting-edge tech." This was where my parents and sister lived: a penthouse apartment at the top of one of the towers. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disbelief. Arthur's family really was well-off. No, scratch that. They were downright loaded.

The car dropped me off at the tower's lounge, a spacious, marble-floored area staffed by perfectly polite AI concierges. After verifying my identity, I took the elevator up to the 40th floor—the highest—and stepped out into the quiet hallway that led to the apartment.

I rang the doorbell.

It didn't take long for the door to open, and I was immediately engulfed in a warm, tight embrace.

"You're back!" came a melodious voice, full of joy and relief.

"Mom," I said, recognizing her instantly as I hugged her back.

There's something about a mother's embrace—warm, comforting, and, if I'm honest, almost magical. No matter how much of a mess your life is, it makes the world seem a little less terrible.

"It's been so long, Arthur," she said as we finally pulled apart, her eyes glistening with happiness. She looked like an older, softer version of me—same black hair, though hers was far more elegant, and the same striking blue eyes.

"Whoa, you're back!" my sister exclaimed as she popped out from behind our mother like an overly excitable jack-in-the-box.

Aria Nightingale, fourteen years old, a year younger than me and far too full of energy for this time of day. She was already Mid Orange-rank in mana, which, while impressive for her age, still left her just shy of the level required for top-tier academies like Mythos or Slatemark. Not that she seemed to care. Aria looked like a younger, bouncier version of Mom—same dark hair, same sharp blue eyes, and a face full of youthful mischief that practically screamed, I'm going to annoy you at every opportunity.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, trying to redirect her attention before she said something snarky.

"Working late," Mom replied with a small sigh. "Come on, Arthur, get yourself settled. Oh, and we got your grades."

I froze mid-step. Grades? My brain briefly derailed, trying to remember if I'd done anything particularly stupid during the theory exams.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

"Not ranks," Aria clarified, rolling her eyes with the sort of exasperation that only a younger sibling can truly perfect. "Honestly, it's written all over your face, you battle-obsessed maniac."

"Aria," Mom said, turning to her with a mild glare that instantly put her in her place. "Be nice to your brother." Then, looking back at me, she smiled. "Arthur, you did very well on your theory exams. We're proud of you. And we heard you've temporarily been ranked first, though it might change."

"It will, Mother," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Rank 1's a bit out of reach."

"Even so, you're doing very well," she said, her smile softening into something warmer. "You're in Class A with all those geniuses and royals... That's no small feat. Now, come, let's talk."

Aria tagged along as the three of us settled into the spacious living room. She looked far too excited, like a kid who knew Christmas was coming early and couldn't wait to start tearing into the presents.

"I heard about the demon baroness," Mom said after a moment, her voice quieter now. She took my hand, her fingers curling tightly around mine. There was a weight to her words—a mother's worry, unspoken but loud enough to feel. "You defeated her, didn't you?"

"I had help," I admitted. "Rachel and Cecilia were with me."

"Wait, princesses Rachel Creighton and Cecilia Slatemark?" Aria gasped, her eyes wide with equal parts admiration and disbelief. "Wow! You're friends with celebrities! That's so cool!"

"Well... kind of," I said, already regretting how long this conversation was going to last.

"Wait, didn't you visit Princess Rachel's estate during fall break?" Mom asked, her head tilting slightly as if trying to recall the details. "While we were traveling for Aria's academy visits?"

"I did," I said, bracing myself.

Aria's face lit up like someone had just handed her the juiciest gossip in the world. "So, what's she like? Is she as beautiful as the pictures? Oh! And what about Cecilia? Everyone says she's gorgeous and terrifying!"

"Aria," Mom interrupted gently, though there was a knowing smile on her face. "Let your brother breathe."

"Fine," Aria grumbled, sitting back but still practically vibrating with curiosity. "But we're going to talk about this later."

"Rachel is very kind and nice," I said, trying to sound as neutral as possible. "And yes, she's beautiful, but more than that, she really lives up to the image of a Saintess."

'Though sometimes she's terrifying,' I added silently, the memory of her and Cecilia bickering in the middle of a battle flashing through my mind. A Saintess she might be, but she had her moments.

"So, Arthur, do you like any girls?" my mother asked, a smile playing on her lips. It wasn't the teasing kind of smile—it was worse. It was the encouraging kind. The kind that promised this conversation wouldn't end anytime soon.

"No," I said quickly, sitting up straighter, trying to project the aura of a man who had no time for such frivolities.

"Oh, come on!" Aria piped up, practically bouncing in her seat. "You're surrounded by the prettiest girls! You've got to like one of them. Invite some of them over for a party or something!"

"You just want their autographs," I said, narrowing my eyes at her. She responded with a pout so exaggerated it could've won awards.

"Anyway," I said, brushing off the topic, "I'm friends with three girls. But that's it. Just friends."

"Oh, which ones?" my mother asked, her curiosity piqued. Aria, of course, leaned forward, her blue eyes sparkling like a reporter chasing a headline.

"Rose Springshaper, Rachel Creighton, and Cecilia Slatemark," I answered, bracing myself for the inevitable follow-up questions.

"Oh, Count Springshaper's daughter," my mother said, her expression shifting into one of recognition.

"You know Count Springshaper?" I asked, surprised.

"He's famous, even for a Count," she replied, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist in a way that suggested this was common knowledge. "He's being considered for a promotion to Marquis."

"Good for them," I said with a polite smile, though inwardly, I made a mental note to never underestimate my mother's knowledge of noble gossip.

Before the conversation could spiral further into the endless labyrinth of nobility and titles, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment. A moment later, my father stepped in, his broad frame filling the doorway. Douglas Nightingale wasn't the kind of man you could ignore, even if you tried. With his neatly trimmed black hair and sharp eyes, he radiated the calm authority of a knight captain who'd seen his fair share of battles and lived to tell the tale.

"Arthur!" he said, his voice warm but firm, as he walked over to clasp me on the shoulder. "It's good to have you home."

"It's good to be back, Dad," I replied, genuinely meaning it.

"I heard about the demon baroness," he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "You held your ground well. I'm proud of you."

"I had help," I said modestly. "Rachel and Cecilia were there."

"Ah," my father said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "The princesses. I'd say you've chosen your friends wisely."

"Don't give him ideas, Dad!" Aria cut in, throwing her hands up in mock despair. "He's already friends with celebrities! It's so unfair."

"You'll have your time, Aria," my father said with a chuckle. "You're doing well for your age. Keep at it."

We spent the evening talking—about school, the demon attack, my classes, and Aria's upcoming academy applications. My parents' pride was evident in everything they said, and even Aria, with all her teasing, was genuinely curious about my time at Mythos.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of my old room, a strange warmth settled over me. It wasn't the plush blanket or the familiar surroundings—it was the simple, undeniable comfort of being part of a family. For someone like me, who had never had a family in my previous life, this was... indescribable. I closed my eyes, letting the feeling sink in.

"Thanks, Arthur," I whispered into the quiet darkness, the words meant for the boy whose life I now lived. Because for all the trials, the battles, and the chaos, I knew one thing: this feeling—this warmth—was worth it all.