The Extra Can't be A Hero-Chapter 163: The Sword Saint (1)

Two days have passed since Amon, Yue, and Arya arrived at Espadavale.

The humble village was relatively peaceful as the trio began their investigation. Unbeknownst to them, Lucas had already eliminated most of the cultists while tracking Amon, making their new surroundings calm and comfortable. As a result, the search for the Sword Saint's whereabouts progressed without interruption.

Sure enough, they were onto their first lead in less than a day.

"The space here is distorted… Could the mirror dimension be here?"

Yue's ruby eyes glistened with amazement while her mana probed into the space. At first glance, it appears as any other mountain pass: jagged cliffs, a winding path of gravel and frost, and thin air that bites at the lungs. Birds were still chirping while the distant howls of wolves echoed in the valley. Yet, as Yue spread her mana thin, she could sense the slight distortion of space.

"It's so faint… If I don't concentrate, I will lose any trace of it… Seriously! What is the Sword Saint? How can he be this skilled in spatial magic, too?!"

"Don't try to measure him by regular standards."

Amon replied while heightening his senses. Compared to Yue, his ability to sense magic was a level lower, but it was acute enough to find the irregularity of the area.

"Even without his sword skills, the Sword Saint is a superhuman who ranks on the same level as Grandpa Alrock."

"... is this going to be dangerous?"

Arya sheepishly asked. Even though she had grown to earn her place in Eldorin, she had barely scratched twenty years of age. Her experience, while abundant for a Knight of her stature, was no match against the Sword Saint or anything equivalent.

"It should be fine, besides… I will make sure you're safe."

"Haha, I feel so safe."

Arya stuck her tongue out and skipped towards the concentrating Yue. Amon blinked for a few moments, unsure of whether it was a good idea to bring the young lass along on this mission. But ultimately, he shook his head with a bitter smile.

'No, Arya has an important role to play.'

Amon didn't bring Arya out to Espadavale for a field trip or a fun sibling getaway. Her role in this mission was quite simple, yet pivotal in winning over the Sword Saint.

"How long would it take for you to unlock the barrier?"

"Hmmm, it's complicated, but luckily for us… I've seen something similar."

In her past life, Yue maintained the mirror dimension, the last bastion of humanity. If there were anyone else in the world who was familiar with the mysterious realm, it would be the regressor herself.

"Give me some time… I can probably crack it by sundown."

Sundown was an overestimation. If Yue used all her knowledge and power, she could crack the barrier in an hour, at most. But Amon didn't rebuke the lass. Instead, the doting brother turned his attention to Arya, who was picking her nose, greatly diminishing her image as the refined flower that most Knights yearned for.

"Arya, how is your mastery with Lightbane?"

"H-Huh? Why the sudden question?!"

Surprised that her brother was suddenly concerned for her, Arya hurriedly flung her booger away and stood in nervous attention. She fidgeted wildly, betraying her thoughts on the matter.

"Hah… Arya, you're talented and smart. Plus, you were given a great opportunity when the Sword Garden bestowed Lightbane, a Fabled-grade weapon, on you. You should be taking advantage."

"But… I have been working hard…"

Arya frowned a little, but she quickly turned it upside down after watching Amon's stern golden eyes. Yes, it was true that Arya had been slacking off recently, and no one knew it better than herself. Perhaps it was because of Amon's tutelage and protection that Arya felt like she didn't have to try too hard to grow.

Though Arya was also acutely aware that her position was far more privileged than most.

Not only had she inherited the Solaris bloodline, but she was bestowed a Fabled-grade sword, a weapon that all master swordsmen yearned to obtain. Yet, it landed in her fingers when she was merely sixteen.

"It's not enough… As you are now, you won't stand a chance against any executives of the Demon Cult. No, even well-trained cultists would be able to cut you down."

"I know that…"

Arya kicked over a nearby pebble, clearly ticked by her brother's firm words. However, she did feel a tinge of embarrassment for her weakness. She was well aware that her abilities paled in comparison to the other Eldorin members, and secretly, some were calling her a nepotism baby. Nonetheless, Arya did train well enough to claim her spot in the prestigious Order.

And to demonstrate…

"Well, perfect timing, don't you think?"

"H-Huh?"

"Someone is heading this way. Try and fend them off."

"W-What?"

Amon's words struck a chord deep within Arya, sharpening her senses like a drawn blade. In an instant, she felt it—a presence, fast as lightning, slicing through the layers of reality from within the mirror dimension.

It moved with ghostlike silence, yet its intent screamed through the air like a war cry. Her breath caught for a moment, her muscles instinctively tightening in surprise. But Arya was no novice. She exhaled, grounding herself, and slid fluidly into a ready stance, Lightbane steady in her hands, held in the classical guard of her order.

Her gaze flicked to Yue, who stood still, eyes closed in deep concentration as she continued unravelling the complexities of the shimmering barrier before them. Vulnerable. Arya's mind barely had time to register the thought—I can't let anything happen to my sister-in-law… or her bottomless wallet—before she moved.

With the coiled precision of a striking serpent, Arya lashed out, Lightbane slicing through the air with a radiant gleam. Steel met steel in a deafening clash, halting the intruder's advance mere inches from Yue. The impact was enough to send the assailant flipping backwards through the air, forced into a graceful somersault to regain balance.

Arya narrowed her eyes, finally catching a full view of her opponent as the figure landed silently several paces away. It was a tall, lithe sword maiden, clad in flowing dark silks that shifted like shadows around her. A wide-brimmed bamboo hat obscured most of her face, adding an air of mystery, but Arya could see the slight tilt of her head—an almost imperceptible gesture of surprise. The woman glanced down at her blade, as though stunned that someone had deflected her attack so cleanly.

Arya held her ground, heart steady, blade poised. And then, she yelled:

"Who are you?!"

"... intruder?"

"H-Huh? What are you talking about?" fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

"... You are the intruder? So why are you asking me?"

"W-Wait, you live here?!"

"Yes…"

As the sword maiden rose from her landing, Arya got a clearer look at her. She was beautiful—eerily so. Strands of pale blonde hair spilt from beneath the wide-brimmed bamboo hat, shimmering like moonlight on still water. Her face, partially hidden in shadow, held an unsettling serenity. Porcelain-pale skin, flawless and smooth, gave her an almost statuesque quality, as if she were carved from frost and starlight rather than born of flesh.

But it was her eyes that truly caught Arya's breath—brilliant sapphires, sharp and cold as glacier ice. They shimmered beneath the brim of her hat, glowing faintly in the dim light, and held a depth that felt both ancient and bottomless. They didn't blink. They didn't flinch. They simply watched, with the calm of someone who had danced through centuries of blood and silence.

Her presence was spectral, ethereal. Each of her movements was impossibly fluid, graceful in an almost inhuman way. Her steps made no sound, her silken robes swaying like drifting smoke around a willowy frame. She moved like a shadow, dreaming of wind, beautiful and lethal all at once.

Arya could only recall one person whose beauty the sword maiden equalled… and that was none other than Yue Elune herself. Yet, she possessed the disposition of her brother, a calm and serene warrior who knew no defeat.

"You… aren't like the other intruders… You blocked my sword?"

"Other intruders… Ah, the Demon Cult? Yes, we aren't like them! We're here to…"

"Doesn't matter… You blocked my sword… Try again…"

The sword maiden didn't respond to Arya's words—didn't even acknowledge them. In the next breath, she surged forward, her blade cleaving through the air in a swift, graceful arc that shimmered with precision. Arya's eyes widened at the sheer speed of the attack, but instinct snapped her into motion.

Lightbane rose just in time, steel singing as it met steel. Though she lacked brute strength, Arya had honed her body and blade to work as one. What she didn't have in raw power, she made up for in velocity and precision.

Every movement was tight, purposeful—Lightbane weaving through the air like a silver thread guided by fate. She had trained relentlessly, developing a seamless synergy with her weapon, and it showed. The two maidens clashed in a blur of motion—blade against blade, footwork against footwork. Each strike, each parry, was poetry in motion.

On the surface, they were evenly matched, two dancers locked in a deadly rhythm of steel and instinct. Arya, often dismissed as a product of nepotism, moved with the grace of someone who had earned every inch of her skill.

And yet, her opponent was something else entirely. The sword maiden moved like she had been born with a blade in her hand. Her technique was flawless, elegant—too refined for someone who appeared so young. Every strike was an extension of her will, her blade a part of her, not a tool but a limb.

And then Arya saw it—flickers of Aura, subtle and refined, beginning to surface in the maiden's movements. There was mastery here, not just in skill, but in essence. Given the disparity in skill, it was only a matter of time before Arya was beaten to the ground.

Alas, before that could happen.

"Stop."

Amon appeared in between the pair as Nyx drew a line between them. The black blade sparkled with the Aura of death and destruction, as if issuing a warning… the next move that the sword maiden used would be her last. And surely, the maiden got the message.

Feeling as if there was an invisible piano wire wrapped around her neck, the mysterious figure released all of her fighting spirit and issued her surrender. With her defeat, Amon held back his killing intent and sheathed Nyx back.

His golden eyes locked with the young woman's sapphire ones, as he issued a firm order: "Take us to the Sword Saint."

Once again, the woman tilted her head in confusion. That adorable movement would have charmed a billion men, but Amon was long immune. His fierce eyes didn't waver for a single second before he finally heaved a sigh:

"Your grandfather… Take us to him."