The Extra Who Stole the Hero's System-Chapter 46: The Face Of Asmodeus - 2

The cold finality of Herald’s words, "If you can’t answer all these questions, 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," had effectively shut down any further inquiry into his motives, making it clear that his vengeance was a burden I could not comprehend, let alone judge. My own questions, my own moral compass, felt insignificant in the face of his long old unwavering resolve.

But I still had questions, critical ones, about the enemy he so relentlessly pursued. My survival, my very existence in this world, depended on understanding the forces at play.

"The leader?" I asked. "You called him ’The One.’ Do you know anything about who the leader of this cult might be?"

My mind scrambled, trying to reconcile the novel’s narrative with the chaotic reality unfolding before me. In Hero’s Vow, the leader of the Face of Asmodeus was none other than Theodric Von Alder. It was a very generic, almost trope-filled villain arc.

In the novel, Theodric had killed Kai—killed me, technically—in the arena. Brutally. Publicly. I could still picture it as I read through the pages, the way he stood over the body like it was some kind of message. And it worked. That moment had been the spark for Eren Valtor. The hero. He couldn’t just stand by, not after that. So, with the help of the system—the same system I know possessed —he challenged Theodric. A commoner versus a noble, his sword against theodric’s. And he won. Eren actually beat him, shamed him in front of the entire kingdom.

That was the moment it all started to spiral. Theodric, humiliated and seething, swore revenge. And then came the demon artifact. That cursed thing gave him power—too much power. He clawed his way up the cult’s hierarchy, toppling anyone in his path until he stood as the Demon Lord’s right hand.

Looking back now, it all feels so... clean. Like someone just checked the tropes off a list. Tragedy. Resolve. Revenge. Power-up. I remember thinking while reading it: Why does this even hold my attention? It was predictable, almost mechanical in its progression. And yet, somehow, I kept flipping the pages.

But that wasn’t the case anymore. The event that caused Theodric to become the cult leader – his public defeat by the hero in the arena – hadn’t happened. I became the extra and ironically stolen the hero’s system, making it impossible for the protagonist to defeat Theodric. So, if Theodric hadn’t become the leader, then the cult leader should still be the one who held power before Theodric usurped it in the original timeline.

"The leader?" Herald quickly repeated, a faint, almost imperceptible frown touching his lips. "I don’t have definitive information about him. His identity is shrouded in layers of secrecy, even from those within the cult’s lower ranks. But what I do know is that he’s a formidable opponent. Extremely powerful. He has evaded me for centuries."

My heart dipped at the response he gave. "You don’t have information?" That was a problem. A big problem. In the novel, Herald had a vast network of informants, an almost supernatural ability to track the cult’s movements. If he doesn’t know who the current leader is, then this ’Reality Divergence’ was far more significant than I had anticipated. It meant the narrative was truly off the rails.

I knew that Theodric won’t be the leader. The critical event that led to his rise hadn’t occurred. So, apparently, the cult leader should be the same as the leader it had during the novel before Theodric took it from him. But I didn’t know much about him, the supposed original cult leader. In the novel, he was nothing more than an extra villain, a stepping stone for Theodric. He was just someone Theodric would ’farm aura with’ by trampling on him to climb to the top. He was a nameless, faceless obstacle, easily discarded once his purpose was served. I had barely paid him any attention during my reading. And now, he was the primary antagonist in my. An unknown, formidable opponent.

This complicated everything. My original, desperate plan – to simply replicate the hero’s final victory using the system – was now fraught with uncertainty. If the leader was different, if their plans had changed, then the hero’s path might not be my path. I couldn’t simply follow a script that no longer existed.

It’s strange how stories can pull you in like that—how you can know exactly where they’re going, yet still get hooked. Maybe it’s comfort. That sense of rhythm, of narrative symmetry. Real life doesn’t offer that. Real life is jagged and unscripted, full of moments that don’t mean anything and people who never get their arcs. But in fiction, even the throwaway characters serve a purpose.

Even the pain fits neatly into a larger theme. I used to think that was the difference between a good story and a lazy one. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe neatness is just another illusion, a trick we tell ourselves so the chaos feels manageable.

And here I was, living that same "predictable" story I once rolled my eyes at. Except it didn’t feel predictable now. It felt... sharp. Heavy. Like I was walking blind through a world that pretended to be familiar. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d mocked this plotline in the past—the cruel noble, the underdog hero, the cursed artifact. But standing here, with the weight of the system in my bones and Cult’s shadow looming somewhere in the distance, it didn’t feel so cliché anymore. It felt personal. Maybe that’s the difference—distance. It’s easy to call something generic when you’re not the one bleeding in it.

So, I had to assume that much hadn’t changed from the novel. The core objective of the Face of Asmodeus may remain the same: apocalypse. The merging of realms, the return of the Demon Lord. That was still the end game. This confirmed that the threat was as existential as ever.

"And you believe they’re targeting the Academy for these crystals?" I asked, my mind racing through the novel’s lore, trying to recall any mention of shard crystals being hidden within the Academy.

"They have made a significant appearance there," Herald confirmed, his voice grim. "Their members are infiltrating. And the Academy, with its vast mana reserves and its concentration of powerful individuals, would be an ideal location for a staging ground for their plans. Perhaps even a hiding place for one of the shards."

My head throbbed. This was far more complex than I had anticipated. I was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, Herald, a powerful warrior, the protagonist mentor, who offered unparalleled training and knowledge, but who would drag me into the very heart of the conflict. On the other, the now unknown cult, whose motives might align with the original narrative, but whose identity and current plans were a complete mystery.

I couldn’t get any more reasonable, concrete answers from Herald. His knowledge, while vast in some areas, was surprisingly limited in others, particularly concerning the cult’s current leadership. It was clear he operated on ancient information, on instinct, and on his own centuries-old vendetta.

I concluded that if the cult’s ultimate goal was still 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. The final confrontation, the dismantling of the barrier, the defeat of Asmodeus – that was my ultimate escape route, my way to save this world and to secure my survival. Following Herald wouldn’t be strictly necessary to defeat the Demon Lord, only to survive the immediate threats and gather information. I didn’t need to brush off Herald right off. I could play along, gain his training, gather what information I could, and then, if necessary, forge my own path.

My gaze drifted to Lord Sapphire’s lifeless body, then back to Herald’s impassive face. He was a force of nature, a terrifying ally, but an ally nonetheless. And nonetheless I needed allies, even ones as dangerous and unpredictable as him. My world was already ruined by being transmigrated to this reality, as he had so calmly stated. Now, it was about navigating the wreckage.