The Extra's Rise-Chapter 556: Six Superpowers (1)

The war in the East didn’t just end with the death of the Vampire Monarch. It echoed. It rippled. It tore down names that had once been carved into the bedrock of power like commandments from gods. Everyone remembered the moment Magnus Draykar became legend—Ascended beyond Immortal into the realm only one man before him had ever touched. A demigod. A title that meant something in a world where strength was currency more valuable than gold, truth, or even peace.

But while statues would be raised and songs would be sung about Draykar, other names were quietly buried in the ashes of what they once represented.

The Kagu family fell.

Not entirely—not into ruin or complete irrelevance—but something worse: we became ordinary. Aunt Selene, Rank 2 Selene Kagu, the Twilight Ice Sovereign of the East, lay in a coma with no clear sign of waking. Her body remained unbroken, but her family—our family—shattered like glass under too much pressure. Eight Immortal-rankers gone in the span of months—six of them in the brutal, almost meaningless retaking of Hwaeryun. A pyrrhic victory, if it could even be called that. The city stood, but the cost? Too high. Much too high.

And so a superpower—one of Earth’s seven great families, one that had given birth to the First Hero Liam Kagu over a century ago—was no longer counted among the elite.

The world had no patience for figureheads or titles without the weight to back them. Without Selene, there was no Queen. And Uncle Kem, her older brother, held a title that felt more like a borrowed coat—stiff, ill-fitting, and entirely unearned. He wasn’t a King. He wasn’t even a proper shadow of one. The man who had once stood confidently in his sister’s shadow now seemed lost without her guidance, making decisions that felt reactive rather than strategic.

We had achieved much, the Kagus. Cardinals of the Red Chalice cult—some of the oldest Vampire Ancestors—gone, wiped from the map by the force of our will and legacy. The Pope himself had vanished into whatever dark hole spawns such creatures. But it wasn’t enough. Not when the war took more than it gave, not when victory felt suspiciously like defeat dressed in different clothes.

The Kagu family, rulers of the western half of the Eastern continent, could still field troops. Still raise banners. Still command respect through reputation and fear of what we once were. But the spine had snapped. And a body without its spine can’t walk, much less rule an empire.

Power doesn’t wait for the wounded to heal.

Mount Hua didn’t. The other half of the East rose swiftly, steadily, like water filling the space we’d left empty. They had bled too, but the difference was that their wounds became fuel. Their disciples grew strong in the furnace of conflict, tempered by adversity rather than broken by it. Land changed hands with disturbing frequency. Fortresses were rebuilt under new banners that bore the plum blossom instead of our ice crystal. And at the center of it all stood Sun Zenith, the adopted prince, now officially ranked among the Immortal—albeit just at the lower threshold.

Mount Hua, once balanced with the Kagus in uneasy partnership that had kept the East stable for decades, now stood alone at the top of our homeland.

And me?

I stared at the sunset, the red light dipping beneath the war-torn horizon like the last embers of pride dying in my chest. I was proud—had always been. A Kagu by blood and birthright. A natural talent that teachers had praised and rivals had envied. One of the shining youths of my generation, spoken of in the same breath as other prodigies who would surely reshape the world.

Now, that pride felt like an old heirloom from a dead house. Something precious that no longer had context, no longer had meaning. I didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know what to build from the ashes of expectations that would never be fulfilled.

Everything had changed in the span of months.

The war had dimmed, yes, but it wasn’t over. Cults stirred in the shadows like roaches after the lights went out. Miasmic creatures—demons, beasts, and worse things that defied easy categorization—pushed harder on the Northern and Southern borders. Even the West was aflame again, whispers of ogres and orcish hordes clawing at its edges with renewed vigor.

But the East?

The East stood with borrowed time and borrowed strength. The reinforcements from the Slatemark Empire—those brilliant elites, those men and women who could level cities with a casual wave of their hands—would be gone by the end of August. Back to their center of power, back to the empire that could not be everywhere at once, no matter how much they might wish otherwise.

And when they left, I wondered, who would protect what remained? Who would carry the weight once shouldered by Aunt Selene? Who would stand against the next threat, the next war, the next catastrophe that seemed to follow our family like a curse?

And more than that—would I be strong enough to matter when that time came?

I didn’t have an answer. Only silence and a long horizon that seemed to stretch further away with every breath, mocking me with its indifference to my struggles.

I knew how weak I was. That was the problem that kept me awake at night, staring at the ceiling and counting all the ways I fell short of what the Kagu name demanded.

The real problem was time.

There was just not enough time to become what I needed to be.

I was talented—everyone said so, had always said so. My magical development progressed at rates that impressed instructors and intimidated peers. My tactical thinking showed promise that military advisors praised. But talent without time to mature was like a seed without seasons to grow.

And now, when my family needed me most, when the Kagu legacy teetered on the edge of irrelevance, I was still weak. Still young. Still insufficient.

"Ren."

The voice was soft, familiar, carrying the kind of gentle authority that could calm storms or start them depending on her mood. I turned to see my mother approaching, her emerald green hair catching the last rays of sunlight and her golden eyes reflecting a warmth that seemed impossible given everything we’d lost.

Mother had just returned from putting Hee and Min to bed—my six-year-old siblings who somehow maintained their innocence despite living through the collapse of everything they’d been born to inherit. At six, they still believed in heroes and happy endings. At eighteen, I envied them that faith.

"You’re brooding again," she observed, settling beside me on the balcony with the same elegant grace that had made her legendary in diplomatic circles. Even now, even with everything falling apart around us, she carried herself like a queen. Like someone who still believed in the possibility of victory.

"Someone has to," I replied, not taking my eyes off the horizon. "Uncle Kem certainly isn’t. He’s too busy trying to pretend nothing has changed."

Mother was quiet for a moment, studying my profile with those perceptive golden eyes that missed nothing. "You’re carrying weight that isn’t yours to bear, my son."

"Whose weight is it, then?" I turned to face her, feeling the bitterness leak into my voice despite my efforts to contain it. "Aunt Selene’s unconscious. Uncle Kem is overwhelmed. The family’s reputation is crumbling. Someone has to think about what comes next."

"The adults will handle what needs handling," she said with quiet conviction. "Your uncle may not be your aunt, but he’s not as helpless as you think. And there are others—advisors, allies, resources you don’t see because you’re not meant to see them yet."

"But what if it’s not enough?" The question escaped before I could stop it, carrying all the fear I’d been trying to suppress. "What if everything we built just... ends? What if the Kagu name becomes a footnote in history books?"

Mother reached out, her fingers gentle as she tilted my chin up to meet her gaze. "Do you know what I see when I look at you, Ren?"

I wanted to look away, to avoid whatever disappointment or false comfort she might offer, but her golden eyes held me captive.

"I see potential that surpasses even your great-great-grandfather," she continued, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "Liam Kagu was the First Hero, yes. He changed the world, established our family’s legacy, created the foundation for everything we became. But he was limited by his time, by what was possible in his era."

She smiled, and for a moment the weight of our circumstances seemed to lift.

"You’re not limited by those same constraints. You have access to knowledge he never possessed, techniques he never learned, opportunities he never dreamed of. More than that, you have something he never had—the chance to learn from both triumph and catastrophe."

"But I’m not ready," I protested. "I’m not strong enough, not experienced enough. The family needs someone who can act now, not someone who might be capable someday."

"The family needs you to become who you’re meant to be," she corrected gently. "Not who you think you should be right now, but who you can grow into with time and proper guidance. Rushing that process, trying to carry burdens you’re not prepared for—that’s how potential gets wasted."

I felt something ease in my chest, a tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. "How can you be so certain?"

"Because I’ve watched you grow. I’ve seen how you think, how you adapt, how you refuse to give up even when everything seems hopeless." Her smile widened. "You have your aunt’s strategic mind and your father’s determination, but you also have something uniquely your own—the ability to see possibilities where others see only problems."

The sunset was nearly complete now, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson that reminded me of her eyes. For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than dread when I looked toward the horizon.

"What if I disappoint everyone?" I asked quietly.

"What if you don’t?" she countered. "What if you become everything I believe you can be? What if the Kagu name not only survives but reaches heights that even Liam never imagined?"

I took a deep breath, letting her words settle into the spaces where fear had been living. She was right—about the rushing, about the burdens, about the need to grow rather than simply endure.

"So what do I do?"

"You learn. You train. You prepare." She stood, smoothing her dress with practiced elegance. "You let the adults handle today’s problems while you focus on becoming the solution to tomorrow’s challenges. And you trust that when the time comes—when you’re truly ready—you’ll know exactly what needs to be done."

As she walked back toward the house, leaving me alone with the dying light and her words, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in months: hope. Not the desperate kind that clings to impossible dreams, but the steady, patient kind that builds foundations for future victories.

The Kagu legacy wasn’t ending with this generation.

It was just beginning.