The Extra's Rise-Chapter 814: Necrotic Sovereign (5)

King Valen Ashbluff, the strongest necromancer in the world and current Rank 1 among all rulers, stood amid the twilight ruins of his domain and felt something he had not experienced in over two decades of absolute dominance.

Fear.

Not the tactical concern of facing a dangerous opponent, nor the calculated wariness of political maneuvering. This was primal, existential terror at witnessing power that operated beyond the fundamental laws he had spent his entire life mastering.

Arthur Nightingale stood before him, grey wings spread in casual majesty, and Valen’s enhanced senses screamed contradictory information that his analytical mind could not reconcile. The young man’s mana signature registered as quasi-Radiant-rank—powerful certainly, but still technically beneath Valen’s own Mid Radiant-rank classification.

Yet Arthur wielded nine-circle magic with effortless precision while simultaneously demonstrating sword techniques that showed perfect Unity between weapon and wielder. Such capabilities should have been impossible for anyone below full Radiant-rank, requiring the kind of mana density and control that came only with complete mastery of one’s chosen path.

"How?" Valen whispered, the question escaping before he could stop it. "You haven’t even reached Radiant-rank. The system readings, the magical signatures—none of this should be possible."

Arthur’s response was a slight smile that carried no mockery, only patient understanding of forces that transcended conventional classification.

The dark energy around Valen intensified as his three legendary summons fully materialized within the domain. His Bone Dragon spread wings that blotted out the twilight sky, while the Dullahan’s spectral flames burned with renewed intensity. The Death Lord raised its massive greatsword, ancient runes along the blade pulsing with accumulated power from centuries of conquest.

Shadow Armor flowed across Valen’s form like liquid darkness, the defensive technique reaching maximum density as it integrated with his domain’s necromantic energy. His twin daggers blazed with perfect Dagger Unity, the weapons becoming extensions of his will as he prepared to channel the combined might of everything he had built across decades of relentless advancement.

"If the natural order has become meaningless," Valen snarled, power crackling around him like controlled lightning, "then I’ll forge a new reality through absolute force!"

He attacked with everything he possessed.

The Bone Dragon descended from above, its massive jaws wreathed in soul-fire that could incinerate cities. The Dullahan charged from the left, its reality-cutting scythe carving spatial rifts with each swing. The Death Lord advanced from the right, its greatsword trailing necromantic energy that withered the very air it passed through.

Valen himself struck from the center, his daggers weaving patterns of destruction while his domain’s power amplified every movement. Shadow spikes erupted from the ground in complex formations, spectral armies materialized to provide supporting fire, and the very laws of his necropolis bent to facilitate his assault.

It was an attack that could have leveled mountains, shattered armies, and broken the will of any conventional opponent.

Arthur moved with fluid precision, his grey wings carrying him through the coordinated assault with minimal wasted motion. Nyxthar swept in controlled arcs that deflected rather than destroyed, redirecting the Bone Dragon’s bite away from him while simultaneously batting aside the Dullahan’s scythe and parrying the Death Lord’s greatsword.

His movements were economical, almost gentle—he clearly possessed the power to shatter Valen’s legendary summons entirely, but was deliberately holding back to avoid causing permanent damage.

"I don’t want to hurt you unnecessarily," Arthur said as he caught Valen’s crossed daggers on Nyxthar’s edge, the weapons trembling under the strain of opposing forces. "But you need to understand the difference in our capabilities."

With a subtle twist of his wrist, Arthur sent Valen flying backward, the King’s shadow armor absorbing most of the impact but failing to prevent him from crashing through one of his own obsidian towers.

"Your technique is flawless," Arthur continued, advancing at a measured pace while Valen’s summons regrouped around their master. "Your mastery over necromancy is genuinely impressive. But you’re still operating within the system’s limitations."

To demonstrate, he raised Nyxthar and executed his Third Movement with reduced intensity.

Stellar Cascade.

The controlled waterfall of cutting energy swept across the battlefield, but instead of erasing Valen’s summons, it severed their connection to his mana. The Bone Dragon crashed to the ground as its animating force was disrupted, while the Dullahan and Death Lord froze in place as their spectral flames guttered out.

Not destroyed—simply powered down, like complex machines that had been temporarily disconnected from their energy source.

Valen staggered to his feet, his mind reeling from the precise way Arthur had neutralized legendary constructs without actually damaging them. The technical skill required for such controlled application of overwhelming force spoke to understanding that went far beyond raw power.

His domain began to pulse with renewed energy as he prepared his ultimate technique, drawing power from every corner of his realm while his artifact pushed beyond safe operational limits. The obsidian towers blazed with necromantic fire, while the throne of black bone behind him cracked and reformed into something larger and more terrible.

"Domain Expansion: True Throne of the Eternal Necropolis!"

Reality itself bent as Valen’s enhanced domain asserted its dominance over the battlefield. This was beyond his normal manifestation—this was the technique he had reserved for threats to the Western Continent itself, the power that could reshape the laws of life and death across entire kingdoms.

The twilight that had invaded his realm was pushed back by waves of absolute darkness, while spectral armies numbering in the millions materialized from the spaces between heartbeats. The very concept of death became weaponized, turning the air itself into something that could drain life from any living being foolish enough to oppose the Necropolis King’s will.

For a moment, just a moment, Valen felt the familiar rush of absolute power that had defined his reign. This was the strength that had made him the world’s strongest ruler, the force that could stand against continental threats and emerge victorious.

Arthur looked at the enhanced domain, at the millions of spectral warriors, at the reality-warping necromantic energy that filled every cubic inch of space around them.

And he laughed.

The sound wasn’t mocking or cruel—it carried genuine amusement, as though he had just witnessed something delightfully entertaining. In response to that laughter, Nyxthar began to blaze with light that transcended conventional description.

Not the golden radiance of divine power or the silver gleam of purified mana. This was the impossible luminosity of grey made manifest, the edgeless blade becoming a conduit for forces that operated beyond the boundaries of what reality considered possible.

"You still don’t understand," Arthur said, raising the blazing sword above his head in a grip that promised absolute finality. "Let me show you what lies beyond the system’s limitations."

He swung.

Valen’s enhanced domain—his ultimate technique, his life’s masterwork, the power that could rival continental threats—split in half.

Not destroyed through overwhelming force. Not countered through superior technique. Simply divided along a line of perfect separation that ran from the zenith of his necropolis to its deepest foundations, as though reality itself had been convinced that two distinct spaces could exist in the same location.

The spectral armies on one side of the line continued their eternal march, while those on the other simply... weren’t. The obsidian towers split perfectly down their centers, their upper halves existing in one reality while their foundations remained in another. Even the throne of black bone found itself divided, half of it supporting empty air while the other half waited for a king who could no longer reach it.

But it was what Valen saw beyond his shattered domain that truly shattered his mind.

The sky itself bore a line of separation that stretched from horizon to horizon, a perfect cut through the heavens that revealed the deeper truths lying beneath reality’s surface. It was identical to the legendary feat recorded in history books—the moment when the Martial King had split the sky itself upon reaching the level of demigod, demonstrating power that transcended mortal understanding.

"No," Valen whispered, his legs giving out as the full implications crashed over him like a tide of inevitability. "That’s... that’s the mark of..."

Arthur Nightingale, still technically classified as quasi-Radiant-rank according to every measurement system in existence, lowered his sword and looked at the split sky with casual satisfaction.

"Now you understand," he said quietly.

Consciousness fled from Valen’s mind like water from a shattered vessel, his body collapsing amid the ruins of everything he had believed about power and possibility. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was that impossible line bisecting the heavens—proof that the young man standing over him had achieved something that should have been beyond the reach of anyone in this generation.

The battle was over.

Arthur had won without even reaching his true peak.