The Extra's Rise-Chapter 822: Bet (1)

After ensuring that Rin was stable and her family had time to process their miraculous reunion, I quietly excused myself from the Ashbluff estate. The sight of them together—truly together for the first time in eighteen years—filled me with satisfaction that made every moment of strain worthwhile. But there were other matters that required my attention, and I had already imposed on their hospitality long enough.

"Where are you going?" Jin asked as I prepared to leave, his diplomatic instincts recognizing that my departure carried more weight than a simple farewell.

"To settle an old debt," I replied simply, adjusting Nyxthar’s position at my side. "There’s someone I need to see at the western border."

Valen looked up from where he sat beside Rin’s bed, his enhanced senses no doubt detecting the subtle shift in my demeanor. "The Savage Communion?"

I confirmed with a slight smile. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back before you know it."

What I didn’t mention was that this particular obligation had been weighing on my mind for years, ever since I had made a desperate gamble to save someone’s life. The time had finally come to see whether my confidence in my own growth had been justified, or whether I had simply made a promise I couldn’t keep.

The journey to the western border took a simple warp. As I reached the frontier regions where the Western Continent met the contested territories controlled by various cult factions, I felt my anticipation building with each passing mile.

The landscape below gradually transformed from the ordered farmlands and prosperous cities of the Ashbluff kingdom into something more wild and dangerous. Fortified outposts dotted the terrain like islands of civilization in an increasingly hostile sea, while patrol routes carved visible paths through territories where magical beasts and cult infiltrators posed constant threats.

Finally, I spotted my destination: the massive fortress complex that served as the western border’s primary defensive installation. Fort Meridian had been built to withstand siege warfare on a continental scale, its walls reinforced with layers of protective enchantments while massive artillery emplacements provided both magical and conventional firepower capable of repelling army-sized assaults.

But more importantly, it was home to Grand Marshal Meilyn Potan—the woman whose life I had saved years ago through a gamble that had seemed insane to everyone who witnessed it.

I descended toward the fortress’s central courtyard, my approach triggering immediate responses from the defensive systems. Alert signals blazed across the complex as guards rushed to their stations, but before any hostile action could be taken, a familiar voice cut through the chaos with commanding authority.

"Stand down! All units, stand down immediately!"

Grand Marshal Meilyn Potan emerged from the fortress’s command structure with the kind of purposeful stride that had earned her recognition as one of the continent’s most effective military leaders. Her navy blue hair was pulled back in the practical style favored by career soldiers, while her golden eyes carried the sharp intelligence that had allowed her to coordinate defensive operations across hundreds of miles of contested territory.

She had changed since our last meeting—not just physically, though the years had added subtle lines around her eyes that spoke to the burden of constant vigilance, but in the confidence she projected. This was no longer the desperate officer who had faced certain death at the hands of an overwhelming enemy. This was a leader who had proven herself through countless battles and earned the absolute loyalty of everyone under her command.

"Arthur Nightingale," she said as I touched down in the courtyard, her voice carrying a mixture of emotions too complex for simple categorization. "You actually returned."

"I said I would," I replied with a slight smile, noting how her enhanced senses were no doubt cataloging the changes in my power level since our last encounter. "Though I have to admit, I’m a bit early."

"Early?" Meilyn’s golden eyes widened as she processed the implications of my statement. "The duel isn’t supposed to happen for another year."

"I know," I said simply. "But I’m confident enough in my growth that waiting seems unnecessary. Besides, I had business in the area anyway."

The understatement made her laugh—a sound that carried genuine warmth despite the underlying tension of what my presence meant. "Business in the area. Right. I heard about your confrontation with King Valen. The entire border command is buzzing with reports about the sky being split in half."

"News travels fast," I observed with mild amusement.

"When someone demonstrates power that defies conventional understanding, people tend to talk about it," Meilyn replied dryly. "Though I have to say, seeing you now... the reports didn’t do justice to how much you’ve changed."

She wasn’t wrong. The last time Meilyn had seen me, I had been powerful for my age but still recognizably within normal parameters for magical development. Now, standing before her with capabilities that approached the legendary, I must have presented quite a contrast to her memories.

"You’ve grown too," I said, genuine respect coloring my voice as I observed the changes in her bearing and presence. "Grand Marshal suits you."

A slight flush colored her cheeks at the compliment, though her professional composure remained intact. "I had good motivation to improve. When someone saves your life by promising to duel one of the world’s most dangerous cult leaders, it tends to inspire personal development."

"About that," I said, my tone growing more serious. "How have things been on the border? Any increased activity from the Savage Communion?"

Meilyn’s expression darkened slightly as she considered her response. "Probing attacks, mostly. The Axe King seems to be testing our defenses, looking for weaknesses he can exploit when the time comes. But nothing like a full assault—yet."

"He’s been waiting," I realized.

We walked together toward the fortress’s command center, her staff maintaining respectful distance while clearly curious about the legendary figure who had appeared so suddenly. As we moved through the corridors, Meilyn’s expression grew more thoughtful.

"I heard about Elara," she said quietly, her voice carrying genuine sympathy. "I’m sorry for your loss."

The mention of my sixth fiancée’s name brought a familiar pang of grief that I had learned to carry without letting it overwhelm me.

"Thank you," I replied simply. "She would have liked you, I think. You both shared that stubborn refusal to back down from impossible odds."

"Is that why you’re here early?" Meilyn asked with the kind of insight that had made her such an effective leader. "Because waiting has become harder than acting?"

"Partly," I admitted. "But mostly because I’ve reached the point where I’m confident in the outcome. The Axe King is powerful, certainly, but it won’t matter."

Meilyn studied my face with those sharp golden eyes, searching for any trace of doubt or uncertainty. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her, because her expression gradually shifted from concern to something approaching anticipation.

"So what’s the plan?" she asked as we reached her private office. "March into Savage Communion territory and challenge him directly?"

"Something like that," I said, moving toward the large windows that provided a view of the contested territories beyond the fortress walls. "Though I think a more direct approach would be appropriate."

Before Meilyn could ask what I meant, I began to release the careful controls I maintained over my mana signature. The effect was immediate and dramatic—waves of power radiated outward from my position, washing across the fortress and beyond with the kind of intensity that would be impossible to ignore.

Every person with magical sensitivity within a hundred-mile radius would feel that surge of energy, but only one individual would understand its true meaning. The Axe King had been waiting eight years for this confrontation, and now I was announcing my presence with unmistakable clarity.

"Arthur," Meilyn said with growing alarm as she felt the sheer magnitude of power I was projecting, "what are you doing?"

"Calling him out," I replied calmly, my enhanced senses already detecting the response my challenge had provoked. "He’ll be here within minutes."

"Here? You’re going to fight him here?"

"The fortress is well-protected," I pointed out. "Your people will be safe behind the barriers, and we’ll have plenty of room to settle things properly."

As if summoned by my words, a new presence appeared on the edge of my perception—massive, violent, and radiating the kind of bloodthirsty anticipation that spoke to years of waiting for this moment. The Axe King was coming, and he was bringing everything he had.

"Get your people to safety," I said, moving back toward the courtyard while Nyxthar hummed with anticipation at my side. "This won’t take long."

The air itself seemed to thicken as something enormous approached the fortress at tremendous speed. Windows rattled in their frames while the very ground began to vibrate under the pressure of an approaching force that defied easy classification.

Then he appeared.

The Axe King materialized above the fortress in a explosion of violent energy that made the sky itself seem to recoil. He was exactly as I remembered from our previous encounter—a giant of a man whose very presence radiated barely controlled savagery, his massive frame wrapped in armor that looked like it had been forged from the bones of fallen gods.

In his hands, he carried the weapon that had earned him his title: an axe of such immense proportions that it seemed more like a natural disaster given physical form. The blade gleamed with malevolent energy while runes of destruction pulsed along its edge, promising devastation beyond mortal comprehension.

His eyes found me in the courtyard below, and the smile that spread across his scarred features was the stuff of nightmares. This was someone who lived for violence, who found joy in destruction, who had spent eight years anticipating the moment when he could finally test himself against someone worthy of his full attention.