The Extra's Rise-Chapter 825: Bet (4)

Gideon Ironmaw stood at the highest tower of the Savage Communion’s fortress, his hands gripping the stone balustrade with enough force to crack the reinforced material. His golden eyes, so similar to his father’s, stared westward toward the distant border where he knew the confrontation that would determine his future was about to unfold.

Today was the day. After years of anticipation, the duel between his father and Arthur Nightingale would finally take place.

"Young Master," came a hesitant voice from behind him, "perhaps you should reconsider—"

"He’s already gone," Gideon cut off his advisor without turning around, his voice carrying the kind of bitter resignation that had settled over him like a shroud. "Father felt Arthur’s mana signature an hour ago and left immediately, despite every council member begging him to wait for backup."

The elderly cult member who served as one of Gideon’s strategic advisors stepped closer, his weathered face creased with worry. "The Axe King is one of the five Cult Leaders. Surely against a single opponent, even one as notorious as Arthur Nightingale—"

"You don’t understand," Gideon interrupted again, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the stone intensified. "None of you understand what we’re dealing with."

He could still remember that day almost four years ago when he had been foolish enough to challenge Arthur Nightingale directly. At the time, Gideon had been riding high on his reputation as the heir to one of the world’s most feared cult organizations, confident in his abilities and certain that his superior mana rank would carry him to victory.

Arthur had been two full mana levels below him then—a significant gap that should have made the outcome a foregone conclusion. Gideon had possessed every advantage: better equipment, superior training from cult masters, and the kind of ruthless mindset that came from growing up in an organization dedicated to human extinction.

Arthur hadn’t just defeated him—he had made it look effortless, dismantling Gideon’s techniques with casual precision while demonstrating capabilities that defied every conventional understanding of magical development.

Now, four years later, they were at the same mana rank. Quasi-Radiant for both of them, according to every measurement system the cult possessed. But if anything, that knowledge made Gideon feel even more hopeless about their comparative abilities.

If Arthur could dominate him while being two levels weaker, what chance did Gideon have now that the gap in raw power had been eliminated? How much stronger had Arthur become during those same four years that Gideon had spent desperately trying to catch up?

"The reports from the border conflicts suggest that Arthur Nightingale, while dangerous, is still within the parameters that Father can handle," the advisor said carefully, clearly trying to provide reassurance while navigating the treacherous waters of Gideon’s volatile mood.

"The reports are wrong," Gideon replied flatly. "They’re all wrong because they’re based on conventional assumptions about how power works. Arthur doesn’t follow those rules."

A sudden spike of alarm shot through Gideon’s consciousness as his connection to his father—a bond forged through years of cult rituals and shared black mana—flickered with distress. For a moment, he felt Vorgath’s shock and confusion as something unexpected occurred during the confrontation.

Then the connection went dead.

Gideon’s breath caught in his throat as the implications crashed over him like a physical blow. The bond between father and son, strengthened by decades of mutual corruption and shared purpose, couldn’t be severed by distance or interference. It could only be broken by one thing.

Death.

"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible as his enhanced senses confirmed what his heart already knew. "No, it can’t be..."

But even as denial formed on his lips, he could feel the truth settling into his consciousness like acid. Vorgath Ironmaw—the Axe King, one of the five Cult Leaders, the man who had carved his reputation from the bones of fallen kingdoms—was dead.

Killed by Arthur Nightingale with such efficiency that the battle had lasted only minutes.

"Young Master?" the advisor asked with growing alarm as he noticed the change in Gideon’s demeanor. "What’s wrong?"

Gideon bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste mixing with the bitter rage that was building in his chest like a volcanic eruption. His father was dead. The man who had trained him, shaped him, prepared him to inherit leadership of the Savage Communion, had been killed by the same person who had humiliated Gideon so thoroughly four years ago.

"He’s gone," Gideon said quietly, his voice carrying a hollow quality that made the advisor step backward instinctively. "Father is dead."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, their implications rippling outward through the fortress as other cult members began to sense the disturbance in the magical currents that connected their organization. Whispers and gasps echoed from the floors below as the reality of their situation became clear.

The Savage Communion had lost its leader. And the person responsible for that loss was still very much alive.

"We must rally the remaining forces," the advisor said with the kind of desperate urgency that came from recognizing an existential threat. "Contact the other Cult Leaders, coordinate a response—"

"With what?" Gideon snarled, whirling to face the elderly man with eyes that blazed with frustrated fury. "Father was the strongest among us, and Arthur killed him like he was nothing. What makes you think the rest of us would fare any better?"

The advisor’s face paled as he processed the full scope of what Gideon was saying. If the heir to the Savage Communion—someone who had spent his entire life preparing to fight humanity’s greatest champions—believed their cause was hopeless, then what hope did any of them have?

Gideon turned back to the balustrade, his hands shaking with a mixture of grief and impotent rage as he stared toward the distant border where his father’s body now lay cooling in the fortress courtyard. The man who had seemed invincible throughout Gideon’s childhood, who had represented the pinnacle of what corrupted power could achieve, had been reduced to a corpse in a matter of minutes.

"I’m not strong enough," he whispered, the admission tearing at his throat like broken glass. "Even with everything Father taught me, even with years of preparation, I’m not strong enough to avenge him."

The realization was perhaps the most bitter pill he had ever been forced to swallow. Gideon had always known that Arthur was dangerous, but some part of him had clung to the hope that time and training would eventually close the gap between them. Now, with his father’s death serving as definitive proof of Arthur’s capabilities, that hope crumbled into dust.

He was quasi-Radiant-rank, just like Arthur. By every conventional measure, they should have been evenly matched. But Gideon knew with absolute certainty that if he faced Arthur again, the outcome would be exactly the same as four years ago—only this time, Arthur might not show mercy.

"Young Master," the advisor said hesitantly, "perhaps it would be wise to consider... strategic withdrawal? The other cult territories could—"

"Run?" Gideon’s laugh was bitter and hollow. "Hide in some distant corner of the world while Arthur picks apart everything Father built? While he systematically hunts down everyone I’ve ever cared about?"

"It would be temporary," the advisor insisted. "Until we can find a way to match his power, or—"

"There is no way," Gideon said with finality that cut through the man’s desperate optimism. "Not through conventional means. Not through training or artifacts or clever alliances. Arthur has transcended those limitations entirely."

As the words left his mouth, Gideon felt something settle over him like a shroud—a depth of despair so profound that it made his earlier grief seem shallow by comparison. His father was dead. His organization was doomed. Everyone he had sworn to protect would eventually fall to Arthur’s inexorable advance.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

’I need power,’ he thought desperately, his consciousness reaching out into the void that surrounded his shattered hopes. ’Real power. The kind that can match monsters like Arthur Nightingale. But how? How does someone like me find strength that can challenge the impossible?’

As if summoned by his desperation, a voice spoke directly into his mind—not through his ears, but through some deeper channel that bypassed his physical senses entirely.

"Do you truly wish for power, young one?"

Gideon’s head snapped up, his enhanced senses searching frantically for the source of the communication. But there was nothing—no magical signature, no physical presence, no indication of where the voice might be originating.

"Power to destroy those who have wronged you? Power to remake this world according to your vision? Power to transcend the limitations that have held you back?"

"Who are you?" Gideon whispered, his voice barely audible as every instinct he possessed screamed warnings about the nature of what was speaking to him.

"I am opportunity. I am possibility. I am the answer to your prayers, if you possess the will to embrace what must be done."

The advisor and other cult members present showed no sign of hearing the voice, their expressions confused as they watched Gideon apparently speaking to empty air. But Gideon could feel the presence now—something vast and ancient and utterly alien pressing against the edges of his consciousness.

"What kind of power?" he asked, his voice growing stronger as desperate hope began to kindle in the depths of his despair.

"The power to destroy worlds. The power to unmake reality itself. The power to reduce your enemies to less than memory."

Gideon’s breath caught in his throat as the implications of what was being offered crashed over him. This wasn’t just about gaining strength—this was about accessing forces that operated beyond anything the current world had ever seen.

"What’s the price?" he asked, because even in his desperation, he retained enough cunning to understand that offers like this never came without cost.

"Only your willingness to embrace what you must become. To cast aside the limitations of your humanity and ascend to something greater. Something necessary."

The young cult leader closed his eyes, his mind racing through the alternatives available to him. He could flee, as his advisor suggested, and spend the rest of his life running from Arthur’s eventual pursuit. He could try to rally the remaining cult forces and launch conventional attacks that would inevitably fail. He could surrender and hope that Arthur would show mercy to a defeated enemy.

Or he could accept this offer and gain the power necessary to make Arthur pay for everything he had taken.

"Yes," Gideon said quietly, opening his eyes to stare directly into the empty air where he sensed the presence waiting. "I want that power. I want the strength to destroy Arthur Nightingale and everything he represents."

The space around him crushed inward like a collapsing star, and the last heir of the Savage Communion disappeared into possibilities that defied human understanding.