The Extra is a Genius!? - Chapter 419

Chapter 419: Chapter 419: The Quiet Before the Next Truth
The ruins were still smoking when Albrecht’s roar shattered the silence.

He drove his fist into the ground, molten sparks scattering outward. The shockwave rippled through the broken stone, and everyone — Noel, Noir, the girls — froze in place. The golden flame around him flared violently, coiling like a living storm.

“Thirty years!” he bellowed, voice hoarse but deafening. “Thirty damn years holding this land, month after month — fighting those beasts, burying my men, rebuilding these walls — for this!”

He ripped his sword free from the ground, the blade glowing white-hot as veins of light crawled up his arm. “For one thief to walk in and take it as if it were nothing!”

The air trembled with the force of his mana. Even the broken pillars nearby began to crack further under the pressure.

No one spoke. The only sounds were the low hum of fire and the faint crumble of debris under his boots.

Albrecht’s breath came out in ragged bursts, fire licking at his shoulders. “Do you have any idea what that crystal was!? I spent decades making sure no one ever touched it!”

Noel didn’t answer. He stood still, eyes locked on his father.

Albrecht’s voice broke for a moment — just a fraction — between rage and despair. “Every horde I cut down… every drop of blood was for that single purpose. And now it’s gone.”

He clenched his teeth, eyes burning gold beneath his furrowed brow. “Stolen… by someone I don’t even know.”

His voice cracked, more from disbelief than rage. “After everything I’ve fought for… after every man I’ve buried — it’s gone, taken by a stranger.”

He turned slowly, his glare falling on Noel. “Why?” he demanded, his tone low, almost trembling with frustration. “Why did he know you, Noel? He spoke your name like you were old friends.”

Noel’s eyes darkened. He exhaled slowly through his nose before answering. “He’s the one who broke Nicolas von Aldros’s mana core.”

The weight of those words hung heavy in the smoke-filled air.

For the first time, Albrecht didn’t respond immediately. His expression shifted — not relief, not even anger, but something far colder. Understanding.

He looked away, his jaw tightening again. “Then we’re not dealing with chance,” he muttered. “This wasn’t random. It never is, it was calculated already…”

The journey back was silent.

The air outside the ruins was cold, the faint light of dawn breaking through a gray horizon. Each step left marks of ash and blood on the snow-covered road. No one spoke — not Albrecht, not Noel, not even Noir, who moved quietly beside her master, her shadow trailing long behind them.

When the gates of the Thorne estate came into view, what awaited them was not victory — it was survival.

The courtyard was a graveyard of motion. Soldiers sat slumped against broken pillars, their armor scorched and dented, their faces pale with exhaustion. Some still stood guard despite bleeding through their bandages, while others lay still beneath black cloths that fluttered in the wind.

The walls were cracked, several towers reduced to rubble. The banners of House Thorne, once vibrant red and gold, hung torn and blackened by smoke — but they still hung.

Sylvette stood in the center of it all, her hair matted with dust, her voice steady as she directed the survivors. “Form two lines — wounded to the left wing! Anyone still standing, get water from the main hall!”

Her commands were firm, not loud, but everyone obeyed. The soldiers listened.

Albrecht stopped at the entrance, his eyes sweeping over the chaos. For a moment, the fire in him flickered — not from peace, but from a tired kind of pride. ‘She kept them together,’ he thought. ‘Through all this.’

He exhaled heavily, straightening his back despite the cuts across his chest. “Report,” he ordered, his voice rough but level.

Sylvette turned, wiping soot from her cheek. “Minimal casualties. The defensive lines held. The wards are broken, but we still control the territory.”

Albrecht nodded once. ‘Good… she’ll make a fine heir.’

Noel walked past them without a word. His eyes moved across the wounded, the corpses, the cracked walls. The smell of iron and ash clung to everything.

He felt Noir’s presence behind him — silent, alert, watchful.

‘Saved the house,’ he thought bitterly. ‘But lost the one thing we were supposed to protect.’

As the others began repairing what they could, Noel didn’t stop to help. He didn’t look back.

He just kept walking toward the mansion doors, the sound of his boots echoing softly across the fractured stone.

Albrecht watched his son disappear into the mansion, the heavy doors closing with a hollow thud that echoed across the courtyard.

For a long moment, he stayed where he was, staring at the horizon — at the smoke still rising faintly from the ruins beyond the forest. His shoulders ached, his hands still trembled, and his mind refused to quiet.

Thirty years of battle. Thirty years of sacrifice.

And in one night, everything had changed.

He turned away and strode toward the west wing, where his private study waited behind reinforced doors. The corridors were half-lit, the marble walls cracked but standing. He entered without calling for aid.

Inside, the room was silent. Only the faint ticking of the mana clock broke the stillness. His desk was covered in reports — casualty lists, broken sigils, fragments of the old Thorne wards — but he ignored them all.

He reached for a sealed, golden quill and an etched parchment — the direct communication channel to the royal palace in Valor. No servants, no intermediaries. This message would go straight to the king.

He sat down heavily, the old chair creaking beneath the weight of exhaustion. Then, slowly, he began to write.

To His Majesty, King Alveron IV of Valor,

I, Albrecht Thorne, report the following.

The House Thorne estate remains standing, though heavily damaged. The horde has been neutralized, and two beings identified as “Pillars” have been eliminated.

However, during the final engagement, a third individual appeared — powerful, unidentified — and stole a Thorne family treasure that had been guarded for generations.

I recognized him from the words of my son. He is the same man responsible for shattering the mana core of Nicolas von Aldros.

I request any and all intelligence regarding this man. If anyone within your court knows his name, his allegiance, or his nature, it is you, Your Majesty.

He is no ordinary person. He moves like someone who has already seen the end of this world.

— Albrecht Thorne,

He read the letter once, twice, his jaw tightening. Then he pressed the Thorne seal into molten wax and closed it with a sharp twist of his wrist.

“Deliver this to King Alveron IV directly.” he ordered the messenger outside the door.

The soldier saluted, taking the scroll and vanishing down the hall.

When Albrecht was alone again, the tension in his chest returned — heavier now. He looked toward the window, where the first orange light of morning crept through the smoke.

He whispered to himself, almost too low to hear:

“Someone who can break cores… and steal from a Thorne.”

The reflection in the glass showed a man older than he remembered — eyes dim but burning with a stubborn fire.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered.

The sun had fully risen by the time Albrecht left his study.

Its faint warmth did little to ease the cold inside the halls of House Thorne.

Servants moved quietly through the corridors, carrying buckets of water, cloths, and bandages. The scent of burnt stone and blood still lingered, no matter how wide they opened the windows. Every footstep echoed too loudly — the kind of silence that only followed great loss.

Albrecht walked through it all like a shadow, his mind elsewhere. The weight in his chest hadn’t eased; it had only settled deeper. Every corner he passed carried ghosts — men he’d trained, soldiers he’d buried, moments he’d fought to preserve.

In the great hall, Sylvette was organizing the remnants of the household guard. Her voice carried clear and steady, commanding without needing to shout.

“Move the wounded to the eastern corridor — healers will prioritize critical mana burns first. Reinforce the barrier lines; even damaged, they’ll hold if we channel the reserves correctly.”

She paused when she saw her father.

“Father,” she said quietly.

Albrecht gave her a short nod, his eyes sweeping over the hall. “You’ve done well,” he said. The words came rough, but they were genuine.

Sylvette straightened, surprised. “We only did what we had to.”

He studied her for a long moment — the tired resolve in her eyes, the streaks of soot across her cheek, the steady posture of someone who had carried more than her share of fear.

‘She’s ready,’ he thought. ‘Whether Noel stays or not, she’ll lead this house well.’

Albrecht’s gaze drifted to the portraits along the wall — generations of Thorne ancestors, their painted eyes staring down like silent judges.

‘All of them fought for this land… for that crystal… for a legacy that may already be slipping away.’

He turned back to Sylvette. “When the men have rested, begin rebuilding the perimeter. I’ll handle communication with Valor until we know more.”

Noel sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor. The soft crackle of the fireplace filled the silence, the faint glow reflecting off Revenant Fang, propped against the wall beside him. The blade no longer burned — its surface dark and still, like the calm before another storm.

He heard a quiet knock.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened slowly, and one by one, Charlotte, Elyra, Elena, and Selene stepped inside. They looked tired — blood still marked their sleeves, and soot streaked their cheeks — but there was a strange warmth in their eyes. Relief, maybe. Or trust.

Charlotte smiled softly. “You wanted to see us?”

Noel nodded, motioning for them to sit. “Yeah. I… need to go somewhere tonight.”

Selene tilted her head slightly. “After all this?”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s important. I can’t tell you why — not because I don’t want to, but because… I physically can’t.”

Elyra blinked. “You can’t?”

Noel gave a faint, humorless smile. “Let’s just say… something doesn’t let me talk about it. Whenever I try, it feels like my head’s going to split open.”

The words hung in the air — quiet, strange, and sincere enough that none of them doubted him.

The room fell quiet for a moment. Charlotte exchanged a glance with the others, then looked back at him, her voice soft but steady. “Then you don’t have to explain. If you’re going, we’ll go too.”

Elena crossed her arms but smirked faintly. “You know we’re not letting you wander into another disaster alone, right?”

Selene nodded, calm and composed as ever. “Just tell us when.”

Noel looked up, meeting their eyes one by one — Charlotte’s warmth, Elyra’s resolve, Elena’s quiet sharpness, Selene’s unwavering calm.

Something inside him eased, even if just a little.

He smiled — small, genuine, and tired. “Tonight. First we need to rest a bit after all this…”

A faint flicker of blue danced at the corner of his vision — the system waiting, watching.

But for once, he ignored it.

Charlotte rose first, giving him a gentle nod. “Then we’ll be ready.”

The others followed, filing out quietly.

When the door closed, Noir lifted her head from where she’d been resting by the bed, her violet eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. ‘You’ve got good people around you, Dad.’

Noel leaned back, exhaling through his nose, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah… I do.’

Noir’s tail flicked once. ‘You’re lucky.’

He looked toward the window, where the sun was beginning to set behind the blackened hills.

‘Very.’