The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He? - Chapter 251

Chapter 251: Chapter 251 – The Picture of Raw Elegance!!
The morning sun danced across the surface of the spring, scattering silver light in fragments that shimmered like tiny stars. Mist curled lazily around the waterfall, clinging to the rocks and drifting through the lush greenery, and the air was filled with the faint scent of wet earth and blooming flowers.

And there she was—standing there, framed by the cascading water, her form both ethereal and impossible to ignore. Her pitch-black skin seemed to drink in the sunlight, glowing faintly where it met the mist. Golden eyes locked with his, bright and unyielding, reflecting a depth that seemed older than the forest itself. Her long silver hair flowed like molten light, brushing softly against her shoulders, trailing past her waist, catching the morning rays in a halo of brilliance.

Her hands moved with the elegance of wind through autumn leaves, each slender finger tapering like carved obsidian, delicate yet strong, as if they could weave magic or trace the edges of the world itself. Water clung to them in pearlescent droplets, dripping slowly as though the very forest blessed their touch.

The two mounds on her chest moved in rhythm as she breathed heavily. A slender trickle slid down between the valley between two enormous hills, as it disappeared. The curves of her breast were full and supple, rising and falling with the grace of a gentle tide, they were of perfect shape and the cherry like pink nipples on them forming a beautiful contrast of black and reddish pink that would make anyone want to pluck them.

Her belly button, a subtle hollow, drew the eye along the line of her midsection, a quiet mark of harmony amid the smooth planes of her torso. The light caught it just enough to make the soft skin glow faintly, like a single star resting in the night sky.

Her waist curved with natural grace, a soft arch that spoke of both strength and elegance, flowing seamlessly into the gentle swell of her hips. Every movement she made seemed effortless, a melody in motion, her form a living rhythm of shadow and light.

And between her legs…..just the faint reddish outline of the opening of the most sacred place of her body was visible, which would make any man in the world drop to his knees and drink the nectar out of the flower.

Her legs were long, sculpted with grace, carrying her with effortless poise. Each movement made her form ripple like liquid shadow, muscles shifting beneath the surface, taut yet soft, ending in feet that seemed almost to hover above the mossy rocks. Every step, every tilt of her body, radiated an elegance that was both natural and magnetic.

For a long moment, neither moved. Luca’s eyes struggled to reconcile the breathtaking figure before him with the familiar serenity of the waterfall spring. The colors of the world—the falling water, the glimmering light—blurred, fading into the silhouette of her. Every detail of her presence held him captive, and the air itself seemed to thicken with unspoken tension.

Finally, she moved. Shadows curled around her like a cloak as she glided forward, a dagger appearing in her hand, catching the light just enough to glint with menace. Luca’s heart raced, the spell of her presence shattering into the dangerous reality of the moment.

The morning sunlight fractured through the mist, scattering diamonds of light across the waterfall’s spray. Luca’s bare chest gleamed under the filtered sun as he shifted, twin sabers drawn, the air humming with anticipation.

The dark elf moved like a liquid shadow, a dagger flashing in her hand. Each strike came faster than thought, her steps silent, graceful, yet deadly. Luca barely tilted his torso in time, the dagger grazing his arm with a stinging graze that made him flinch.

“This… this is a misunderstanding!” Luca shouted, raising a hand toward her, voice carrying through the mist—but before he could finish, she vanished into the shadows, reappearing only an instant later with a dagger aimed at his side.

With a flick of his wrist, twin sabers shimmered into being, one black, one white, slicing air in anticipation. Her attack paused for just a heartbeat, golden eyes narrowing in surprise.

Then the storm resumed.

He was on the backfoot, pivoting, twisting, each step precise as he dodged and parried. The waterfall roared behind them, the mist twisting around their forms like living spirits. Every strike she launched was a blur; her dagger danced at impossible speeds, glinting under the light.

Luca’s mind raced. Just what is she? A dark elf? Were there even any mentions in the End Realms? What the hell is happening? He barely avoided another strike, feeling the velocity of her attack and the grace of her movements overwhelm him.

Shadowed form, dagger flashing, she was everywhere and nowhere, slipping between light and darkness. He slowed time for a fraction of a moment, yet even then, the battle’s rhythm was relentless.

She…she is really strong, if not for my time slowing ability, I am afraid I would have been killed by now.

In the chaos, a flicker of thought distracted him—her presence, her form moving in impossible fluidity, the way her body shifted with the momentum of each strike. Her breasts bounced up and down as she moved. But there was no time to dwell.

The waterfall roared behind them, mist swirling like silk threads in the golden morning light. Their movements were no longer just combat—they had become a dance, a rhythm synchronized with the pulse of the forest itself.

Luca pivoted, twin sabers tracing arcs through the air, parrying her dagger with precision. She darted again, shadows bending around her, her golden eyes locked on him with unyielding intensity.

And then, in one fluid motion, Luca reached into his spatial ring. The white towel appeared in his hand like a ribbon of light.

Time seemed to stretch as he let it unfurl, spinning it in a wide arc. The towel cut through the mist, catching the glint of sunlight in a fleeting halo. It followed the curve of her motion perfectly, flowing with her momentum as she twisted, dagger poised, mid-leap.

Her form moved like liquid shadow, but the towel slid around her body as if it were alive, tracing the lines of her silhouette without ever touching wrongly, wrapping her in a soft cocoon of white. Each fold of fabric caught the morning light, sparkling with the mist from the waterfall.

Her dagger still held firm, but her movements slowed, caught in the rhythm of this silent dance. Luca matched her motion with every step, his bare feet on the mossy ground, twin sabers lightly raised—not striking, just guiding, balancing, part of the choreography.

The mist wrapped around them both, curving like a living partner. Droplets of water clung to the towel and her silver hair, refracting light like tiny stars suspended in motion. Luca’s arms moved with precision, the towel sliding up, down, around her in a seamless sweep, never misstepping.

For an instant, it felt as if the forest itself held its breath. The waterfall’s roar softened in his mind, replaced by the rhythm of fabric gliding over flesh, the synchronized motion of two forms circling each other. Every movement was measured yet free, deliberate yet flowing—combat transformed into poetry.

And then, finally, the towel settled over her form, draping her like a cloud of mist, soft and complete. Both of them froze, a few paces apart, breathing heavy but steady, eyes locked. The spray from the waterfall glittered around them, droplets catching the sunlight like suspended diamonds, framing the scene in an otherworldly glow.

They remained still for a heartbeat—warriors, yet dancers; opponents, yet participants in a shared rhythm that transcended battle.

And for that brief, suspended moment, the world seemed to exist only for them, the waterfall, mist, and sunlight conspiring to turn a fight into a graceful, living tableau.

The mist hung heavy around them, glittering with the morning sun. Water droplets clung to moss and leaves, falling like scattered diamonds as the waterfall’s roar set the tempo.

And the battle raged again, the dagger clashing with sabers.

Luca’s movements became fluid, almost effortless. The earlier tension melted into something primal and beautiful—he began to feel the rhythm of the forest, the cadence of the rushing water, the sway of branches overhead, and he let it guide him. Each step, each pivot, each swing of the twin sabers flowed with the pulse of the world around him.

A smile tugged at his lips—wide, unrestrained, and alive. It wasn’t arrogance, but joy, the thrill of motion, the delight in the challenge. That smile only seemed to provoke her more. The dark elf’s golden eyes flared, her dagger now a blur of steel, moving faster and faster, each strike sharper than the last.

Yet Luca didn’t falter. He moved with her, bodies dancing perilously close, almost touching, twisting and turning as if they were part of one continuous motion. The towel wrapped around her billowed slightly, catching the sunlight, blending with the mist like living silk.

The world narrowed, the waterfall’s roar fading to a heartbeat. Everything else—past worries, distant fears—disappeared. There was only this: the rhythm, the duel, the space between predator and prey collapsing into harmony. Their forms, one bare-chested, the other draped in white, painted a picture of raw elegance against the shimmering water.

They separated only briefly, breathing heavily, eyes never leaving each other. The exertion and fluidity of motion left them suspended in a moment both tense and beautiful, like dancers frozen mid-leap.

Luca’s gaze softened slightly as he observed her: her movements, though precise and deadly, carried a subtle exhaustion now; her focus remained, but there was a calm beneath it, a weight that wasn’t there at the start. Maybe… just maybe, she wasn’t entirely relentless.

He swallowed, the mist curling around him, and spoke, voice steady despite the rhythm of battle, “I am really sorry about what happened. I am new to this Elven Forest. The Elven Queen invited me herself… I was just looking for a place to bathe after the shower. It really was an accident.”

Her ears twitched sharply at the mention of the Queen, the icy gleam in her golden eyes sharpening into something sharper, colder. The dagger moved, slicing the air toward him again, precise and merciless.

Luca froze, heart thumping in tandem with the waterfall’s pulse, when suddenly—a voice thundered through the forest, breaking the rhythm, breaking the spell:

“Lucaaaaa!”