The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He? - Chapter 298

Chapter 298: Chapter 298 – “Are you…… Arthur’s daughter?”
The morning came not with sunlight, but with heat.

Even before they reached the arena, Luca could taste the metallic tang of molten ore in the air, hear the slow grind of ancient gears awakening beneath the stone. Lilliane walked close beside him, hands clasped nervously in front of her chest; Sylthara moved with unhurried elegance, her golden eyes scanning every rune-carved wall they passed; Selena was silent, each step measured, her expression carved from ice.

She felt different today — colder, more composed, but also wound tighter, like a bowstring drawn to its very limit.

The dwarf guard who escorted them marched with the same pride and arrogance as yesterday, but even he shot Selena a quick, uncertain glance, as though sensing the sharpness of her aura.

As they stepped through the massive archway leading into the arena, the world erupted in sound.

Tens of thousands of dwarves packed the stands — a thunderous sea of armor, braided beards, and pounding boots. The heat rolling off their bodies mixed with the glow of molten channels running beneath the arena floor, rising in waves that shimmered in the air.

But then Luca’s gaze caught something odd.

A section of the stands — a whole block carved separately from the dwarven seats — was filled with humans. Men and women holding crystal devices, messenger quills, some wearing enchanted recording goggles. Whispering excitedly, leaning over rails, scribbling notes with frantic energy.

Lilliane blinked, confusion wrinkling her gentle features. She leaned toward the dwarf guard, keeping her voice soft yet curious.

“What… what are those humans doing here?”

The guard barely looked at her as he scratched his beard. “Hmm? Oh, them?” He jerked his thumb toward the cluster of frantic onlookers. “Reporters. Once the little pests caught the scent that the Forgeheart Crucible had returned, they came swarming like rats smelling cheese.”

His voice dripped with disdain, but not enough to hide the reluctant acknowledgment in his tone — the Crucible had once again become a spectacle worthy of the world’s eyes.

Lilliane nodded slowly, though she still looked overwhelmed. Sylthara simply smirked, muttering, “Humans are always too curious for their own good.”

Luca didn’t reply.

His eyes were fixed on Selena.

She wasn’t looking at the crowd, or the elders, or the arena. She stared forward with a razor-sharp focus, her back rigid, her breathing steady but deep — the calm before a storm.

He stepped toward her, lowering his voice. “Selena—”

But before he could finish, the arena shook with a magically amplified voice.

“WELCOME, FOLKS!”

The announcer’s roar sent echoes bouncing off the mountain walls. His cloak fluttered dramatically as he raised one arm high.

“AFTER YESTERDAY’S THRILLING TRIALS, THE FORGEHEART CRUCIBLE CONTINUES!”

A roar erupted from the dwarves — boots stomping, fists pounding against shields, a chorus of raw excitement.

The announcer swept his gaze toward the challengers’ stand, his grin full of arrogance and provocation.

“Well now… who among you wishes to test their fate today?”

Before Luca or anyone else could react, the air shifted — temperature dropping so sharply a thin mist formed around their feet.

Selena moved.

It wasn’t a step — it was a glide, a seamless descent from their platform as a staircase of ice materialized beneath her soles. Each step formed itself with crystalline precision, glittering like frozen petals in dawnlight, allowing her to descend as though walking on air.

Gasps rippled through the arena.

Even dwarves — born in fire, lovers of heat — stared with widened eyes at the spectacle of frost manifesting so gracefully within their sacred furnace.

Selena reached the center of the arena with the poise of royalty. Her white hair fluttered behind her like a trail of winter wind; her robes swayed softly, frost forming intricate patterns along the hem.

She bowed her head in respect — but her gaze rose sharply, unwavering.

“Selena Weiss,” she announced, her voice as smooth and cold as the surface of a frozen lake, “greets the honored dwarven elders.”

Up on the grand platform, where the seven dwarven elders sat carved against the burning sky, Elder Huldor Forgevein leaned forward in his seat.

His thick eyebrows arched upward, and a glint of recognition sharpened his gaze.

“You…” Elder Huldor’s voice rumbled through the arena, slow and heavy, as though each syllable carried the weight of a mountain. His eyes narrowed—not in hostility, but in recognition sharpened by years of memory.

“…are you… Arthur’s daughter?”

The reaction was immediate.

Selena’s composure—normally cold, unshakable, pristine as sculpted frost—fractured.

A faint tremor ran through her shoulders, so subtle that any ordinary eye would have missed it. But the tension bled downward, stiffening her arms, tightening her jaw, draining the discipline she had layered over herself since dawn. Her breath hitched—quiet, almost soundless—but visible in the slightest rise of her chest.

Her fingers curled, nails pressing into her palms hard enough to draw crescent marks.

Her pupils constricted sharply.

Her aura—always perfectly controlled—wavered.

A hairline crack in a glacier she had thought unbreakable.

Luca saw it instantly.

He had never seen Selena react to anything—not fear, not provocation, not even mortal danger—with this kind of jolt. His brows furrowed, concern flooding through him as cold and sharp as the air around her.

Her father’s name… at this time…

Sylthara noticed it too. Her feline eyes narrowed, the tip of her tail flicking with agitation. She leaned closer to Luca, whispering urgently, “What happened to her? Why did she suddenly—?”

Luca exhaled slowly—a deep, heavy sigh that carried the weight of something he never liked to say out loud.

“Well…” he murmured, eyes locked on Selena, “her father… he’s not with us anymore.”

Sylthara froze.

Lilliane gasped softly.

Even the nearby dwarves fell into a hush.

But Selena—she didn’t hear any of it.

She looked trapped.

Lost.

Fighting something no one else could see.

As though a memory she kept buried was clawing its way up her throat.

And then—

Her aura snapped.

A ripple of mana burst from her body, sharp and uncontrolled, like a blade tearing through silk. Ice first—thin, jagged lines spiderwebbing across the ground beneath her, crawling outward with a hissing whisper. Then lightning—crackling violently from her fingers, rising like serpents eager to strike.

The air distorted around her.

Cold and storm clashed—wild, unstable, dangerous.

“What—?!” Elder Hilda straightened, sparks leaping from her hair beads.

“She’s losing control,” Elder Duram muttered, eyes narrowing.

Thrain’s hand tightened on the armrest of his seat—a rare sign of concern.

The arena erupted into whispers.

“Is she attacking?!”

“No—look at her face!”

“She’s not even aware!”

Selena’s expression was blank. Hollow.

Her eyes were distant, pupils dilated, focus scattered—not seeing the arena, the elders, or the world at all.

Just memories. Pain. Something broken.

Ice and lightning fused, spiraling upward into a storm. The wind howled. Mana lashed out indiscriminately, cracking stone and freezing molten lines in jagged patches.

And Luca…

He didn’t hesitate.

He vaulted over the railing and dropped into the arena.

The dwarves shouted warnings, hands reaching out to stop him, but he ignored all of them. His boots hit the stone floor hard, sliding slightly as frost crept underfoot. The storm rushed toward him immediately, the mana cracking against his aura like shards of lightning.

“Selena!” he shouted, pushing through the first wave of cold.

No reaction.

The wind grew stronger—violent.

A shard of ice exploded against his arm, slicing through fabric and grazing skin. He hissed but didn’t stop.

She’ll hurt herself… if this continues—she’ll destroy her own mana channels.

I have to reach her. I have to.

Another bolt of lightning slammed into him—hard, powerful. His muscles seized, a grunt tearing from his throat, but he forced his aura outward, grounding the shock.

His footsteps grew heavier. Slower.

The blizzard thickened.

His breath turned into frost each time he exhaled.

“SELENA!!”

Still nothing—not even a blink.

The storm was swallowing her whole.

The closer he pushed, the more violent the mana became. Thunder roared against his back. Ice sliced across his shoulders. His legs shook under the pressure.

It’s getting stronger…

If I don’t calm her down now—

He gritted his teeth, bracing against the wind, and finally—finally—broke through the eye of the storm.

She was there.

Standing motionless, her figure bathed in swirling frost and electric arcs. Her hair floated around her like strands caught in a tempest, shadows beneath her eyes deepening as if she hadn’t slept in days. Mana leaked from her pores like breath from a dying star—outward, uncontrolled, suffocating.

Luca reached out, forcing strength into his trembling hands, and grabbed her shoulders firmly.

“Selena! Selena, listen to me!” he shouted over the uproar.

But her eyes…

Those normally sharp amethyst eyes…

Were empty.

Void of recognition.

She swayed slightly, as though the storm inside her was pulling her consciousness apart thread by thread.

Luca’s face twisted with panic—real, raw panic—as he tightened his grip, his voice cracking with desperation.

“Selena—wake up!! Please!”

Nothing.

The mana storm surged again, nearly throwing him back.

“What do I do—? Dammit—what do I do?!”

Lightning spiraled upward, ice spears forming around her like crystalline thorns. Luca braced himself to shield her from her own mana backlash—

—when a calm, deep voice cut through the chaos.

“Step aside, boy. Let me handle this.”

Luca turned sharply.

Elder Huldor Forgevein walked forward with the patience of a sculptor approaching a cracked masterpiece. His heavy boots left steaming prints on the frost-laden floor. His eyes—usually stern, aloof—softened ever so slightly as they landed on Selena.

“She is suffering from mana dissociation,” Huldor said, raising a hand. “Her elements are rejecting each other and overwhelming her mind. If we don’t intervene, she will burn herself from within.”

Luca didn’t argue. He only nodded and stepped aside, breath ragged.

Huldor approached with the deftness of a master craftsman. Mana swirled around his fingers—not fire, not heat, but pure control. His thick hands moved quickly, precisely.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Three pressure points along Selena’s back.

Two at her neck.

One above her heart.

Her body jerked slightly—ice cracking.

The storm faltered.

Electricity flickered.

Her breath shuddered.

Huldor pressed two fingers gently at the base of her spine, and with one final push of mana—

FWOOOM.

Everything collapsed.

The storm vanished.

The frost dissolved.

Lightning died.

Selena’s knees buckled, body limp.

Luca lunged forward and caught her before she hit the ground, her icy hair brushing against his cheek. Her head rested against his shoulder, breath faint but steady.

He held her tightly, arms cradling her with a mix of fear and relief.

Her face—usually emotionless—was now soft, vulnerable, exhausted.

Like someone who had fought an inner war alone.

Luca stared down at her, jaw tightening, emotions twisting inside him.

What happened to her?

What is she fighting?

What could break her calm like this…?

His grip tightened instinctively, protective.

Just what made her like this?