The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He? - Chapter 304

Chapter 304: Chapter 304 -“What caused… her to go into mana dissociation?”
Silence ruled the underground.

Not the peaceful kind—

but the suffocating quiet of a world that had forgotten the meaning of life.

The cavern stretched endlessly, carved by corruption rather than by tools. The walls were ribbed with blackened veins that pulsed faintly, as if some monstrous heart deep below still struggled to beat.

Mana didn’t flow here.

It rotted.

At the center of this desecrated abyss, a staircase rose—crooked, uneven, jagged like a spine forced upward through stone. At its peak sat a throne born from corruption itself: obsidian twisted into spines and crooked angles, dripping steady trails of dark mana that evaporated before touching ground.

On that throne…

A figure sat.

Still.

Motionless.

Featureless.

A long cloak of absolute black covered every inch—hood deep, sleeves long enough to hide the hands, cloth so dark it seemed to swallow the faint glow of corrupted crystals.

Not a breath escaped from beneath the hood.

Not a shift of weight.

Not the faintest whisper of movement.

And yet—

The air around it bent.

Mana recoiled, forming a hollow around the figure as though refusing to touch something so fundamentally wrong. A cold tension spread through the cavern, the type that forced even corrupted beasts to shrink back into the shadows.

Footsteps echoed.

The sound was soft, careful, but carried a nervous tremor.

A cult knight entered—his armor fused to his flesh, tendrils of corruption crawling over the plates. His boots left trails of blackened imprint with every step. He descended to one knee with a metallic thud, head bowed low.

“…Second Demon General.”

The title drifted upward, swallowed by the cavern.

The figure on the throne did not respond immediately.

Instead, it slowly—painfully slowly—tilted its head by a fraction.

A small motion.

Barely visible.

And yet the knight’s entire frame stiffened, a shudder running through him as if someone had scraped ice along his bones.

“Speak.”

The voice was quiet.

Too quiet.

A low, layered whisper that carried neither gender nor warmth—only a chilling neutrality. It sounded less like a person and more like an echo from an empty grave.

The knight exhaled shakily and rose halfway, careful not to make sudden movements.

“We have obtained… significant information,” he said, each word measured, as though choosing the wrong one could cost him his mind. “The Tower Master has been sighted in the dwarven lands.”

Nothing changed.

The throne figure didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

As if the information were meaningless.

The knight swallowed again.

“She has sealed her power.”

The cavern reacted before the General did.

Corrupted crystals vibrated.

Obsidian veins constricted.

A ripple spread through the ground—silent, but violent enough to make dust fall from above.

Only then did the figure move.

A single, slow inhale.

As if tasting the information.

“…She sealed it herself?”

The knight nodded, fear creeping under his skin like infection.

“Yes. Completely.”

A silence followed—deep, dangerous.

Then the Second Demon General shifted.

The smallest movement of a single hand.

A gloved finger tapping against the throne’s armrest.

Tap.

A sound that echoed far too loudly.

Tap.

And again.

Tap.

Each tap sent a pulse through the cavern walls—barely visible distortions, like the air itself was flinching.

Then the voice came, thin and clipped.

“If only the Third hadn’t brought shame to our title. He is still recovering from the fight with the elf queen.”

This time, the knight flinched violently.

He remembered.

The Third Demon General dragged back after a failed attempt—broken, humiliated, corruption leaking from wounds that refused to heal.

A disgrace so severe the cult no longer spoke his name.

“He… he has weakened beyond use,” the knight managed. “A disappointment to the throne.”

The Second Demon General rose.

The movement was fluid—too fluid for something bound by cloth.

Like darkness lifting itself upright against gravity.

Standing, the figure’s presence expanded—quietly, terrifyingly—until the knight felt his thoughts dim under the pressure.

“But,” the General murmured, voice thinning into pure frost, “we no longer require that failure.”

The knight looked up, unable to contain his curiosity.

“What do you mean, your grace?”

The hood turned toward him.

Nothing inside except an endless black void.

A void that looked back.

“Go.”

The command slithered through the air.

“Unseal the thing beneath the earth of the dwarven lands, burning in the furnace.”

The knight froze.

Not in fear.

In awe.

To even mention it was forbidden for the dwarves.

But to unseal it?

This was not strategy.

This was catastrophe.

The Second Demon General stepped forward, cloak trailing like living shadow, the underground trembling with each silent footfall.

“Let it rise,” the figure whispered. “Let it hunger.”

The knight bowed lower — forehead pressing into the corrupted stone.

“As you command.”

“And once you awaken it…”

The General’s voice dropped to a whisper that crawled across the knight’s skin like ice.

“Make a deal to unseal, in exchange for tower master!”

The cavern lights dimmed.

Shadows bent inward.

Something ancient stirred beneath the earth—slow, reluctant, enormous.

And with a single, unhurried gesture, the Second Demon General dismissed the knight.

“Go.”

The knight scrambled to his feet, boots slipping on corrupted stone as he hurried out of the cavern—his laughter echoing madly behind him.

Left alone, the Second Demon General returned to the throne with the calmness of a judge sitting to witness execution.

The void beneath the hood tilted upward—toward a ceiling of ancient stone and older secrets.

“She sealed her power…”

the whisper echoed, darker than before.

“…how convenient.”

And the underground answered.

Not with noise—

—but with something worse.

A vibration.

A breath.

A pulse from deep, deep below.

Something sealed…

something monstrous…

heard the call.

****

“What caused… her to go into mana dissociation?”

The Tower Master’s voice was quiet—steady—but too carefully steady.

It was the type of tone that belonged to someone who was forcing her breath into order.

Luca looked at her.

Then at Selena, lying pale against the sheets, frost still faintly clinging to the strands of her hair.

He inhaled slowly.

“I’m not sure if this is the reason but…”

He paused.

I am sure this is the reason.

His gut had known the moment Elder Huldor said those words.

But to say it aloud felt wrong, intrusive—like pressing onto a wound that was still bleeding.

His gaze drifted back to the Tower Master.

“…Elder Huldor asked Selena if she was the daughter of Arthur.”

The effect was instant—and tiny.

A flicker.

Just a brief tightening around her eyes.

Her fingers, resting on the bed, curled by the faintest degree.

A single breath slipped out more slowly than the others.

But she did not otherwise react.

No shock.

No anger.

No grief.

Just a quiet, resigned exhale.

“I see.”

Her voice didn’t tremble… but something behind it did.

Something old.

Something she had carried for years and buried under layers of iron composure.

Luca caught himself almost asking—

What happened?

Why does the name of her father affected her like that?

But the moment he looked at her profile—the elegant line of her jaw, the controlled stillness of her posture—he stopped.

He could feel it.

Asking would not lead to answers.

It would only hurt.

So he swallowed the questions and nodded slightly instead.

The Tower Master shifted, lifting her wrist. A simple jade bangle glinted faintly under the lamp light.

“Luca,” she said softly, “send mana into this.”

He blinked.

Then nodded, placing his fingers lightly on the cool jade surface. He let a gentle stream of mana flow—steady, warm.

A soft hum resonated through the bangle.

Her hand tilted, and from the artifact a familiar glow emerged—a communication crystal sliding gracefully into her palm.

Luca’s heart tightened.

He remembered.

That jade bangle—

the first storage artifact he ever crafted.

He had given it to her nervously, almost embarrassed by its simplicity.

And she still used it.

“Again,” she said, bringing the crystal forward. “Infuse it.”

As he channeled mana, she let out a quiet,amused breath.

“Who would have thought,” she murmured with a soft chuckle, “that without mana, I wouldn’t even be able to perform such simple tasks.”

Luca smiled faintly despite his worry.

Once charged, she raised the crystal, its glow illuminating the elegant lines of her veil. Her voice shifted—professional, composed—as she connected with the Magic Tower.

“This is the Tower Master. I will not be returning for three to four days. Handle matters accordingly.”

Luca blinked.

Three to four days?

He had never once—ever—heard of her staying away from her post for that long.

Even the empress herself did not keep her waiting that long during summons.

But then…

His eyes moved to Selena.

And he understood.

The call ended.

Silence settled again.

The Tower Master lowered the crystal, her gaze drifting back to her daughter—softened, distant, almost unreadable.

Then she turned back to Luca.

“Now go and rest,” she said gently. “You’ve gone through a lot today.”

Her hand rose—

And she patted his head.

Softly.

Slowly.

Like she used to when he was younger and frightened and overwhelmed.

“Master, I can help—”

“No,” she interrupted with quiet firmness. “I will stay with her. You are exhausted—rest.”

Her tone left no space for argument.

Luca hesitated.

Then bowed.

“…Understood.”

He stepped backward, casting one last look at Selena—her tiny breaths, the faint frost on her lashes, the dim glow of healing spells.

Then he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

But he didn’t leave.

He let his back slide down the infirmary wall, settling onto the cold stone floor. His head leaned back as he exhaled—a long, weary breath that emptied days of strain from his shoulders.

Outside the windows, the dwarven sky was darkening—embers of forge-light flickering like dying stars.

Luca closed his eyes.

Let tomorrow…be a normal day.