The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He? - Chapter 316

Chapter 316: Chapter 316 -Silence Louder Than Scream!!!
The infirmary corridor narrowed as Luca ran.

Not physically—but emotionally.

The mana lamps along the walls seemed dimmer here, their warm glow thinning into something pale and tired. The air smelled different too. Less herbs. More cold stone. Like a place people came to wait… not to heal.

His footsteps slowed without him realizing it.

By the time he reached the door at the far end of the corridor, he had already stopped running.

The door was half open.

No voices spilled out.

No healer arguing.

No sobbing.

No movement.

Just silence.

The kind that pressed against the ears until it rang.

Luca pushed the door open with his palm.

It didn’t creak.

That somehow made it worse.

—

Lilliane lay on the bed near the window.

Moonlight slipped through the narrow opening above, cutting across the room in a thin silver line that stopped just short of her face—like even the light hesitated to touch her.

Her pink hair spread messily across the pillow, dulled, stripped of its usual brightness. Bandages wrapped her arms and torso, but they looked almost excessive now—too clean, too neat, like they were trying to impose order on something that no longer fit.

She was awake.

Her eyes were open.

But they weren’t looking at anything.

They stared past the ceiling. Past the stone. Past the mountain itself.

Unblinking.

Unfocused.

Luca stopped just inside the doorway.

His shadow stretched across the floor, long and warped, reaching her bed before he did.

She didn’t react.

Didn’t turn her head.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

For a moment—just a moment—he wondered if she had noticed him at all.

“Lilliane…”

His voice came out softer than he intended.

It felt too loud anyway.

The room didn’t answer.

The mana lamps hummed faintly, steady and indifferent. Outside the window, dwarven forges burned far below, their distant glow painting the mountainside in red and gold—life going on, loud and relentless.

Inside the room, time felt stalled.

Luca took a step forward.

Then another.

Each step felt wrong—like he was intruding on something fragile, something that would shatter if he moved too quickly.

He reached the bedside.

Up close, the change was undeniable.

Her expression wasn’t pain.

It wasn’t fear.

It was… emptiness.

The kind that came after something had been torn out so completely there was nothing left to bleed.

Her lips parted slightly.

Dry.

Still.

He noticed then—her hands.

They were clenched.

Not tightly. Not in panic.

Just… closed.

Like she had held onto something for too long and forgotten how to let go.

“Hey,” Luca said again, quieter this time. “It’s… it’s me.”

No response.

Not even a flicker.

He swallowed.

Hard.

His gaze drifted to the small table beside the bed. A cup of water sat there, untouched. A folded cloth. A healer’s note weighted down by a smooth stone.

She hadn’t moved.

How long has she been awake like this…?

He pulled a chair closer and sat.

The sound of wood scraping stone echoed too sharply in the stillness, and he winced as if he’d struck something alive.

“I… they said you woke up,” he murmured, eyes fixed on her face. “I came as fast as I could.”

Still nothing.

Her chest rose and fell—slow, mechanical. Proof of life without presence.

The silence thickened.

It wrapped around his words and swallowed them whole.

Luca leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

His hands clasped together.

“I’m sorry.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I thought… maybe the trial would help you move forward.”

A pause.

“I didn’t think it would… do this.”

He searched her face desperately for something—anger, hurt, recognition.

Anything.

Her eyes finally blinked.

Once.

Slowly.

His breath caught.

Her gaze shifted—not toward him, but toward the window. Toward the thin strip of moonlight she hadn’t been looking at before.

Her lips moved.

The sound that came out was barely a voice.

“…He told me to go away.”

Luca froze.

“…He said…” Her throat worked, swallowing around something invisible. “We were just kids.”

The words fell flat. Lifeless. Repeated, not remembered.

“I asked him why not me.”

A pause.

A longer pause.

“…He smiled.”

The silence after that was unbearable.

Not dramatic.

Not explosive.

Just crushing.

Luca felt something in his chest give way.

He reached out—hesitated—then gently placed his hand over hers.

Her skin was cold.

She didn’t pull away.

She didn’t squeeze back.

“I know it wasn’t real,” she said, eyes still fixed on the moonlight. “They told me. The elders. The healers.”

Her lips curved—just barely.

Not a smile.

More like an echo of one.

“But it felt real.”

Her fingers twitched under his hand.

“He felt real.”

Luca closed his eyes.

The room felt smaller.

Heavier.

“I don’t know what I am now,” Lilliane whispered.

Not to him.

Not even to herself.

Just… into the space between breaths.

The silence returned.

Thicker than before.

And Luca sat there beside her, holding a hand that didn’t hold back, staring at a girl who was awake—but had been left somewhere far deeper than sleep.

Outside, the forges burned.

Inside, something precious had gone quiet.

And for the first time since coming to this world—

Luca didn’t know what to say.

The room did not change.

The lamps did not flicker.

The moonlight did not shift.

The silence remained exactly where it was—settled, suffocating, patient.

Lilliane didn’t turn her head.

She didn’t look at Luca.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, pupils unfocused, as if she were staring through the stone, through the mountain, through the sky itself.

“I know,” she said quietly.

Her voice was steady. Too steady.

“I know that was an illusion.”

Luca’s fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.

Her breathing remained slow, measured—unnaturally controlled.

“But what if…” she continued, the words slipping out without urgency, without emotion, “what if it wasn’t only an illusion?”

A pause.

A long one.

“What if that’s the truth as well?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered, unanswerable.

Her lips parted slightly.

“What happens to me then?”

“What will I do?”

She finally blinked.

Once.

Still not looking at him.

Luca felt cold spread through his chest.

This isn’t right.

If she were crying—

If she were screaming—

If she were angry—

He could deal with that.

He could comfort tears.

He could endure rage.

He could ground despair.

But this—

This quiet, hollow uncertainty—

It felt like watching something precious slip underwater without a splash.

His vision blurred for half a second.

And then—

It came again.

That image.

Unwanted. Uninvited.

A battlefield under a dead sky.

The air thick with iron and rot.

Thousands of bodies strewn like discarded dolls.

And in the center—

Her.

Pink hair matted with blood.

Skin cracked, corrupted, wrong.

A golden sword driven straight through her chest.

She was standing.

She was smiling.A small, peaceful smile that didn’t belong on a battlefield.

Her lips moved.

He couldn’t hear the words—

—but he knew, with terrifying certainty, that she was saying something final.

Luca’s breath hitched sharply.

He snapped back to the infirmary like someone surfacing from deep water, chest burning, heart pounding violently against his ribs.

No.

No no no.

His hands trembled.

He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he tried to speak.

“N-nothing like that will happen,” he said quickly—too quickly, the words tripping over each other. “J-just… just rest. E-everything will be fine.”

Even as he said it, he knew.

His voice didn’t sound convincing.

It sounded afraid.

Lilliane didn’t respond.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t reject the reassurance.

She simply kept staring at the ceiling, as if the conversation had already ended somewhere far away.

The silence swallowed his words whole.

Luca stood abruptly.

The chair scraped backward against the stone floor, the harsh sound slicing through the room like a blade.

Lilliane didn’t flinch.

He didn’t look at her again.

He couldn’t.

He turned and left.

The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.

—

Luca ran.

Down the corridor.

Past mana lamps.

Past turning hallways and stone pillars and empty benches.

He ran until his lungs burned.

Until his legs screamed.

Until the world narrowed to nothing but breath and motion and fear.

He didn’t know where he was going.

He didn’t care.

His boots struck the stone floor again and again, the sound echoing wildly through the dwarven halls as if chased by something he couldn’t outrun.

Finally—

He stopped.

Hands braced against his knees.

Head hanging low.

His breath came in harsh, uneven gasps, chest heaving as sweat dripped from his jaw onto the stone.

The corridor around him was empty.

Too empty.

He straightened slowly, one hand dragging across his face.

The question he had been avoiding clawed its way back up, raw and relentless.

Is… is the future really inevitable?

The thought lodged itself deep in his chest.

Heavy.

Unmoving.

And for the first time since he had arrived in this world—

Luca was afraid that knowing the future might not be enough to change it.

***

Beneath the dwarven lands—

far below stone, far below forge, far below even memory—

the lava breathed.

Not flowed.

Not roared.

It breathed.

Each inhale pulled rivers of molten fire inward, compressing heat until the air itself screamed. Each exhale sent waves of searing pressure rippling through the cavern, turning stone into glowing veins and shadows into nothingness. There was no darkness here—only fire layered upon fire, heat stacked so densely it felt solid.

Nothing lived here.

Nothing should.

And yet—

A figure staggered forward.

Armor blackened and cracked, once noble steel now warped and veined with corruption. Every step sent sparks flying from his greaves as they scraped against molten rock. The sigils carved into his chestplate flickered erratically—dark mana fighting desperately against the overwhelming dominance of flame.

The corrupted knight panted, each breath dragged painfully through scorched lungs.

The heat was crushing him.

Burning him.

Unmaking him.

Still, he forced himself to kneel.

The moment his knee touched the ground—

The lava froze.

Not cooled.

Obeyed.

A presence descended.

No footsteps.

No form.

Just weight.

A pressure so immense it felt like the mountain itself had turned its gaze inward.

The air trembled.

Then—

A voice.

Deep.

Ancient.

Heavy enough to bend the magma around it.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

The words did not echo.

They crushed.

The corrupted knight’s shoulders jerked violently. Cracks spread across his armor as if the sound itself had struck him. He lowered his head further, trembling—not from fear alone, but from the sheer, annihilating heat of the presence before him.

His throat burned.

His voice barely survived.

“M-Magic… T-tower master…”

The name left his mouth like a curse and a prayer all at once.

For a heartbeat—

Silence.

Then—

Laughter.

Not sharp.

Not manic.

Vast.

A laughter that rolled through the magma seas like an avalanche of flame, shaking the cavern walls, splitting molten rivers, sending eruptions spiraling into the air.

“Hahahahahahahahah—!”

The lava surged violently, geysers exploding skyward as if the world itself were laughing along.

The corrupted knight clenched his fists, teeth grinding, barely conscious—

As the laughter continued, blooming, endless, amused.

“HAHAHAHAAAHHAHAHAHA!”