The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He? - Chapter 325

Chapter 325: Chapter 325 – “Of Course He will Say No!”
The name lingered in the air far longer than it should have.

Thousand Hammer Crucible.

It did not echo. It did not thunder. It simply existed, heavy and immovable, like a slab of ancient stone laid across the chest of the world. Even the drifting ash seemed to hesitate, its slow descent stalling as though the mountain itself were listening.

Luca stood unmoving.

Not because he had accepted it.

Not because he understood it.

But because his body had reached the edge of what it could process.

The dagger trembled faintly in his blood-slicked hand. His grip tightened instinctively—not with strength, but with stubborn refusal to let go. His vision swam at the edges, the world blurring and sharpening in uneven pulses, and somewhere deep inside his chest his heart beat far too loud, far too fast, like it was trying to escape before the rest of him collapsed.

Around him, the reaction came in waves.

The dwarven elders surged forward in the air, their earlier injuries forgotten in the face of something far worse than pain. Elder Thrain’s posture stiffened, his broad shoulders drawing back as if bracing against a blow that had not yet landed. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles along his beard twitched.

“That is not a trial,” he said, his voice low, shaking not with weakness but with restrained fury. “You know that better than anyone, Blackvein.”

Huldar’s usually calm expression fractured completely. His eyes widened, disbelief giving way to something rawer—something close to fear. His hands trembled as he lowered them, fingers curling slowly as though remembering a weight they had once held.

“The Thousand Hammer Crucible was sealed because it breaks people,” he said hoarsely. “Not just bodies—minds. Wills. It is not meant to be challenged.”

Brokk took a step forward, the stone beneath his boots cracking faintly under the force of his movement. His hammer aura flickered, unstable, mirroring the barely restrained rage burning behind his eyes.

“You would drag our people through this again?” he snarled. “For those cultists? For whatever poison deal you made in the dark?”

Hilda’s flames rose involuntarily, not in attack but in instinctive defiance, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line.

“You disgrace us,” she said flatly. “And you know it.”

Below them, among the stands, the name continued to spread—slowly, unevenly—like a sickness carried on breath.

Human nobles leaned toward one another, faces paling as fragments of half-forgotten history clawed their way back into memory.

“Thousand Hammer…?”

“No… it can’t be that one…”

“I thought it was a myth—”

One noble rose halfway from his seat, knuckles whitening against the armrest as his voice broke.

“That trial killed a noble heir,” he whispered, horror seeping into every syllable. “That was why the Forgeheart Crucible stopped. Why the dwarves sealed it away.”

Reporters froze mid-motion, quills hovering uselessly above parchment. Even the ever-humming recording crystals stuttered, their runes flickering as if uncertain whether they should continue bearing witness.

On the challengers’ stand, realization hit Luca’s companions with brutal clarity.

Kyle drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his usual irreverence gone entirely, his shoulders rigid as though preparing for a blow he could not block.

Selena’s fingers curled tightly against the railing, her eyes fixed on Luca—not on Durgan—as if already anticipating something she was terrified to see confirmed.

Sylthara’s posture remained upright, controlled, but the tension in her neck and jaw betrayed how carefully she was holding herself together.

Even Lilliane, distant and hollow-eyed, seemed unnaturally still, her gaze unfocused yet heavy with an instinctive sense of wrongness.

Dwarven elders continued to berate Durgan as Thrain said, “You are just using excuses to escape the dwarven pledge.”

And through it all—

Durgan Blackvein laughed.

Not loudly.

Not cruelly.

It was a slow, rolling sound that rose from deep within his chest, carrying neither joy nor mockery—only certainty. He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to the elders argue, then exhaled through his nose in faint amusement.

“Thrain,” he said at last, voice calm, almost conversational, “you’ve always mistaken my indifference for malice.”

His gaze drifted briefly upward, toward the fractured sky, where smoke and ash blurred the line between mountain and heaven.

“I don’t care about kingdoms,” he continued evenly. “Or cultists. Or whether this mountain still stands tomorrow.”

He lowered his eyes.

And they locked onto Luca.

“What I need…,” Durgan said quietly—then stopped.

The pause stretched.

Deliberate.

Heavy.

When he spoke again, it was not to the elders, but to the boy barely standing below him.

“Whatever you think of me,” he said, his voice roughening just slightly, “I have never been unfair.”

He studied Luca then—really studied him. The blood soaking his hair. The way his weight shifted unconsciously, fighting collapse. The dagger held not like a weapon, but like a promise that refused to break.

“It feels unfair to you,” Durgan said at last.

A breath.

“So let’s make it even.”

The world leaned inward.

“They say it’s an excuse, huh! Then let it be, let it be an excuse.”

He continued, “How about you challenge me,” he said, eyes sharpening, “in the Thousand Hammer Crucible.”

The elders froze.

“If you pass,” Durgan continued, his voice steady and unyielding, “your Tower Master walks free.”

A murmur threatened to rise—then died instantly when he continued.

“Forget the pledge. Forget the debt.”

He pressed a hand flat against his chest.

“I, Durgan Blackvein,” he said slowly, deliberately, “…will belong to you. As your slave. For life.”

The words landed.

Not like thunder.

Like a full stop at the end of the world.

The wind stilled. The mountain went silent. Breathing itself felt intrusive, unwelcome.

And at the center of it all stood Luca—bleeding, shaking, barely conscious—feeling the weight of every eye, every expectation, every consequence settle onto his shoulders like an unmovable crown.

The world waited.

And did not blink.

The arena did not erupt.

It did not gasp.

It simply… held.

The ruins stood where they had fallen, broken stone cooling beneath drifting ash. The great dwarven constructs remained locked in half-formed poses, gears exposed, mechanisms stilled as though even they were uncertain whether they were allowed to move anymore. Above, the elders hovered in silence, their injuries forgotten for the moment, their expressions drawn tight with the understanding of what had just been placed on the table.

The Thousand Hammer Crucible.

Not a challenge.

Not a trial.

A sentence.

Among the crowd, the realization spread slowly, like cold water creeping through cracks in stone. Faces that had been animated moments ago now turned grim, eyes dropping, jaws tightening. Some nobles leaned back, discomfort replacing curiosity. Reporters lowered their instruments without realizing it, hands stiff, minds racing—not with questions, but with dread.

Luca stood at the center of it all.

He barely registered the silence.

His body was beyond exhaustion now—past pain, past strain—held upright only by habit and stubborn refusal. Blood continued to slip from his hairline, warm against skin gone numb. His breathing was shallow, uneven, each inhale scraping through his chest like it had to force its way in.

He did not look at Durgan.

He did not look at the elders.

For a moment, he didn’t look at anything at all.

Then a voice reached him.

Soft.

Measured.

Almost unbearably gentle in a place like this.

“Don’t do it, Luca.”

The words did not echo. They did not demand attention.

They simply existed.

His head lifted slowly.

Suspended within the suppression device, the Tower Master met his gaze. Her posture remained composed, her hands folded as they always were, but her eyes—those eyes—were fixed on him alone.

“You don’t need to do it,” she said again.

There was no command in her voice. No authority. No expectation.

Only concern.

Only the quiet insistence of someone who had already weighed the cost and found it unacceptable.

Luca stared at her.

For a long moment, nothing else reached him—not the murmurs beginning to ripple through the crowd, not the tension rolling off the elders, not even the looming presence of Durgan above.

He closed his eyes.

Not dramatically.

Not suddenly.

As if he were simply… shutting everything else out.

Darkness pressed in, familiar and heavy. The whispers around him grew clearer in contrast, slipping past his awareness like distant rain.

“He won’t do it.”

“There’s no reason to.”

“No one would.”

“That trial kills even dwarves.”

“Of course he will say no.”

“Who would dare to risk their own lives for another, however important that person may be.”

“And that too such a torturous death!”

Agreement followed agreement. Not mockery. Not doubt.

Certainty.

The kind people used when they wanted to believe the world still made sense.

Luca’s breathing steadied.

Something inside him aligned—not with courage, not with anger, but with decision. The kind that didn’t require emotion to survive.

He opened his eyes.

They were focused now.

Clear in a way that left no room for misunderstanding.

He looked at her one last time, his gaz

e steady despite the blood, despite the tremor in his legs.

And then he spoke.

“NO.”

The word was quiet.

Flat.

Final.