The Extra Can't be A Hero

Chapter 332: The Demon Empire (5)

High along the jagged mountain ridges overlooking Morzeth, the wind howled like a warning through the stone. Snow and ash mingled in the air, carried from distant battlefields and corrupted lands alike, settling upon two forces that stood in absolute stillness.

No horns sounded. No banners waved.

Only silence—thick, suffocating, and on the verge of shattering.

On one side stood the Eldorin Order.

Forged in war and tempered by countless battles against demonic forces, Eldorin was no ordinary military faction. It was an elite convergence of knights and magicians, each member honed for a singular purpose: the eradication of demons and the corruption they spread.

Their formation was precise, their auras steady, their presence alone enough to bend the tension in the air.

At the forefront stood Leon.

Encased in radiant Solaris armour that shimmered with golden light, Leon appeared less like a man and more like a living embodiment of dawn. Heat rippled faintly from his presence, melting the frost beneath his feet. His gaze was unwavering, fixed upon the enemy as if already measuring the outcome of the battle to come.

Behind him stood the pillars of Eldorin—the captains whose strength defined the order itself.

Johann Amaris hovered slightly above the ground, seven intricate magic rings orbiting his body in perfect harmony. Each ring pulsed with layered incantations, threads of mana weaving between them like a living system. His eyes, calm yet calculating, scanned the battlefield with frightening clarity.

In terms of raw magical talent, he stood at the very peak of this generation—surpassed only by anomalies like Yue.

Without such exceptions, Johann would have already been hailed as the greatest prodigy in centuries.

To Leon's right stood Venya Vortessa, her posture relaxed, almost casual.

Yet her bow was already in hand, fingers resting lightly against the string. Her eyes glowed faintly, tracking movements far beyond what the naked eye could perceive. The wind shifted subtly around her, as if guided by her will.

Whether unleashing a storm of arrows that could blot out the sky or condensing her power into a single, devastating shot, Venya embodied perfection in ranged combat. With her refined mana reserves—honed through relentless training under Amon and Yue—she no longer suffered from her former limitations.

On Leon's other side stood Manon. Still as a statue, the ancient warrior exuded a quiet, suffocating pressure. His armour bore the marks of bygone eras, etched with symbols long forgotten by modern civilisation.

Once a knight of the Clay Emperor, he had witnessed the rise and fall of empires… and survived them all. Since his awakening, his strength had not merely returned… it had evolved. The ground beneath him seemed to tremble faintly, as if acknowledging a force that defied time itself.

These three formed the backbone of Eldorin's command, figures whose combined might could crush entire armies.

Legends in their own right.

But Eldorin's strength did not end with them.

It extended outward—into a roster of warriors who had each carved their names into the annals of war.

Khali stood poised, her twin chakrams spinning idly at her sides, leaving faint trails of light in the air. Her movements were hypnotic, her presence disorienting—a battlefield illusion given form.

Nearby, Eris Umbrelune rested her staff against the ground. Shadows gathered at her feet, writhing faintly as if eager to be unleashed. The undead she commanded were not yet summoned—but the air itself felt heavier in her presence.

Fenric Ashglyph stood bare-armed despite the cold, ancient runes etched across his skin glowing faintly beneath the surface. Each breath he took seemed to draw in the world's energy, his body acting as both weapon and fortress.

The warlock brothers, Recto and Verso, murmured quietly to one another, arcane symbols flickering between their hands—unstable, unpredictable, and devastating.

Yeon stood apart, frost spreading beneath her feet in delicate, crystalline patterns. The air around her shimmered with absolute cold, her mastery over ice magic having reached its theoretical limit. Beyond this… lay transcendence.

Ines knelt briefly, placing her hand against the earth. A soft, green glow pulsed outward, connecting her to the land itself. Life, energy, and balance—all flowed through her.

Lutz adjusted the mechanisms on a floating construct beside him, its runic core humming with restrained power. His innovations had redefined magical engineering, turning constructs into extensions of warfare itself.

Oswin checked the chamber of his weapon with a quiet click, his expression unreadable. Whether through silent execution or explosive confrontation, he was a constant, reliable and lethal.

Renee and Maelle lingered near the rear, their eyes scanning everything, missing nothing. Information was their weapon—and they wielded it flawlessly.

And then… There was Bawi.

Standing with her blade resting lightly against her shoulder, she exuded a quiet confidence that bordered on inevitability. The blood of the Sword Saint flowed within her, and it showed. Even now, her presence alone could rival that of entire battalions.

Together, they formed Eldorin. An unstoppable machine of war. Yet the force before them did not falter.

Across the ridge, the Paladins of the Holy Church stood in perfect formation. Their silver armour gleamed unnaturally pristine—untouched by grime, unmarred by battle. It was not arrogance that kept it so clean, but something deeper. Divine protection. Sacred authority.

There were only twenty. But each one radiated a presence equal to an army.

Unlike conventional Paladin Orders, there was no uniformity in their armaments.

Each carried a weapon that reflected their individual path—maces that hummed with crushing force, spears that shimmered with piercing light, swords that seemed to hum with hymns, shields etched with sacred scripture.

They did not fight as one.

They fought as twenty perfected warriors. And that made them far more dangerous.

At their head stood Sir Arthur Pagiel. Tall, unmoving, his presence alone commanded the battlefield. His armour shone brighter than the rest, almost ethereal, as if forged from condensed divinity itself. His gaze met Leon's across the distance—calm, unwavering, and filled with a conviction that could not be shaken.

"Sir Arthur."

"Leon, you've grown so much."

Sir Arthur removed his helmet, revealing his red hair and gaunt face. As the pinnacle of all Paladins, Arthur could last for days without food or water. As long as he kept his faith, the Goddess's protection would empower him endlessly.

So for him to look so frail, it could only mean one thing.

The Head Paladin's faith was wavering.

"Yes, I have… And you've aged badly."

"Hah, you have your father's wit, I see."

Sir Arthur smiled and gestured for his Paladins to lower their arms. At the very least, their first meeting was cordial. However, what was to follow was anyone's guess.

"... How is Ella?"

The first question that popped out of Leon's mouth wasn't what the Paladin's mission were or whether they were bound to fight, but a genuine concern over his lover.

Arthur paused, as a frost unknowingly covered his lips. Arthur wasn't just the Head Paladin of the Holy Church; he was Leon's mentor, godfather even. He'd seen Leon grow from a snot-nosed brat into the untouchable hero that he was. He watched as Leon and Ellahan's love blossomed from teenage love into a relationship that even the Pope couldn't tear apart.

Alas, Leon and Ellahan's opponent wasn't just the Pope.

"She has been honoured by the Goddess. Her role as the Saintess has been fulfilled."

"Is that the Holy Church's position? Is even Archbishop Araquiel helpless to save his own granddaughter?"

"..."

Arthur went speechless. He knew that the Archbishop was against Hyades taking over Ellahan's body, but what could they possibly do?

They were up against the Goddess, the deity that every pious member of the Holy Church prays to.

"No matter if the Holy Church won't do anything to save Ella, I will."

"... Leon."

"State your business, Sir Arthur of the Holy Church. I doubt you came here with the Order of the Holy Cross just to exchange pleasantries."

"No, you're right." Sir Arthur shook his head before continuing: "We're here to annihilate the Solaris House."

"... what?"

This time, it was Leon's turn to be confused. Destroying the Solaris House was a nigh impossible task. The Holy Church would likely have to deploy all its assets, even if that meant leaving Hyarum undefended. And even then, victory would be uncertain.

Yet, Sir Arthur was only bringing twenty Paladins along this mission?

Granted, each Paladin was powerful and could easily match a Pillar Knight who had six suns condensed. But, annihilating the entire Solaris House on their home turf? Never mind Amon, just the legions of secret forces within their walls were enough to smash the twenty Paladins. Heck, just the Golden Order alone could match the forces that Sir Arthur gathered.

"Well, yes. Those were our orders from the Goddess, but…"

Sir Arthur took out the sealed envelope that Archbishop Araquiel bestowed upon him. His intentions were to open it up when they reached Solfea, but given that he'd met Leon on the way… There was no need to travel that far.

"Arthur Pagiel. For crimes against the Goddess, you and your Paladin Order are hereby branded heretics. You will be stripped of your titles and lands and shall be sentenced to death. Surrender yourselves to the Cardinals immediately and accept your punishment. In the name of the Goddess, Archbishop Ignatius Araquiel."

"Sir Arthur, grandpa he…"

"It seems that our order has been branded heretics… Does the Solaris House and Eldorin accept asylum seekers?"