The Extra Can't be A Hero

Chapter 338: Leon Bright, Hero of the World (3)

Yeon, the Witch of Oblivion, recalled the first time she'd met Amon.

Back then, she had been nothing more than a broken mage—adrift, hollow, and stripped of any purpose to continue living.

The Demon Cult had annihilated her family without mercy, leaving behind no survivors, no sanctuary, not even a memory she could cling to without pain. She had been utterly alone. And as if that loss were not enough, her suffering had only just begun.

Captured and delivered to the Apostle of Grief, her body became a vessel for grotesque experimentation. They twisted her very existence, reshaping her into a prototype—a host meant to birth a new form of demonic human. Her mana pathways were corrupted, her core defiled, her flesh no longer entirely her own.

Every moment was agony. Every breath felt stolen.

By some miracle—or perhaps sheer defiance—she escaped their grasp.

But escape did not mean salvation. Her body was already collapsing. The corruption spread relentlessly, eating away at her life, ensuring that even freedom would be short-lived. Once hailed as one of the most gifted ice mages of her generation, Yeon had been reduced to something pitiful—a fractured puppet that had barely managed to slip free of its strings.

Her once-pristine magic was tainted, her face forever scarred by the ordeal, and every person she had ever loved was gone.

She had nothing left.

It was in that abyss of despair, when even the will to hate began to fade, that her saviour appeared. Not as a hero of legend, nor as a figure of grand destiny—but as a boy.

Amon was little more than a teenager then, a newly inducted knight still undergoing training.

Yet when the Demon Cult came to reclaim her, he stood in their path without hesitation. What followed was not a desperate struggle—it was a one-sided suppression. With a power far beyond what his age should have allowed, he drove them back, forcing monsters that had once broken her into retreat. A

young man, barely half her age, had reached into hell… and pulled her out.

But reality was far from the stories.

There was no blossoming admiration, no fragile gratitude turning into love.

Yeon was too exhausted, too hollow for such things.

Relief came, yes—but it was drowned beneath a deeper desire: for everything to simply end.

To stop hurting.

To stop existing in a body that no longer felt like hers.

And that was when she met the true monster.

Yue Elune.

Younger than her, yet standing on a plane she could scarcely comprehend, Yue's presence alone was suffocating. Where Yeon had once been called a prodigy, Yue redefined the very meaning of talent. Without ceremony, without hesitation, Yue reached into Yeon's corrupted core and purged it—ripping out the demonic taint that had been slowly killing her.

It was not gentle. It was not kind. But it saved her.

For the first time since her world had ended, Yeon was given something she thought she had lost forever… hope.

From that moment on, she clawed her way back.

Step by step, she rebuilt herself through relentless effort, pushing her limits until they shattered, then pushing further still. The despair that once consumed her became fuel, her pain reforged into purpose.

Years passed, and the broken girl who had once begged for release was gone.

In her place stood the Witch of Oblivion. Her ice magic ascended to its absolute zenith, cold enough to freeze even concepts beyond matter. Her mana core deepened into something vast and unfathomable, like an endless ocean sealed within her body.

Across the world, her name became synonymous with power, feared and revered in equal measure.

And yet… Even now, standing at the pinnacle of all mages, Yeon understood one undeniable truth.

The depths of Amon and Yue's power… remained far beyond her sight.

Compared to them…

"You're not as powerful."

Yeon stared down the Demon Count, immediately giving her assessment.

The crimson abomination floating in front of Yeon reacted to the witch's words, flames spewing from its innumerable tendrils. Its maw opened wide, spewing a venomous mist to which Yeon instantly froze before it could do any damage to her.

"Insolent inferior creature… You dare compare me, the great Count Dralix, to another inferior one?"

"Inferior? You won't be able to beat me, let alone that monster."

As she spoke, Yeon's mana surged without restraint.

The air itself seemed to recoil as the temperature plummeted in an instant, plunging far beneath freezing. Frost spread like a living thing across the battlefield, and within a heartbeat, a cataclysmic blizzard was born—one so absolute it felt capable of freezing the very world in place.

Everything within her domain slowed. At the heart of the storm, Yeon raised her hand, and an intricate formation took shape—an enormous snowflake sigil composed of eight towering ice pillars, each one carved with ancient runes that pulsed with glacial mana.

The structure locked the space itself, sealing its target within an inescapable prison of absolute zero. Trapped within the formation, Count Dralix merely yawned.

The Demon Noble exhaled a torrent of searing flame, a blazing breath that roared outward in an attempt to melt the encroaching glaciers. Heat surged violently, clashing against the encroaching frost—but it was already too late.

Before the flames could fully take hold, Yeon moved.

Ice spears materialised and fired in an instant, piercing through the air faster than the speed of sound. They struck Dralix's body with brutal precision, impaling him from multiple angles before the shockwave of their passage had even caught up.

The impact echoed like thunder across the frozen battlefield.

Flames erupted in response, melting the embedded spears almost as quickly as they had formed—but Yeon did not relent.

With a single thought, dozens more descended from above, streaking down like supersonic comets, each one aimed with lethal accuracy.

For the first time, irritation flickered across the Demon Count's grotesque features.

Feeling challenged—no, slighted—Count Dralix yawned once more, but this time the world answered.

The skies ignited as a raging firestorm took form, meteors of blazing inferno tearing through the heavens before crashing down in a devastating rain. Each impact shattered ice and scorched earth, the sheer force of it threatening to overturn Yeon's frozen dominion.

Fire and ice collided in violent equilibrium.

Explosions of steam and shockwaves rippled outward as opposing elements devoured one another, neither side able to fully dominate.

For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the balance was tipping—that the Demon Count's overwhelming inferno might consume the battlefield whole. But that moment was fleeting.

Yeon unleashed her trump card, turning herself into a maiden of ice as a black sphere engulfed the pair into an arena of life and death. In her domain, the Witch of Oblivion had turned into the Frost Immortal, a being that could freeze the entire world if she so chose.

And the Demon Count could feel that.

No, not only her opponent, even the other Demon Nobles realised the gravity of the situation.

The second Demon Count, the Lycan with twelve wings, attempted to save his compatriot from certain death. But before it could lift off the ground, over a hundred flying swords pierced its tough hide, locking it in place.

"You're not going anywhere."

Bawi spoke coldly. Her blade shimmered with the light of the frozen sun. Thousands of swords orbited around her like planets to the sun, and she pointed her trusted blade towards the Demon Count.

"You will fall here today."

"Inferior creatures… You really think you are a match for us Demon Counts?"

The Lycan sneered in complete disgust.

"Once we annex your planet, I will make you watch as we enslave and murder your family."

"Well, you can try."

Bawi thought of her family members. The Sword Saint, the former Protector of the Realm. Amon, the greatest Knight in history. And Yue, the woman closest to the Goddess.

If the Demons were able to enslave them… well, the world would have ended anyway.

Numerous blades shimmered into existence, each one glinting like a distant star against the chaos of the battlefield. For a brief, suspended moment, they hung in perfect stillness—an entire constellation forged of steel.

Then, like leaves caught in an unseen autumn wind, they descended. The sky itself seemed to fall. In an instant, the battlefield was consumed by a cascading storm of swords, their numbers so vast they blotted out sight and sense alike, drowning the Demon Count in a suffocating tide of lethal intent.

The winged Lycan reacted with a roar, its twelve wings beating in unison.

A violent shockwave erupted outward, a tempest meant to scatter the incoming blades in a single, overwhelming motion.

But it was far too late.

Bawi stood unmoved at the centre of it all, her presence calm, absolute. Her control over swordsmanship had long since transcended conventional mastery—second only to the Sword Saint himself.

Each blade was an extension of her will, bound not by wind nor force, but by an unyielding command. If she decreed they would remain, then not even a hurricane could move them.

The storm did not break. Instead, it tightened. Hundreds of swords surged forward in perfect harmony, slipping through the gaps of the Lycan's defences as though guided by fate itself.

They carved through flesh, tore across wings, and pierced deep into its monstrous frame, each strike precise, merciless, and impossibly coordinated. In mere moments, the Demon Count's towering body was reduced to a canvas of blood and steel.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled.

Then… its eyes ignited.

What burned within them was no longer arrogance, nor indifference… but raw, primal fury.

"Are you sure you don't need to help them?"

Watching this all unfold was Manon. In complete contrast to the blood-soaked battlefield. He hadn't begun the battle. The Demon Noble in front of him simply watched as its companions were slowly being defeated, wholly uninterested in their life or death.

"What's there to help? If they die, then they were weak. Besides, if I help them and let you loose, we would lose this battle instantly."

"Hoh…"

Manon whistled in amazement. Evidently, this Demon Noble could identify who was the most powerful on the battlefield and chose to stick with Manon instead.

"Well, shall we start then? Demon Count?"

"We shall… but, don't call me Count."

The six-eyed demon reached up and slowly cast aside his robe, letting it fall in tattered silence to the ground below.

What it revealed was not merely a body, but something forged and refined into a weapon. His skin was pitch black, not dull but metallic, as though it had been hammered into shape from living iron. Every muscle was defined to unnatural perfection, coiled with power, without a single trace of excess. Veins of dim, crimson light pulsed beneath the surface, each throb carrying waves of dense demonic mana that distorted the air around him.

It was not just strength—it was pressure, an overwhelming presence that pressed down on everything nearby. His six eyes flickered open in unison. Each one burned with a sharp, yellow glow, predatory and intelligent, shifting independently as they took in the battlefield from every conceivable angle.

There was no blind spot, no moment of vulnerability—only constant, suffocating awareness. When he finally spoke, his voice slithered through the air like poison given form, every word laced with contempt and something far more dangerous lurking beneath.

"My name is Marquis Thurzos… The Demon Marquis destined to end your life. Remember that well."