The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 31: Bloody Banquet (5): Marcus POV

The Grand Hall buzzed with music, laughter, and swirling colors.

Marcus stood near one of the decorated pillars, laughing as Garron tried—badly—to mimic a waltz step, nearly tripping over his own boots.

"You're gonna kill someone doing that," Laziel drawled lazily from where he leaned against the wall, arms folded.

Clara giggled behind her hand, and Marcus chuckled, shaking his head.

Just another night.

Just another celebration.

Then it happened.

The music cracked.

The air seemed to tear apart with the sound of a scream.

Everyone froze.

Marcus turned sharply, instincts kicking in faster than thought.

Across the hall—near the drink tables—a third-year student collapsed, blood splattering across the polished marble.

Standing over him—

A figure in a black mask, sword drawn, body tense and ready for the next strike.

For a heartbeat, the entire hall stood still.

Then chaos detonated.

More masked figures poured in from hidden entrances—walls crumbling as spells exploded outward, students scattering in all directions, screams echoing off the high ceilings.

The professors reacted instantly.

Shields sprang up.

Magic flared across the hall as they tried to protect the civilians.

Marcus's hand went to his sword, fingers clenching tight around the hilt.

Around him, the world tipped into battle.

'This is it.'

He could see Selene already moving near the eastern wall—casting wide freezing spells, sheets of ice slamming into attackers, slowing them, buying precious seconds for fleeing students.

He caught a glimpse of Elena too—standing calmly near a group of terrified first-years, casting barriers and cutting spells, her silver hair flashing like a beacon.

Neither of them were part of his group.

But they were fighting anyway.

Fighting for the academy.

Just like he would.

Because Marcus knew, deep in his gut:

He wasn't going to run tonight.

"Evacuate!" a professor's voice bellowed over the chaos.

"All students to the courtyard! Move! Now!"

More professors appeared, rallying groups of panicked students, forming protective barriers to cover their retreat.

Spells screamed overhead—Arc Lightning, Inferno Burst, Frost Lance—lighting up the hall like a battlefield.

The decorated tables were overturned, the once-beautiful banners now burned or slashed.

Marcus stood his ground.

His sword drawn.

Heart hammering.

Garron grabbed his shoulder roughly.

"Marcus, they're calling for a full retreat," Garron said, urgency in his voice. "We need to go."

Students were already flooding toward the broken doors, sprinting and stumbling, desperate to escape.

But Marcus's feet stayed planted.

He watched the masked attackers moving.

Saw them cutting down students who were too slow.

Saw blood on the floor, heard the wet sound of blades striking flesh.

Running wouldn't fix this.

Running wouldn't protect anyone.

He tightened his grip on his sword.

"I'm staying," he said firmly, voice steady.

Clara, who had started to turn with the crowd, froze.

"What?"

"I'm staying to fight," Marcus repeated, louder this time.

The decision was already made in his heart.

He couldn't abandon the people behind him.

He wouldn't.

Garron hesitated, glancing at Laziel—who just shrugged, that lazy grin still on his face.

"You know I'm in," Laziel said.

"Wouldn't let you get all the glory," Garron grunted, cracking his knuckles.

Clara bit her lip.

Fear flickered across her face.

But then she drew her short sword anyway, stepping closer to Marcus.

"You're an idiot," she said softly. "But... we're all idiots together."

Marcus smiled grimly.

Then he turned to face the oncoming tide of enemies.

Not alone.

Never alone.

Marcus didn't wait for a signal.

He broke into a sprint toward the nearest cluster of masked attackers, sword flashing in the chaotic light.

Garron roared behind him, charging like a battering ram, while Laziel moved more fluidly, weaving spells with sharp, precise gestures.

Clara stuck close to Marcus's side, her blade flashing to intercept any stray attacks.

The clash was immediate and brutal.

The first masked enemy lunged, swinging low.

Marcus pivoted, brought his sword down hard, and felt the jolt travel up his arms as his blade bit into flesh.

The man dropped with a grunt.

Another came at him—daggers flashing—but Clara was already there, parrying the first strike and kicking the attacker square in the gut.

'Focus. One step at a time.'

Garron grabbed a masked figure by the collar and threw him like a ragdoll into a pile of broken chairs, clearing space with sheer brute force.

Laziel muttered under his breath—"Flame Spear."

A shaft of burning fire erupted from his palm, piercing through the shoulder of an enemy who was charging Garron from behind.

Marcus adjusted constantly, moving between offense and defense, covering Clara, keeping Garron's blind spots clear, coordinating instinctively with Laziel's range support.

It was messy.

It was bloody.

But it worked.

Not far from them, he caught glimpses of Selene on the battlefield—sheets of ice exploding from her outstretched hand, trapping clusters of enemies in thick frost that shattered under her next spell.

On another side, Elena fought near a collapsed column, shielding a group of terrified younger students, slicing through any attacker that got too close with cold, efficient precision.

They weren't part of Marcus's group.

But tonight?

Everyone was fighting for the same reason.

Imperial Vaelterra Academy was bleeding.

And they would not let it fall.

'Come on. Come on.'

Marcus tightened his grip on his sword.

They would hold.

No matter what.

Marcus parried another wild swing, slashing low and driving his attacker back into the smoke and chaos.

He didn't stop moving.

Didn't stop thinking.

Every second mattered.

Every movement was survival.

He ducked a blast of Wind Cutter and shoved Clara out of the way of a rogue lightning bolt, gritting his teeth as the heat scorched the air beside them.

And then—

Through the rolling smoke and flashing spells, Marcus caught a glimpse of something strange near the far side of the Grand Hall.

A figure sprinting across the broken marble floor.

Noel.

Marcus blinked, caught completely off guard for a second.

Noel looked battered—soaked, dirty, blood smeared along his jawline—but alive.

Clutching something close to his chest, running with a single-minded urgency.

Marcus saw him break through the defensive lines and sprint straight toward Director Aldros.

Even from here, through the noise and confusion, Marcus could tell it wasn't a casual approach.

It was serious.

Urgent.

The two exchanged a few quick, sharp words—too far for Marcus to hear.

Then, suddenly, Aldros raised his hands into the air, his fingers moving in a blur.

Mana flooded the hall, thick and suffocating for a moment.

Marcus staggered slightly under the pressure.

Then he heard it.

"Twin Echo!"

The spell name rang out over the battlefield like a gunshot.

A burst of blinding white light exploded around Aldros, forcing even the attackers to flinch back instinctively.

When the light faded—

Director Aldros was two.

Two identical versions of himself, smaller, slightly dimmed but still burning with raw authority.

One Aldros turned toward the Gardens.

The other toward the Library.

And Noel?

Noel sprinted after one of them, disappearing into the chaos, vanishing from Marcus's sight.

Marcus gritted his teeth.

He didn't know what was happening.

But if Noel was involved, it wasn't small.

And now—

Now, with the Director gone?

The tide of the battle shifted.

Because across the hall, near the splintered remains of the orchestra platform—

Caldus stepped forward.

The moment Director Aldros and Noel disappeared into the chaos, the atmosphere of the Grand Hall shifted.

Marcus felt it—like the pressure had dropped, like the shield over their heads had cracked.

Across the ruins of the floor, Caldus stepped forward.

His dark robes were torn, singed along the edges, his breathing shallow.

One arm hung slightly lower than the other, trembling faintly with fatigue.

But his eyes—

Cold.

Sharp.

Burning with hate.

In his right hand, he gripped a single black wand, faint trails of mana flickering at the tip like dying embers trying to reignite.

'He's weakened.'

'Badly.'

Marcus could feel it.

Caldus had spent most of the night clashing with Aldros—blow for blow, spell for spell.

Even boosted by drugs, even mad with fury, Caldus had bled for every inch.

And now, without Aldros here to keep him contained—

He had just enough strength left to be deadly.

The surviving professors shifted automatically, moving into a loose perimeter around him.

Marcus and his group—Garron, Laziel, Clara—tightened their formation instinctively, stepping up beside the older mages without hesitation.

Selene, standing farther down the hall, summoned another wall of ice with a sharp gesture, locking down the rear flank to stop any more attackers from sneaking in.

Caldus straightened slowly, blood dripping from a wound at his side.

He raised the wand.

Sparks snapped at the tip.

"You should have run," he rasped, voice rough, almost hollow. "Could have lived."

Marcus lifted his sword.

He met Caldus's gaze without flinching.

"We're not interested," Marcus said.

No theatrics.

No posturing.

Just fact.

The last battle of the night had begun.

And they would not back down.

Caldus moved first.

A sharp flick of his wand—

"Mana Lance!"

A blinding spear of compressed energy tore through the air.

Marcus barely sidestepped in time, feeling the heat of it scorch his cheek as it passed.

Garron roared and charged, swinging his greatsword in a wide arc.

Caldus snapped his wand sideways, casting "Force Reversal!"

An invisible wave slammed into Garron's chest, sending the big man staggering back—but not down.

Laziel, moving like a snake, whispered under his breath, a magic circle forming at his feet.

"Chain Bind."

Golden ropes of mana shot toward Caldus—but the sorcerer slashed his wand downward, shattering the bindings before they could tighten.

Clara and Marcus moved together, flanking him.

Marcus feinted low.

Clara struck high.

Caldus twisted awkwardly—slower now, each dodge costing him energy he didn't have to spare.

'He's breaking down.' Marcus realized.

The professors unleashed spells in waves—Frost Shards, Blazing Arrows, Pressure Walls—hammering Caldus from all sides.

Caldus fought like a cornered beast.

Spells fired wildly, raw and unfocused, lashing out at anything that moved.

Marcus pushed forward, coordinating with Clara and Garron in perfect, practiced rhythm.

Slash.

Dodge.

Strike.

Every second they pressed him, his defenses crumbled further.

Selene's ice spells rained down from a distance, slowing Caldus's footwork even more.

He couldn't block everything.

He couldn't evade everything.

And finally—

Marcus saw his opening.

He darted in low, his sword flashing upward in a brutal arc—

Caldus screamed as the blade bit deep into his left side, blood spraying across the broken marble.

The wand wavered in his hand.

The light around him dimmed.

Marcus gritted his teeth and raised his sword for the final strike—

But Caldus snarled, clutching the bleeding wound, forcing his battered body to obey.

He jabbed the wand into the air and shouted a word Marcus didn't catch.

The mana around him twisted sharply.

Folded.

Collapsed inward.

Teleportation magic.

A swirling vortex of raw, chaotic mana burst open beneath Caldus's feet.

Marcus lunged forward, reaching—

But the spell triggered just before he could strike. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Caldus vanished in a flash of crackling blue light, leaving only the stink of burned mana and the echo of his curse in the air.

Silence fell over the Grand Hall.

Broken.

Bloodstained.

But alive.

Marcus lowered his sword slowly.

Breathing hard.

Wounded students and battered professors stared at him—at all of them—with wide, exhausted eyes.

The tide had been broken.

The academy had survived.

And for tonight—

Marcus was the hero.