I'm an Extra, so What?-Chapter 87: Fighter Selection Trial (1)

Upon the platform—

Charlotte stood firm, her posture composed and confident, the imposing weight of her greatsword resting effortlessly against her shoulder.

She was without the presence of her usual attendants—no maids…

Meaning—

No shields to obscure her from unwanted eyes.

However…

It was different…

That familiar gaze—once heated with something bordering on desire—was now void of any warmth.

It had transformed into something colder… sharper.

'What's his problem?' Charlotte thought, narrowing her gaze as her eyes found a certain man staring at her.

Arthur stood quietly, the fine rapier in his hand catching the light.

There was no flamboyance in his stance today—only precision.

His expression, carved from stone, betrayed nothing.

But Charlotte could feel it: the barely contained storm behind his eyes.

He was focused.

Dangerous.

To Arthur's right—

Nike stood like a broken doll—silent, head bowed, arms limp at her sides.

Her eyes didn't track movement.

Her breathing was slow and distant.

She seemed entirely removed from the moment, consumed by inner turmoil, her spirit adrift in a sea of confusion.

All three of them, each for their own reason, were consumed by their own inner worlds—so much so that they hadn't even registered the Headmaster's voice as he delivered the rules and conditions of the match to the crowd.

And then it happened.

A brilliant column of light erupted from the ground beneath their feet, blinding in its intensity.

SNAP.

A barrier locked into place with a low hum, encasing the combatants within a dome of shimmering energy.

The pristine white tiles of the platform dissolved instantly, replaced by something far more elaborate.

In their place sprawled an illusionary town, complete with weathered wooden buildings, crooked alleyways, narrow streets paved with aged cobblestone, and the scattered remnants of daily life—market stalls, empty wagons, overturned crates.

Screams rang out from nearby homes as simulated civilians fled into shelter, slamming their doors behind them.

The battlefield was set.

And chaos wasted no time arriving.

The moment her boots hit the cobblestone, Charlotte moved.

With the speed and strength of someone who had trained relentlessly, she launched into the fray, her greatsword cleaving through the air with devastating force.

"Surprise, motherfucker!"

Charlotte's first swing sent two unsuspecting opponents flying—smashing them through the side of a stationary carriage with a thunderous crash.

Without pausing—

She twisted her hips and brought the blade down again, a sweeping arc that flattened another fighter attempting to flank her.

No hesitation.

No wasted movement.

No mercy.

And not a single skill used.

Charlotte relied solely on raw physical prowess, pure martial dominance—

A storm of steel and strength.

A flicker of motion caught her eye—someone else trying to sneak up behind her.

Reacting on instinct, Charlotte spun, her elbow crashing into the woman's ribs before bringing the flat of her blade down, sending her assailant tumbling across the cobbles like a ragdoll.

She exhaled slowly, resting her greatsword against her shoulder again.

"Really? More sneak attacks?" Charlotte scoffed, rolling her shoulders with a loose stretch.

"That's just lame…"

Her eyes swept across, and then—they landed on someone.

Her expression brightened.

'Time to unleash some stress!'

The moment Charlotte's gaze locked onto another person—

The man in question felt a chill crawl down his spine.

Panic surged through his veins like ice water.

"F-Fuck that!" he blurted aloud, his voice cracking with dread.

Without a second thought, he threw down his sword, the metal clattering noisily against the cobblestone, and turned tail, sprinting away with all the desperation.

It was like he was fleeing certain death.

"Don't chase me… Don't chase me… Please dont!!!"

Sweat formed rapidly across his brow, beads trickling down as his breathing grew erratic and shallow.

His limbs pumped wildly, but there were no footsteps behind him—no roar of battle, no clash of steel chasing him. Still, something told him not to stop.

But curiosity got the better of him.

He glanced over his shoulder.

That was a mistake.

In the same heartbeat, a glint of metal filled his vision.

Charlotte's greatsword—hurled with monstrous strength—closed the distance in a blur.

CRACK.

It struck his shoulder with brutal force, driving through flesh and bone as if it were wet paper.

The man was flung backward, slamming into a wooden wall with a sickening thud.

The greatsword didn't just hit him—

It skewered through him, pinning him to the planks like a grotesque decoration.

He screamed in agony, but it was short-lived.

The pain overwhelmed him almost instantly—his eyes rolled back, his limbs spasmed once, and a line of drool slipped from the corner of his open mouth before unconsciousness claimed him.

"…" Charlotte approached at a leisurely pace, unbothered by the violence.

With one strong pull, she yanked the greatsword free from the limp, bleeding body, letting it slump to the ground in a crumpled heap.

She tilted her head slightly and sighed.

"Why is everyone so damn weak?" Her tone wasn't mocking—just disappointed.

Charlotte gave the greatsword a quick shake to clean it of blood, then rested it back on her shoulder with an amused smile.

"Looks like I won't even need to use a single skill…" she giggled.

And then her eyes found something—no, someone.

A sliver of hair peeked out from under the loosely placed lid of a nearby barrel.

Charlotte's grin widened.

She pulled her arm back again, muscle and momentum aligning, and let the greatsword fly once more—

An unstoppable missile of steel.

The weapon tore through the air toward the hiding spot.

But just before it struck, the barrel rolled violently to the side.

The young woman inside had sensed the impending attack at the last moment and reacted on pure instinct, throwing her weight and shifting the barrel out of the greatsword's path.

The weapon continued its arc and embedded itself deep into the stone wall behind.

The lid of the barrel flew off.

The woman climbed out, brushing herself off with a relieved sigh.

"That… was a close one," she muttered under her breath, trying to steady her heartbeat.

She glanced forward, who now stood across from her—amused, but intrigued.

"Seems you don't have your weapon," the woman said, drawing her own sword from her hip. A subtle smile touched her lips.

"Don't take this personally, Your Highness."

Charlotte giggled and raised her hands into a stance, bare of weapon but not lacking in confidence.

"Please, by all means," she said, a fire dancing in her eyes.

"Come at me."