The Extra Can't be A Hero-Chapter 171: Eldorin (1)

Leon furrowed his brows, the lines on his forehead deepening as he bit down his lower lip, lost in thought. It had been two long days since his party had fractured into three separate groups, of which the unit he led had been reduced significantly. Yet, the time to act was fast approaching.

Of the original twenty operatives from Eldorin, excluding the two advisors Horus and Flydian, only twelve now remained within the confines of their base in Olavaguel. The absence of the others weighed heavily on him, as the tasks at hand had doubled almost immediately. It became apparent that their days of lounging in the hotel, kicking their feet back and sipping cocktails were over.

"Why have we gathered so early in the morning?"

True to her ever-laid-back nature, Venya, destined to become the legendary God Archer, lounged comfortably as she took a slow sip from a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. With unhurried grace, she slid out of her cosy slippers and into footwear more suited for the occasion, still wearing that signature air of nonchalance.

Just a few steps behind her stood another striking figure: a young woman with sun-kissed skin and an exotic allure, dressed lightly to match the sweltering desert climate. Her long, jet-black hair shimmered under the light, and her sharp, amethyst eyes—feline in shape and intensity—seemed to reflect the heat and mystery of the dunes themselves. She, too, sipped on orange juice, mirroring Venya's calm as if the desert heat couldn't touch them at all.

"Venya… You are really not a morning person, are you?"

"Khali, you're one to talk! Who was the one who couldn't get out of bed this morning?"

"The morning Sun… it's intoxicating…"

The sun-kissed woman let out a low, almost feline hiss as she arched her back in a slow, deliberate stretch, her movements effortlessly seductive. The bold and unfiltered display made Venya choke mid-sip; she spat out a mouthful of orange juice and rolled her eyes in exasperation before turning sharply toward the conference chambers ahead.

As she stepped inside, the sight that greeted her brought a flicker of amusement—half of the seats were already taken, occupied by the familiar faces she had journeyed with. A wry smile tugged at the corner of her lips, equal parts relief and mischief.

"Luckily, we made it on time… Else, I would get an earful."

Seated prominently were the core members of Eldorin: Leon, Ellahan, and Johann—the heart of the operation. These three had been entrusted with the mission's most critical responsibilities and were the commanding officers of this whole operation.

Eldorin's two esteemed advisors were alongside them. Horus, known across the realm as the Knight of the Morning Star, carried an air of quiet authority that demanded respect without words. Beside him stood his stalwart lieutenant, Flydian the Unyielding, a figure just as formidable. Both were Knights of a distinguished tier, far above the ranks of ordinary soldiers.

Their role was not to fight on the front lines, but to guide, oversee, and ensure the mission unfolded as planned—commanders cloaked in experience and silent power.

But while the officers and advisors were the most prominent, that didn't mean the others gathered didn't possess a certain poise. There were the representatives from the Solaris House and longtime comrades of the Hero—Lydia and Rufus.

Lydia Solaris, better known as the Velastra, was a rare and formidable Knight-Magician. Wielding Mageweaver, a Mythic-grade weapon, she possessed unparalleled mastery in magic and combat.

Then there was Rufus Dobbin, known as the Walking Mountain. Forged through years of relentless training in Elodrin, he awakened an innate power that allowed him to become an unmovable force at will. He was well on his way to becoming one of his era's most physically imposing Knights.

And then, four faces weren't present three years ago. No, including Khali, there would be five.

There was a cold, distant woman, her presence as unforgiving as a winter storm. Half of her face was concealed behind an ornate, silver mask etched with ancient runes—an enigma that only deepened her mystique. The air around her seemed to drop in temperature, her aura exuding a soul-piercing chill that could sap the will of even seasoned warriors and send the unprepared fleeing in dread.

Yet, despite this overwhelming sense of menace, she possessed an almost hypnotic beauty. Her long, crimson hair cascaded like wildfire over her dark cloak, contrasting her icy demeanour. And her eyes—sharp, clear, and unwavering—shone with a lucid intensity that could hold a man captive in a single glance. This contradiction, the blend of beauty and fear, made her unforgettable.

Simply going by the name Yeon, this woman was one of the many talents Amon and Yue recruited into Eldorin. Not many knew of her past, but they probably didn't care much. Her strength on the battlefield was undeniable.

Seated next to her was a narrow-shouldered and willowy woman. Ines Mirevale. Yet another monstrous talent brought in by Amon and Yue, handpicked to be the secondary healer after Ellahan.

Her skin was the pale, parchment tone of someone who spends more time in candlelight than sunlight—stretched thin over prominent collarbones and knobby knuckles. The violet hair, dull and wiry, clings to her face and neck in uneven strands—clearly self-cut with a knife and left to its own unruly devices.

Her eyebrows are thick but asymmetrical, one always lifted slightly higher, lending her a perpetual look of suspicion or curiosity. The muddy eyes sit deep in their sockets—shadowed, reflective, and difficult to read.

On the far side of the meeting chambers, the air grew denser, as though the room itself recognized the gravity of the figures who stood there. Two men, both in their late twenties, commanded attention without speaking a word—each radiating an unsettling intensity that pressed against the walls like a physical weight.

The more prominent of the pair was a blind man with deep bronze skin that hinted at years spent under open skies. His eyes remained eternally shut—not sealed by injury, but by some unseen force, the lids smooth and undisturbed as if sleep had claimed them long ago.

His hair was a stark, icy blonde, cropped into a sharp buzz cut that emphasized the angular planes of his skull. The contrast between his sun-warmed skin and pale hair was jarring, otherworldly.

He wore flowing robes of pristine white, embroidered with silvery arcane sigils that shimmered faintly with every shift of his form. The fabric moved as if it carried a will of its own, whispering in a language only the magically attuned could hear.

The man was called Verso, an inverse Warlock with a distinct mastery in light magic.

Then there was the warmer of the two—Oswin, the Gunslinger. Tall and lean, he moved with a quiet precision that made people step aside, yet he wore a crooked smile that welcomed the wary like an old friend.

His hair was black as gunpowder, cropped close on the sides and left messy up top, often falling into his brow. His face was all sharp lines: a stubbled jaw, a once-broken nose, and cheekbones like sculpted stone.

Dark brown eyes—so deep they seemed nearly black—watched the world with calm, unreadable focus. His olive-toned skin was roughened by sun and time, marked with old scars and burns across his forearms and neck. Tattoos, faint and foreign, curled from beneath his sleeves—mercenary symbols no one dared question. His hands, lean and calloused, were made for fast draws and quiet kills.

Venya surveyed the room, puzzled to find only half the seats occupied. She had no idea that Gale, Adelia, Fenric, and Eris had set off on a quiet expedition—chasing whispers of the old dynasty and the buried secrets of the Clay Emperor. And with Bane absent as well, it meant three crucial members of the intelligence team had been pulled into whatever mission he'd deemed urgent.

Which meant there was only one person left…

"Ooops, did I make it on time?"

A young man stumbled through the doors, scratching the back of his wild, yellow hair. The sudden noise raised a few eyebrows, but once people saw who it was, they merely nodded and looked away, as if this kind of entrance was nothing new.

As Eldorin's resident artificer, Lutz was always a mess of soot and oil, his clothes stained from hours of tinkering. His bright yellow hair was a chaotic halo, often tied back with a scrap of leather. Grease marks and burns dotted his face from late-night work on blueprints and machines.

Lean and restless, he was always fiddling with something—twisting bolts, scribbling notes, or glancing at mechanical structures with sharp steel-gray eyes that missed nothing. He could read a trap mechanism in seconds and disarm it with nothing but a wrench and a bent pin.

With the final person of Eldorin present, Leon nodded and said:

"Now that everyone is here, let's begin the meeting."

"Everyone is here?"

"Yes, the rest were sent on missions."

"What kind?"

"Gale, Adelia, Fenric and Eris are following a lead on the whereabouts of El Dorado. As for Recto, Renee and Maelle… They joined Bane in his intelligence gathering."

Leon replied to Venya's query with ease, and she didn't question it.

The others reacted in their own ways, but Vecto stood out. At the mention of Recto's absence, he shook his head slowly, eyes still sealed shut. Even without a glance, his disappointment was unmistakable.

"I'll keep things short. The reason why I gathered all of you here today is because we've identified the reason why the Demon Cult is in Olavaguel."

Leon reached into his coat and pulled out a recording crystal, its smooth surface flickering faintly with stored magic. With a subtle twist of his fingers, the crystal activated, projecting a hazy image into the air—flickering and unstable, but clear enough to convey its weight.

The recording showed a towering black monolith, jagged and unnatural, rising from scorched earth like a wound in the land itself. Shadows clung to it unnaturally, and from its surface pulsed a low, rhythmic energy—deep, resonant, and unmistakably malevolent. The vibrations spread outward in waves, invisible but palpable, rippling across the landscape toward the Eternal Storm in the distance.

The air in the chamber seemed to tighten as the vision played, a chill settling over the room.

"What are they doing?"

One of them gasped, to which Leon replied immediately.

"They are planning to awaken the Clay Emperor."

"The Clay Emperor? Isn't he dead?"

Venya nearly shrieked as she spoke, her voice edged with disbelief. No one had known the true identity of the Clay Emperor until Amon revealed it—and even then, they had assumed they were searching for the ruins of a long-dead empire. No one had imagined the ancient king might still be alive.

"Unclear, but one thing is for certain. We cannot allow the Demon Cult to succeed."

Leon removed the recording crystal and gave an order to the team:

"Bane was able to identify four such monoliths. We will strike at them two at a time."

"Two at a time? Since there's twelve of us, why don't we split into groups of three and attack them all?"

Yeon fired back with a sharp question, her tone laced with challenge. As one of Eldorin's oldest members, she had little patience for taking orders from someone barely out of their teens. She had tolerated the age gap with Amon—he had carried himself with the weight of experience and wielded power that belied his youth.

But Leon was different. To her, he was just a glorified Hero, elevated by status rather than merit, thrust into leadership before he'd earned it.

Expecting pushback, Leon replied fluently: "We don't know what kind of reinforcements the Demon Cult has placed within those bases. And if my guess is correct, one of them is defended by an Apostle."

"Apostle!"

The moment that word left Leon's mouth, a heavy silence fell over the chamber, thick with rising tension. Every member of Eldorin stiffened—spines straightening, jaws tightening, hands curling into fists or drifting instinctively toward weapons.

Rage didn't erupt; it simmered, steady and silent, like heat trapped beneath stone. The Apostles. The name alone was enough to stir blood and memory. They were the Demon Cult's deadliest champions—each one a monster draped in human skin, wielding power twisted by darkness.

To Eldorin, wiping out the Demon Cult had always been the mission—but the Apostles were the foundation. But it was easier said than done. The Apostles had always remained elusive and their powers were relatively unknown.

Challenging a single one of them posed an enormous risk, one that needed multiple members of Eldorin to join forces.

Realising she was outmatched, Yeon fell silent and didn't bother Leon any further. Her cold eyes displayed a fury that was ready to erupt at any moment.

With the room once again under his command, Leon pressed on, laying out the operation with calm precision. His explanation was meticulous—every phase, fallback, and contingency accounted for with striking clarity. It was hard to believe the plan had been assembled in just two nights; the level of detail suggested weeks of preparation.

Yet the members of Eldorin offered no praise. Whether out of pride or principle, they held their tongues. After all, this was what they expected from Amon's successor—nothing less than excellence.

"We will leave at nightfall! Dismissed!"

And thus… the curtains were drawn for Eldorin's first war with the Demon Cult.