The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 554: A Day to Remember [II]

The funeral was held in the gardens of the Castle of Valon.

They had been prepared to hold crowds before, but never like this. Stone paths and open lawns now carried the weight of history, every space filled with people who had come not out of duty alone, but recognition. The air itself felt restrained, as if sound knew it did not belong here today.

No one spoke above a murmur.

Kings stood beside nobles. Clan leaders beside academy directors. Professors and students gathered together without ranks separating them, all drawn into the same stillness. Banners hung motionless. Even the wind seemed reluctant to pass through the garden.

This was not a moment for display.

It was a moment for respect.

At the center of it all stood King Alveron IV of Valor.

Even at rest, even without movement, he commanded attention. Broad-shouldered and tall, his presence carried strength more than ceremony. His long blond hair was tied back with a crimson ribbon, perfectly set, untouched by the breeze. His eyes—deep red, faintly glowing—remained fixed ahead, unblinking, steady in a way that suggested endurance rather than coldness.

He did not look away from the space prepared for Nicolas.

Around him were rulers from distant continents, leaders whose paths would never have crossed under ordinary circumstances. Today, they shared the same posture, the same silence. None of them treated this as a simple burial.

Because it wasn’t.

This was the farewell to Nicolas von Aldros.

Former director of the academy. Human Pillar. A mage whose strength had never been loud, yet whose absence now felt unmistakable. His choices had shaped eras quietly, without spectacle, without applause. He had carried burdens meant for generations and set them down only when his body finally failed him.

King Alveron IV stepped forward.

The movement was simple, unhurried, yet it drew every eye without effort. The garden seemed to narrow around him as he came to a stop before the space prepared for Nicolas. He did not raise his voice when he spoke. He did not need to.

"Today," he said, "we lay to rest Nicolas von Aldros."

The name carried on its own. No titles followed it at first.

"He was a Pillar of humanity," Alveron continued, voice steady and even. "Not because he sought the role, and not because the world ever asked it of him openly, but because he accepted burdens that others could not see." His gaze remained fixed forward. "He protected this continent without banners, without proclamations. Many of the disasters that never came to pass ended before anyone knew they were possible."

There was no flourish in his words. No attempt to elevate grief into spectacle.

"Nicolas was a mage," the king went on, "who carried decisions no one else wished to hold. He chose paths that offered no recognition and no gratitude, only responsibility." A brief pause followed. "That kind of strength does not announce itself. It endures."

Alveron’s eyes lowered slightly, not in submission, but in acknowledgment. "His absence will not be felt today alone. It will be felt in the years to come. In moments where his counsel would have been sought. In dangers that will now demand new hands to bear them."

He straightened again, the weight of the crown evident without being emphasized. "History will remember his name. Not for the battles he fought, but for the world that remained standing because of him."

The king stepped back.

A short distance away from the center of the garden, Noel stood with the others.

Selene was at his side, close enough that he could feel her presence without looking. Elyra stood on his other side, posture straight, arms resting at her sides. Elena was just behind them, hands clasped tightly together, shoulders drawn inward. Charlotte stood nearest to her, trembling openly now, unable to hold it back any longer.

Noel did not cry this time.

His face remained firm, jaw set, eyes fixed ahead on the space where Nicolas was being honored. There was no stiffness in him, no denial. Just stillness. The kind that came from having already shed his tears elsewhere, when no one had been watching.

Charlotte’s restraint broke completely. She covered her mouth with both hands, shoulders shaking as quiet sobs escaped her despite every effort to contain them. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, unchecked, her grief raw and immediate.

Elena cried beside her, but differently. No sound left her lips. Tears fell in a steady line, her eyes lowered, breathing careful, as if any misstep might cause her to lose control entirely. One hand rose to wipe her cheek, then stayed there, fingers pressed lightly against her face.

Selene did not cry.

But her eyes were dark, unfocused, fixed on nothing in particular. Her hands were clenched at her sides, knuckles pale, her posture rigid in a way that spoke louder than tears ever could. The sadness sat heavy on her, quiet and sharp, carried without release.

Elyra remained still as well. Her expression was serious, her gaze steady, but there was tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before. She looked older like this, weighed down by something deeper than sorrow alone.

Noel stood among them, silent.

For him, Nicolas had been a guide. For Charlotte, a beacon. For Elena, a protector. For Selene, a presence that had never judged. For Elyra, a constant she had grown up around.

Different losses. The same absence.

None of them reached for each other, yet they stood close, bound by something shared even in how differently they felt it. The grief did not look the same on any of them.

Not far from them, familiar figures stood apart from the crowd.

Lord Caeron von Estermont remained unmistakable even among nobles. Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark red formal jacket traced with gold, he carried himself with quiet authority. At his side stood Lady Elissabeth von Estermont—upright, composed, and very much healthy. Any trace of past frailty was gone, her presence calm and steady as she observed the ceremony.

This time, Elyra did look their way.

Elissabeth noticed first. Her gaze softened as it met Noel’s, and after a brief pause, she inclined her head slightly, an invitation more than a formality. Noel stepped closer without hesitation.

"I’m glad to see you well," Elissabeth said quietly, her voice warm. "We’ll be staying in the capital for a few days. If you have time... perhaps we could meet. Nothing formal."

Noel nodded. "I’d like that," he replied simply.

Caeron offered a short, approving nod. "We’ll arrange it," he said. No more needed to be said.

Nearby, the Thorne family stood together, distant but present. Lord Albrecht Thorne held his usual rigid posture, eyes forward. His children acknowledged Noel as he passed—polite nods, measured greetings. The other members did the same.

Noel returned the gestures in kind.

Nothing more.

No warmth or tension drawn into words.

Farther off, Lady Vaelora von Iskandar observed the gathering with her usual sharp stillness, silver hair catching the light. When her gaze shifted toward Selene, it lingered.

Selene did not look back.

Her eyes remained fixed ahead, expression unchanged, the space between them firm and final. Whatever had once existed there had ended long before today, and neither silence nor ceremony would change it.

The funeral continued.

Some bonds held. Some remained broken. And some, acknowledged briefly, were set aside without drama.

A movement near the front of the garden drew quiet attention.

Redna stepped forward.

She did not wear the robes of a director, nor the composed mask she had once carried through halls of authority. Today, she was simply a woman standing before someone she had lost. Her long violet hair fell loose down her back, untouched by ornament, her posture straight only by habit.

When she reached the space prepared for Nicolas, she stopped.

And then she broke.

Tears slipped freely down her face, unguarded and unashamed. She made no effort to hide them, no attempt to steady herself beyond remaining on her feet. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides as she looked down, breath uneven, grief written plainly across her expression.

Around her, the garden responded in quiet kind. Professors of the academy bowed their heads, some closing their eyes, others staring forward as if anchoring themselves in place. Students stood shoulder to shoulder, many swallowing hard, some blinking rapidly to hold back tears, others letting them fall without resistance.

No one spoke.

The ritual continued.

The coffin was lowered with care, each step treated with the gravity it deserved.

The sound of stone and earth settling carried far more weight than ceremony ever could.

Noel watched in silence.

So did the others.

When the ritual reached its end, there was no signal to disperse. No announcement to break the moment. The crowd remained where it was, held together by the shared understanding that this was not something to rush past.

Nicolas von Aldros had been remembered.

With people who had come from every corner of the world to stand in the same place and acknowledge the space he no longer filled.

Eventually, the garden fell into complete silence.

The funeral was over.

But the hollow left behind remained, settling quietly into the world that now had to continue without him.