The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 246: THE PARADE OF NATIONS

Chapter 241: The Parade of Nations

​The world didn’t just watch the Grand Continental Tournament; it vibrated with it.

​We stood in the tunnel, the darkness pressing against our backs like a physical weight. Ahead, the arched exit was a mouth of blinding white light, swallowing the teams one by one. But it wasn’t the light that made my skin crawl. It was the sound.

​Imagine a thunderstorm trapped inside a tin can. Then multiply that by three hundred thousand screaming Dwarves, Humans, Elves, and Beast-kin. The noise wasn’t just auditory; it was seismic. Dust sifted down from the reinforced stone ceiling of the waiting tunnel, coating our black and gold uniforms in a fine grey film.

​"Check your gear," Arthur Pendragon commanded. His voice didn’t rise to a shout, but it cut through the din with the precision of a blade. He stood at the front of the Arcadia formation, his posture rigid, his cape hanging perfectly still despite the tremors shaking the floor.

​I adjusted the strap of my gauntlet, my eyes scanning the team.

​Leon Lionheart was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his golden eyes wide and electric. He wasn’t scared. He was hungry. This was his stage—the place where the "Hero" was meant to shine.

​Beside him, Eric William looked like he was about to vomit. The noble scion was pale, his lips moving in a silent, frantic prayer to whatever ancestors were listening.

​"Breathe, Eric," Varkas, our Vice-Captain, grunted. The massive beast-kin slapped Eric on the back hard enough to dislodge a lung. "If you pass out before we walk out, I’m carrying you like a sack of potatoes."

​"I am... fine," Eric wheezed, straightening his collar with trembling fingers. "Just... acclimatizing."

​"We’re all acclimatizing," Elara Vance murmured. She was floating an inch off the ground, her wind magic forming a subtle cushion to dampen the vibrations. "The mana density out there... it’s spiking. The cheers alone are generating enough emotional resonance to fuel a spirit bomb."

​I stayed silent, standing near the back with Gareth and Jax. I wasn’t looking at my teammates. I was looking at the notification blinking in the corner of my vision.

​[Current Location: The Iron Colosseum]

[Event: Opening Ceremony]

[Global Viewership: 2.4 Billion]

​Two billion people.

​In the novel, this was the moment the scale of the world truly opened up. Up until now, we had been playing in the sandbox of the Academy. Now, we were stepping into the meat grinder of geopolitics.

​"Ladies and Gentlemen! Warriors and Mages! Smiths and Kings!"

​The voice boomed from the heavens. It was deep, gravelly, and amplified by high-tier acoustic magic so that it rattled the bones of everyone in the city.

​Grandmaster Brokk Ironvoice. The legendary Dwarven bard and the official announcer of the games.

​"Welcome to the Ironhold! Welcome to the 45th Grand Continental Tournament!"

​The crowd’s roar surged, spiking the decibel meter into the danger zone.

​"Today, twelve academies stand before the gates of glory! Twelve teams, representing the pinnacle of the next generation! They come from the sands, the snow, the sky, and the sea! But only one will claim the Divine Hammer!"

​"Let us meet our challengers!"

​The tunnel ahead flared.

​"First! The stone that does not break! The shield of the North! Our very own sons and daughters... The Steel Wall Bastion!"

​The ground shook rhythmically as the home team marched out.

​I watched on the massive crystal monitors mounted on the tunnel walls. Twelve dwarves, clad in plate armor so thick it looked like they were wearing tanks, stomped onto the sand.

​At their lead was Thrain Ironfoot. He didn’t wave. He simply raised his massive tower shield, and the crowd—mostly dwarves—went absolutely feral.

​"Solid," Gareth commented, his eyes narrowing as he assessed them. "Their formation is tight. Shield wall specialists."

​"Next!" Brokk bellowed. "From the Whispering Woods of the West! They bring the wrath of nature to the land of steel! The Verdant Glade Institute!"

​A hush fell over the arena, followed by polite, curious applause.

​The Elves emerged. They were a stark contrast to the industrial brutality of the Colosseum. They wore armor made of woven bark and hardened leather. Flowers bloomed in their footprints as they walked across the sand.

​Leading them was Elandra Moss, an archer with eyes like emeralds. She moved with a liquid grace that made the dwarves look like statues.

​"Don’t underestimate them," Elara whispered. "Wood magic roots into stone. They can crack the arena floor."

​"From the frozen wastes of the Northern Tundra! The cold that bites! The Frostfall Academy!"

​The temperature in the tunnel seemed to drop as the Northern team walked out. They were giants, draped in white fur and blue ice-armor. Their leader, Kael Frost, carried a greatsword made of non-melting True Ice.

​"And from the jagged coasts, riding the thunder! The Storm-Caller Academy!"

​This team crackled. Literally. Sparks jumped between their members. Jinx Storm, a girl with wild, static-charged hair, waved maniacally to the crowd, electricity arcing from her fingertips.

​"Mercenaries! Soldiers! The hammer of the battlefield! The Ironblood Military Academy!"

​These guys didn’t look like students. They looked like war criminals in training. Grey uniforms, scarred faces, and efficient, brutal weapons. Brutus Steel, their captain, had a cybernetic eye that glowed ominous red.

​"From the mystic peaks of the East! The cultivators of the dao! The Celestial Peak Sect!"

​The crowd went silent again, awestruck. The Eastern cultivators didn’t march. They glided. Dressed in flowing silk robes of azure and white, they moved in perfect unison, their feet barely touching the ground.

​At the front was Chen Wu.

​I focused on him. In the novel, Chen Wu was a martial arts prodigy who pushed Leon to his absolute limit in the semi-finals. He looked serene, his hands clasped behind his back, but my Quantum Analysis picked up the terrifying density of Ki swirling around him. He was a placid lake hiding a leviathan.

​"Shadows walk among us! The silent knives! The Noctis Academy!"

​The shadows in the tunnel seemed to lengthen. The Noctis team didn’t walk out; they materialized from the shade of the gate. Black leather, hoods, and veils.

​Victis, the Shadow Blade, led them. He was a void in the visual spectrum. I knew that in Phase 3, these guys would be a nightmare in the labyrinth stage.

​"Fire and Blood! The dragons of the Archipelago! The Dragonspire Martial Academy!"

​A wave of heat blasted into the tunnel.

​"Showoffs," Jax grunted.

​Twelve students with patches of scales on their skin marched out. They radiated an aura of pure, predatory aggression. Rygar Dracon, a man who was more dragon than human, let out a roar that rivaled the announcer’s, breathing a plume of fire into the sky.

​"And now..." Brokk’s voice turned silky, almost mocking. "The Southern Flames! The speed of light! The Solaris Blade Academy!"

​The tunnel beside us opened.

​Rion Blazeheart stepped out, his red cape billowing. He was smiling, that practiced, arrogant smile of a celebrity. His team followed, all of them looking sleek, fast, and dangerous.

​As Rion passed our tunnel entrance, he didn’t look at us. But I saw his hand twitch toward his knee—a subconscious reaction to the threat I’d made in the tavern.

​"Cheer for them!" Brokk shouted. "But do not blink, or you’ll miss them!"

​"The Keepers of the Arcane! The scholars of the floating city! The Sanctum of High Magi!"

​The Sanctum team floated out on discs of mana. They looked down at the crowd with undisguised boredom. Velia Ancrose, the Space Mage, was examining her fingernails.

​"And the Shield of the Empire! The elite of the elite! The Imperial Institute of Valor!"

​The cheers were deafening, rivaling the home team’s reception. The Empire was the superpower of the continent, and their academy was the gold standard.

​Cedric Alborne marched with the discipline of a machine. Behind him, Liana Crestwell, the Sword Saint Trainee, walked with her eyes closed, her hand resting on her blade. They were terrifyingly disciplined. They were the favorites to win.

​Brokk paused. The silence stretched for a dramatic second.

​"And finally... The Dark Horses! The First-Years who defied the heavens! The Victors of the Sky Island! Arcadia Academy!"

​"Move," Arthur ordered.

​We stepped out.

​The light hit me first, blinding and white. Then the sound.

​It was... mixed.

​There were cheers—loud, passionate cheers from the commoners who loved a good underdog story. But there were boos, too. Jeers from the nobles who thought Arcadia was a washed-up institution relying on luck.

​"Overrated!"

"Go home, children!"

"Show us the Hero!"

​The pressure was physical. It pressed against my chest, heavier than the gravity.

​I looked up. The Colosseum was a canyon of faces. It stretched up to the artificial sky, a dizzying vertical wall of spectators.

​"Keep walking," Arthur said, his voice calm. "Let them boo. It makes the silence sweeter when we win."

​We marched to our designated spot on the arena sands, completing the circle of twelve.

​I stood there, surrounded by the strongest students on the continent.

​To my left, the Dragonspire team was practically vibrating with heat. To my right, the Imperial Institute stood like marble statues.

​I felt small. I was an Extra. A B-plot character standing on the main stage.

​But then, I looked up at the VIP box—a floating glass fortress suspended above the center of the arena.

​The King of Dwarves, Thorgar Stoneforge III, sat on his throne. He looked majestic in his armor, but even from this distance, I could see the slump in his shoulders. The Nether poisoning was advancing.

​And behind him... shadows. Not the magical kind from Noctis Academy, but political shadows. Advisors whispering poison in his ear.

​My Quantum Analysis flickered.

​[Warning: High-Density Nether Energy Detected.]

[Source: Multiple Locations in the Crowd.]

[Source: The VIP Box.]

​The enemy wasn’t just in the bracket. They were in the stands.

​"Welcome, Champions!" King Thorgar’s voice was amplified, weak but dignified. "You stand in the Ironhold. Here, words mean nothing. Titles mean nothing. Only steel speaks!"

​He raised a hand.

​"Let the Grand Continental Tournament... BEGIN!"

​Magical cannons fired from the rim of the stadium.

​BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

​Streamers and confetti rained down from the sky, glittering in the artificial light. Gold, silver, and crimson paper drifted down like snow.

​The crowd roared, a sound of pure ecstasy.

​I watched a piece of confetti drift toward me. It spiraled on the wind, catching the light.

​It landed on the back of my gloved hand.

​I looked at it.

​It wasn’t paper.

​It was grey. Flaky.

​I rubbed it between my thumb and finger. It smeared, leaving a dark, sooty streak.

​Ash.

​I looked up. Amongst the glittering gold and silver, grey flakes were falling. Real ash, from the smog, or perhaps... something else.

​"A bad omen," I whispered to myself, wiping the soot away.

​Beside me, Leon was waving to the crowd, his smile bright and heroic. He didn’t see the ash. He didn’t see the shadows in the VIP box. He only saw the glory.

​That was why he was the Protagonist.

​And that was why I was the one who had to watch the exits.

​"Michael," Maria’s voice came from my left. She sounded breathless. "Look at the screen."

​I looked up at the massive crystal display.

​The brackets were shuffling. The randomization algorithm was selecting the first matchups for the preliminary rounds.

​The names blurred, spinning faster and faster.

​[Match 1]

[Solaris Blade Academy]

[VS]

[Verdant Glade Institute]

​[Match 2]

[Arcadia Academy]

[VS]

[Steel Wall Bastion]

​A collective gasp went through the stadium.

​"We drew the home team," Gareth groaned. "First round. Are you kidding me?"

​"It’s rigged," I muttered. "Of course it’s rigged."

​I looked across the circle. The Steel Wall Bastion team was staring at us. Thrain Ironfoot slammed his shield into the sand, grinning.

​The crowd erupted. They wanted blood, and the organizers had just served them a main course.

​Arthur stepped forward, his cape snapping in the wind. He met Thrain’s gaze and didn’t blink.

​The game had begun. And the difficulty just went up to Hard Mode.

​(To be continued)