The Extra Wants To Live-Chapter 300: The Return to Himmeln

Even though heavy snow had fallen that winter, the streets of Himmeln remained lively and bustling.

"Open the gates!"

The command echoed loudly, drawing attention. A crowd began to gather, curiosity flaring. People pressed toward the gate, craning their necks to see what was happening.

Normally, the grand gates of the city were opened only for special occasions—perhaps a royal procession or the arrival of a high-ranking official. Day-to-day traffic used the side entrances, which, though sizeable, were still modest compared to the massive main gate.

"It’s unusual to open the gates without any warning." "Did someone important arrive? Maybe a merchant guild?" "No, look! Everything’s a mess!"

The townsfolk buzzed with gossip as they watched soldiers dash across the open gate and along the walls. The sudden stir in such frigid weather added to the sense of urgency.

Then, from the direction of the barracks, a group of knights and soldiers poured out in formation. The crowd instinctively parted to clear the path.

"Out of the way! Make way!"

A knight rode forward, his voice cutting through the winter air.

"Who in the world could show up like this? And with no prior notice?"

Surely, someone of great importance wouldn’t arrive unannounced. A formal welcome should have been arranged. Yet here they were—soldiers scrambling like the city was under siege.

The sense of mystery only drew more onlookers. All eyes turned toward the procession emerging from the wide-open gates.

Chuck! Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!

The synchronized march of soldiers rang out crisply, muffled slightly by the snow. Their figures slowly came into view, forming a disciplined line as they moved forward.

Then he appeared.

A young man on a pure white horse rode at the head of the procession. His brilliant green eyes sparkled, and in that instant, a quiet gasp rippled through the crowd like wind across water. A hush fell—then erupted into heat and noise.

Behind him, the imperial flag unfurled, fluttering slowly. A majestic eagle, clutching a laurel branch and wielding two swords, glared down from its golden thread.

"That’s the laurel emblem!" "It’s His Highness!" "He’s back!"

Recognizing the flag, the crowd exploded with cheers. Citizens shouted and waved, clapping and calling out his name with rising fervor.

More and more people rushed to the eastern gate, their excitement growing so intense that the soldiers had to raise halberds and cordon off the streets just to maintain order.

The cheers rained down on Carl, the figure at the center of it all—the hero who brought home victory in a war that had dragged on for thirty bitter years.

Once a frail, sickly prince no one had paid much attention to, Carl had, in just two years, transformed into an Archduke and a war hero. He wasn’t just a military leader—he was a legend in the making.

At only eighteen, with a tragic past, unmatched military brilliance, and breathtaking looks that made even statues seem dull in comparison, Carl looked like he’d walked straight out of myth.

To see him now—riding proudly through Himmeln’s snow-dusted streets—was to witness a story come to life. It was no wonder the people were entranced.

Strangely, Carl’s fame seemed even brighter here in Himmeln than in the eastern provinces, which had paid the real cost of war. Out east, too many lives were lost, too many families ruined, and too many fields burned for them to celebrate without pain.

But in the imperial capital—far removed from the blood and smoke—the war was a story, a spectacle. A distant drama that inspired pride rather than sorrow.

War is a tragedy, but only for those who bear its weight.

The Laurel Brigade marched with heads held high, pride gleaming in every step. Even Catherine and Billford carried themselves like champions. Their horses, already used to the grandeur, paraded with a practiced flair.

But Curtis, cloaked and hunched, was a different picture altogether.

He kept his head low, trying to disappear into his heavy cloak. The applause for Carl, the shining star of the empire, only made Curtis feel smaller, duller—like a shadow trailing behind a flame.

It wasn’t just Carl’s achievements. It was how Carl had spoken to him—so gently, so grandly. Offering dreams of hope... and at the same time, revealing how far Curtis still had to go.

Carl had compared their fevers—small words, said in passing—but the message lingered. He showed how alike they had once been, only to emphasize how different they were now.

"You’ll grow stronger after treatment," Carl had said.

It wasn’t a threat. It was encouragement. But it anchored Curtis to Carl, whether he liked it or not. He couldn’t run away, nor could he forget.

Without realizing it, Curtis began comparing himself to Carl more and more. And even though Carl never once boasted or belittled him, the weight of comparison crushed him.

Just a few passing words, and suddenly Curtis—a southern knight from a forgotten region—was measuring himself against the brightest star in the Empire.

And yet, that was why he couldn’t give up.

He raised his eyes, just enough to glimpse Carl’s back. Then lowered them again, lips pressed tightly together.

In his gaze swirled something new—something painful, but undeniable.

---

"I said I didn’t want a ceremony," Carl muttered with a rueful smile, "and this turned into one anyway."

Aric laughed quietly.

He was genuinely glad to see Carl again. It had been too long. Thanks to Carl’s advance letter, Aric had carved out time from his packed schedule so they could speak alone.

Slurp.

Aric poured the tea himself, a rare ritual he never let anyone else touch. It was his one indulgence.

"Hmm... excellent."

He took a slow sip and smiled faintly.

Carl had brought the tea directly from Tumari. Despite all the luxury teas Aric had access to as royalty, this one was special. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"This tea isn’t exported," Carl said. "It’s only consumed inside Tumaria. Most of it’s offered as tribute to the Padishah. Even with money, it’s nearly impossible to get."

Aric raised a brow. "And how did you manage to get it?"

Carl shrugged, lips twitching. "Well, in a war, no one really keeps track of where the tea leaves go."

Aric chuckled. "True enough."

Tea may be worth its weight in gold, but in war, food and life are far more precious. When you’re defeated and occupied, luxuries become worthless.

Aric sipped again, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

He was enjoying a luxury that once belonged only to foreign royalty—all because of his younger brother.

And that, more than the tea, left the deepest impression.

.