The Extra's Rise-Chapter 303: Third Mission (10)

The collision between my God Flash: Absolute and Vorgath's casual defense wasn't so much a meeting of forces as it was a brief, one-sided conversation. My attack—the culmination of everything I had, everything I was, compressed into a single perfect moment of martial expression—met his axe.

And stopped.

Not dramatically. Not with some cosmic explosion or reality-shattering backlash. It just... ceased. Like a wave breaking against a cliff face, all that power and momentum simply dissipated, leaving nothing behind but a faint ripple in the air.

Vorgath hadn't even swung his axe. He'd merely raised it, letting my strike land. Evolis, glowing with Purelight, touched the edge of his weapon and could go no further.

"Hmm," Vorgath said. Just that. One syllable containing more evaluation than most doctoral dissertations.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming as he regarded me with new interest. Those volcanic eyes narrowed slightly, no longer seeing just another insect but something worthy of actual attention.

"Sword Intent," he said, the words falling from his mouth like stones. "Without even reaching low Integration-rank."

I didn't respond. Couldn't, really. The backlash from attempting God Flash: Absolute had left me momentarily hollow, my mana circuits scorched, my nervous system jangling like overtuned piano wire. I could taste blood in my mouth, feel it trickling from my ears. My vision kept trying to split into two separate images that refused to align properly.

"Interesting," Vorgath continued, sounding genuinely thoughtful. "Very interesting. A human who can glimpse Unity without the requisite power base. The potential..."

He was still talking when the world around us erupted in golden light.

One moment we stood on barren ground; the next, golden roses burst from the earth in a cascading wave, their stems intertwining to form a rapidly expanding dome around Vorgath. The flowers weren't just beautiful—they were saturated with Purelight so intense it made the air shimmer, a direct counter to the miasma that surrounded the Axe King.

Rachel. Her distinctive energy signature was unmistakable.

At the same time, reality itself seemed to hiccup. The space around Vorgath twisted, dimensions folding in on themselves in a way that made my eyes water just watching it. Simple physics—things like direction, distance, and even time—became more like suggestions than rules within that warped bubble.

Rose. Her Paradox manipulation reaching levels I'd never seen before.

They hadn't fled with the truck. Of course they hadn't. They had doubled back, waited for the right moment, and were now launching a coordinated attack against a being that could snuff out planets.

If I hadn't been so busy trying not to collapse, I might have laughed at the sheer audacity of it all.

Vorgath, to his credit, didn't immediately obliterate them. Instead, he looked around at the golden rose garden with something approaching appreciation, like a man admiring an unexpectedly interesting piece of street art.

"The Saintess's purification," he observed. "And reality distortion as well. More interesting specimens."

Then he laughed—a sound like an avalanche set to music, terrible and magnificent at once. The miasma around him intensified, shifting from a passive aura to an active force. Green-black energy spiraled outward in a shockwave, tearing through the golden roses and shattering the warped space as if they were no more substantial than soap bubbles.

The backlash sent Rachel and Rose tumbling backward. They'd been hiding behind a ridge about fifty meters away, but the force of Vorgath's casual dismissal of their attack hurled them into the open, their bodies leaving small trenches in the ground as they skidded to a halt near Meilyn and me.

"Was that your plan?" Vorgath asked, sounding amused rather than angry. "A distraction while your friends attacked? Not entirely without merit, but..." He gestured at the devastation around us, the golden rose petals now withering and crumbling to dust. "Inadequate."

I managed to stand straighter, placing myself between the Axe King and my fallen comrades. Erebus felt unnaturally heavy in my hand, but I raised it nonetheless.

"We're not done," I said, though my voice sounded distant even to my own ears.

"No," Vorgath agreed, surprising me. "You're not. Not yet."

He studied the four of us—Meilyn still on her knees but defiant, Rachel and Rose struggling to rise, me barely standing—with an expression I couldn't quite interpret. There was amusement there, certainly, but also something else. Something almost like... approval?

"You know," he said conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the imminent end of our lives, "it's been a long time since humans have surprised me. A very long time."

He lowered his axe, resting its head on the ground. The impact sent small tremors through the earth.

"I came here to test the Western Continent's defenses. To see if they warranted my personal attention." His gaze moved to Meilyn. "The Grand Marshal fought well. Better than I expected. But still, not enough to concern me."

Then his eyes found mine again. "But you... you are unexpected. A White-rank wielding Sword Intent. Glimpsing Unity without the foundation to support it." He nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "There is potential there. Potential that would be wasted if I simply crushed you now."

He reached into a pouch at his waist and withdrew something that glowed with sickly green light in his massive palm.

"I propose an oath," he said. "A mana and miasma oath. Binding and unbreakable."

I stared at him, trying to process what I was hearing. Oaths of this nature weren't offered lightly, especially not by beings of Vorgath's stature.

"What kind of oath?" I asked, caution overriding exhaustion.

Vorgath's mouth stretched into what might generously be called a smile.

"Eight years," he said. "In eight years, you and I will duel to the death. One-on-one. No interference, no escape. A proper battle between worthy opponents."

I could feel Rachel and Rose tensing behind me. Even Meilyn's breath caught.

"And in return?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

"In return, I spare you today. All of you." His gaze swept over our small group. "And I will not attack the Western Continent... for now. Not until our appointed time."

Eight years. Eight years of peace for the frontier. Eight years for me to grow, to prepare, to reach the levels I would need to even have a chance against him.

Eight years until certain death.

Or perhaps not so certain. The future wasn't fixed. Eight years was a lot of time to change, to evolve, to find advantages that even Vorgath couldn't anticipate.

I glanced back at my companions. Rose's face was pale but composed, her analytical mind clearly racing through scenarios and probabilities. Rachel looked terrified but resolute, her hands still glowing faintly with golden energy. And Meilyn... Meilyn's expression was unreadable, but she gave me the smallest of nods.

Permission. Understanding. Maybe even a hint of respect.

I turned back to Vorgath. "I accept."

"Eight years, Arthur Nightingale," Vorgath said, my name sounding strange in his rumbling voice. "Grow strong. Reach your potential. Become worthy of a glorious death."

With that, he turned and strode away. The air split before him, just as it had when he arrived, and he stepped through the rift without looking back. The tear sealed itself behind him, leaving only disturbed air and devastated landscape as evidence he'd ever been there.

For a moment, none of us spoke. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by our ragged breathing and the faint sound of wind across the wasteland.

"Arthur," Rachel finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Did you just..."

"Make a death pact with one of the Popes?" I finished for her. "Yeah. I think I did."

"Eight years," Rose murmured, calculations practically visible behind her eyes.

Meilyn struggled to her feet, her usually immaculate uniform torn and stained with blood. The Kraken armor had completely disintegrated, leaving only faint blue residue on her skin.

"That," she said, her voice raspy but steady, "was either the bravest or the most foolish thing I've ever witnessed. Possibly both."

"He would have killed us all otherwise," I pointed out.

She nodded. "Yes. He would have." Her golden eyes studied me with new intensity. "Eight years. The Western Continent gets eight years of peace because of what you did today."

Put like that, it sounded almost noble. A sacrifice for the greater good. But we all knew better. This wasn't nobility—it was desperation, opportunism, and perhaps a bit of calculated gambling.

"We should get back to the outpost," Meilyn said, all business despite her injuries. "There's much to discuss. Much to prepare."

As we made our way back to the hovertruck, which had returned once Vorgath departed, I could feel the weight of what had just happened settling over me. Not just the oath itself, but what it represented.

A deadline, in the most literal sense of the word.

I touched my chest, feeling the faint pulse of the oath beneath my skin. It wasn't just a promise. It was a timer, counting down with each heartbeat.

New novel chapters are published on freewёbn૦νeɭ.com.

Eight years to live. Eight years to become someone who could defy those odds.

The irony wasn't lost on me. In trying to save everyone, I'd bound myself to a death sentence. But perhaps that had always been my path. Perhaps this was just making official what had always been inevitable.

'A clever move,' Luna commented, breaking her unusual silence. 'Dangerous, but clever.'

'How do you figure?' I asked silently.

'Eight years is a long time,' she replied.

'It will be enough,' I replied.

If I couldn't even beat a Pope in eight years, I wasn't good enough to survive in the future of this world.