The Extra's Rise-Chapter 379: Star of Valor (1)

'You two bicker too much,' Luna commented in my mind, her tone tinged with amusement. 'It's surprising how close you've become considering how this began.'

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She wasn't wrong. Our relationship had started with me forcing Kali into a mana oath to serve me. I'd promised her benefits that would transform her future, but promises meant little in the present. Yet somehow, despite the coercion that bound us, a genuine camaraderie had formed—though neither of us would ever admit it aloud.

"Well, don't be like that when you bothered dressing up so well," I said, my gaze sweeping over her. The black dress complemented her fair complexion and dark hair, creating an effect that was both elegant and intimidating. "After all, you are a girl too."

Her expression contorted into one of indignation. "Of course I'm a girl. What do you mean by that?"

I tilted my head, enjoying her reaction perhaps more than I should have. "Hmm, you don't feel like one."

"You wanna die?" she asked, a hollow smile spreading across her face as Deepdark coalesced in her palm, the shadowy energy swirling like ink in water.

"Now, now, you can't kill me, Kali," I reminded her, extending my hand. The mana oath between us ensured that much. "Let's go. We shan't be late."

Her expression softened—marginally—as she extinguished the Deepdark and linked her arm with mine. "Of course," she said, her tone dripping with feigned sweetness. "Next time, get one of your harem members for this."

"Well, you were far from my first choice," I replied as we exited the room, the door closing behind us with a soft click.

The corridor outside was a marvel of Western architecture—all polished marble and gilded accents, designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure. Servants and attendants moved with practiced efficiency, many pausing to bow as we passed. Word of my impending honor had clearly spread.

"You clean up well," Kali admitted as we descended the grand staircase toward the main hall. "If I didn't know what an insufferable ass you could be, I might actually be impressed."

"Such high praise," I deadpanned. "I'm overwhelmed."

A hint of a genuine smile touched her lips. "Don't get used to it."

As we approached the entrance to the grand hall, the ambient sounds of the gathering grew louder—orchestral music, the murmur of conversation, the occasional burst of polite laughter. Two guards in the Ashbluff colors—deep blue and burnished gold—stood at attention flanking the massive doors.

"Ready to play the doting companion?" I asked, giving Kali's hand a light squeeze.

She shot me a look that could have frozen fire. "Touch me like that again and oath or no oath, I'll find a way to make you regret it."

Yet despite her words, she adjusted her posture, leaning slightly into me as we approached the threshold. For all her protests, she understood the game we were playing—and its importance.

"Announcing Arthur Nightingale, recipient of the Star of Valor, and his companion, Kali Maelkith," the herald proclaimed as the doors swung open.

The grand hall of the Ashbluff palace opened before us like a cavern of light and splendor. Crystal chandeliers suspended from the vaulted ceiling cast prismatic reflections across the polished floor. Hundreds of Western nobility stood in their finery, conversations pausing as all eyes turned toward the entrance.

I felt Kali's grip tighten almost imperceptibly on my arm. In a low voice that only I could hear, she whispered, "Remember, I'm only doing this because you'd be utterly lost without me."

"Of course," I replied, matching her tone as we stepped forward into the hall. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

My eyes swept over the crowd, recognizing the powerful families from the Western continent gathered here. The Ashbluff palace's grand hall glittered with jewels and finery, the elite of the West displaying their wealth and status in an ostentatious pageant of power. Yet among the sea of ambitious nobles, two figures in particular drew my attention.

First was Paul Lucrian, an Elder of the Ebony Tower and one of the foremost necromancers of the Western continent. His gaunt face and piercing eyes tracked my entrance with undisguised interest. Our arrangement remained private—he'd offered to sponsor me in creating my second necromantic companion in exchange for my research on forming an Ancient Undead without the assistance of a Gift. A dangerous bargain, but potentially invaluable.

The second was Meilyn Potan, the Grand Marshal of the Western continent—the very woman I had saved from the Axe King. Her imposing figure stood apart from the courtly finery; wore her formal military uniform adorned with medals and commendations, a platinum sword hanging at her hip. Widely considered the second strongest individual in the continent, second only to the King himself.

And speaking of the King...

My gaze drifted upward to the three ornate thrones positioned on the raised dais at the far end of the hall. Upon the largest sat Valen Ashbluff, the King of the Western continent.

Beside him sat Queen Camila Ashbluff, her regal bearing and calculating eyes scanning the room with practiced precision. Her hand rested lightly on the arm of her throne, adorned with rings that I knew contained powerful defensive enchantments.

And to Valen's right was Crown Prince Jin Ashbluff, whose gaze met mine with an almost imperceptible nod of recognition.

But my attention inevitably returned to Valen. Nobody in this room knew what I did—that the current King would one day surpass even the legendary Martial King in power. The greatest necromantic talent ever born, only to be eclipsed by his own son in the future.

The crowd parted subtly before us, conversations dimming as we passed. I felt the weight of countless evaluating gazes—some curious, others envious, and more than a few calculating what advantage might be gained by association with the young hero of the hour.

"Arthur Nightingale," a resonant voice called out, and the murmurs ceased entirely.

King Valen had risen from his throne, his tall figure commanding immediate attention. Unlike the ostentatious clothing favored by his courtiers, the King wore a simple but impeccably tailored suit of midnight blue with subtle gold embroidery at the collar and cuffs. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes—those eyes that had witnessed centuries of history—fixed upon me with unnerving intensity.

"Your Majesty," I responded, bowing deeply. Beside me, Kali mimicked the gesture with surprising grace.

"Approach," he commanded, extending a hand in invitation.