Transmigrating as an Extra, But the Heroine Has Regressed?!-Chapter 328: Solo Dungeon!

(He’s absent today too?) Cecelia thought quietly.

She sat straight in her seat, eyes forward, hands folded neatly on the desk, just like a model student should.

But her attention wasn’t fully on the front of the classroom. It drifted—again—to the empty seat near the back.

Kael’s seat.

Empty.

No bag.

No sword leaning beside it.

No quiet presence that somehow always felt heavier than it should have been.

Cecelia frowned slightly, a crease forming between her brows before she smoothed it away.

"...He didn’t come yesterday either," she murmured under her breath.

Edwin sat two rows ahead, arms crossed, gaze fixed on Professor Orwen. Jin was beside him, half-listening, half-doodling strange mana symbols on the corner of his notebook.

Professor Orwen continued speaking, his calm voice filling the room.

"Mana circulation must always be balanced," he explained, tapping the board with a long pointer. "Force it, and you risk backlash. Neglect it, and your growth stagnates. Core stability is not something you rush."

He turned, writing neat diagrams of mana pathways—loops, nodes, and convergence points.

"Many young mages die not because they lack talent," Orwen said seriously, "but because they overestimate their bodies and underestimate the cost of power."

The students nodded, some scribbling notes quickly.

Cecelia listened.

But her thoughts weren’t here.

A complete contrast to the training room.

Back there—

Kael dropped to one knee at last.

Not in defeat.

But exhaustion.

The heavy sword slipped from his grip and struck the floor with a dull clang, echoing through the empty training hall.

Kael’s chest heaved violently as he sucked in air, each breath burning his lungs like fire.

Sweat dripped from his chin, splashing onto the stone floor below.

His arms felt like they might fall off.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

They were numb, shaking uncontrollably, muscles screaming in protest. His legs trembled as if they could no longer remember how to support his weight.

He stayed kneeling there for a long moment, head lowered, one hand braced against the ground.

The world spun slightly.

His vision blurred at the edges.

"...Tch."

Kael clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Just like he had practiced. Just like the manuals said.

The dizziness eased—just enough.

He lifted his head.

Then he pushed himself up.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t fast. His knee protested sharply as he rose, and his back screamed from the strain.

But he stood.

Kael reached for the sword again.

The hilt felt slippery in his hand, soaked with sweat. His fingers wrapped around it, weak—

But unyielding.

"Five hours," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible in the vast hall. "I said five hours."

The sword rose.

His arms shook.

His stance wavered.

But the blade still came down.

SWISH—

The training room echoed with the sound of steel cutting through the air.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Kael moved through drills that had long lost any sense of elegance. His footwork was heavy. His jumps were slower. His kicks lacked sharpness.

But he didn’t stop.

He ran from one end of the room to the other, boots slamming against stone. He jumped, rolled, recovered, swung. He practiced boxing forms between sword sets, fists cutting through the air until his knuckles split open again.

Blood mixed with sweat.

His breathing grew harsher.

Still—he continued.

Alone.

While the rest of the academy sat safely in chairs, listening to theories and warnings.

He didn’t know what waited ahead.

He didn’t care.

All that mattered was this:

He would not stop.

Meanwhile, in the courtyard.

The atmosphere had changed.

Five figures stood out immediately among the students moving about.

Marked with beast patterns—claws, fangs, and distorted crests.

The Beast Art Academy.

They walked with arrogance, shoulders loose, chins raised. Their eyes roamed the academy grounds with open disdain. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

"Tch. This place is clean," one of them scoffed, spitting carelessly onto the stone path.

Another tossed aside the wrapper of something he had been eating. It fluttered briefly before landing near a flower bed.

A few second-year students nearby stiffened.

"Did you see that?" one whispered.

"They don’t even care..."

The five of them laughed loudly, shoving past students without apology.

"Yo," one of them said, waving his hand. "Where’s the first-year class?"

The second-year student was startled. "...M-Mr. Orwen’s class."

The beast academy student grinned. "Good. Lead."

Reluctantly, the second-year did.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Professor Orwen turned from the board.

"Yes?"

The door opened.

Five unfamiliar students walked in.

They didn’t bow.

They didn’t greet.

They didn’t even ask permission.

They simply entered and took seats near the back, boots propped casually against desks.

Orwen’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"...You must be from the Beast Art Academy," he said calmly.

One of them smirked. "Yeah. Study tour."

Orwen gestured lightly. "You’re welcome to observe. Please behave appropriately."

They didn’t answer.

Edwin didn’t turn around.

Jin didn’t look up.

Cecelia felt a chill crawl up her spine but kept her gaze forward.

Hours passed.

The lecture ended.

Orwen closed his book. "That will be all for today."

The beast academy students stood first, chairs scraping loudly as they left without a word.

Only once the door closed did the room breathe again.

On the other hand.

Kael wasn’t in the academy anymore.

He stood inside the terminal chamber, breathing steady despite the ache in every part of his body.

His heavy sword rested across his back, secured tightly.

The glowing terminal circle activated.

Elaris City.

To the Solo Dungeon.

A place heroes avoided.

A place mentioned only briefly in the novel.

Kael stepped through.

The air changed instantly.

Damp.

He emerged at the dungeon entrance—a massive stone archway carved with ancient symbols.

Darkness yawned beyond it.

Kael didn’t hesitate.

He checked his supplies—food, water, basic medicine.

Enough for a week.

"...One week," he muttered.

This dungeon had fifty-five levels.

He knew this.

He also knew something else.

Heroes didn’t come here.

Because it was inefficient.

Because it was dangerous.

Because it offered no glory.

The terminal gate hummed softly as Kael stood before it, its surface rippling like liquid glass under dim blue light.

Unlike the public dungeon gates placed proudly in the academy arena or city squares, this one was hidden—tucked away at the far edge of Elaris City, beyond the abandoned warehouses and broken roads where even patrols rarely passed.

This gate wasn’t meant to be found.

In the original novel, it appeared only as a footnote.

A forgotten solo dungeon. High risk. No rewards worth the danger. Heroes avoid it.

That was exactly why Kael was here.

He adjusted the strap of his sword across his back and stepped closer. The gate stood embedded into the remains of an old stone wall, half-swallowed by ivy and shadow.

Ancient runes circled its frame—cracked, worn, and incomplete. Most people would have mistaken it for a collapsed teleport array or a failed artifact.

Kael knew better.

"This is it..." he murmured.

The air around the gate felt wrong.

The mana here didn’t flow naturally. It sank downward, pulling at his core like cold water dragging a body deeper.

Kael closed his eyes briefly.

In the novel, the protagonist never activated this dungeon. It required a condition no hero met at the time.

But Kael did.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, dull shard of black crystal, the fragment he had unknowingly obtained weeks ago when he collected the demon cores.

To others, it was useless debris.

To the dungeon, it was a key.

Kael pressed the shard into a shallow indentation at the center of the gate.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

THUMM.

The ground trembled.

The runes ignited one by one, glowing a deep crimson mixed with faint silver. Dust fell from the wall as the gate awakened, ancient mechanisms grinding as if stretching after centuries of sleep.

A low, distorted voice echoed—not aloud, but directly inside Kael’s mind.

[Solo Dungeon Detected]

[Condition Verified]

[Challenger: Kael Ashford]

[Status: Unregistered / Unbound]

Kael’s breath hitched.

"So it really works..."

The gate’s surface darkened, turning from blue to pitch black, like a starless void. Cold air rushed outward, carrying the stench of blood, rust, and something older—despair.

Kael tightened his grip on his sword.

In the novel, this dungeon was described in a single line:

Those who enter alone will face themselves before facing demons.

He stepped forward.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the world collapsed.

There was no sensation of falling—only pressure, crushing and overwhelming, as if the dungeon itself was scanning every inch of his body, his mana, his soul.

Then—silence.

Kael opened his eyes.

He stood on cracked black stone beneath a ceiling so high it vanished into darkness. Dim red crystals lined the walls, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The air was thick, dry, and suffocating.

Each breath felt heavier than the last.

A stone tablet rose from the ground before him, its surface glowing.

[Solo Dungeon: "Fifty-Five Laments"]

[Entry Confirmed]

[Time Flow Altered]

[Exit Sealed Until Condition Met]

[Clear All 55 Levels]

Kael swallowed.

"So no turning back?..."

The dungeon responded.

A distant roar echoed through the halls.

Kael slowly drew his sword. The familiar weight steadied him, grounding his racing thoughts. He exhaled and took his stance—not perfect, not elegant, but firm.

"This isn’t a place for heroes," he whispered to himself.

"That’s why I’m here."

Ahead of him, the first gate creaked open.

Shadows stirred beyond it.