An Extra’s Rise in an Eroge

Aldred, the usually mild-mannered one whose voice rarely left a calm register, spoke up this time. His expression was unusually grave.

"Perhaps the question of who they are… or how they infiltrated… is not what we should be wasting our time on." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing into shadows. "The more urgent matter should be — what is their purpose for infiltrating us?"

The table fell quiet again.

Samantha folded her arms, her voice cold as frost. "Purpose? It's obvious. They want the students. This generation's top geniuses are in the first year, currently inside the hunting field." She started listing, each name dropping like a hammer.

"The heirs of the most influential noble houses: Arthur Ludwig, Alex Stale, Akira Frost, Cedric Raven, Nadiya Mystic, Luna Harper. And on top of that—the Saintess, Eveline Vale. The elven princess, Nyra Vilde. The heir of the wolf tribe, Kaela Howler."

As Samantha's voice went on, each name made the professors' expressions grow darker. The sheer weight of what was at stake pressed down on them all.

"Even if one of them loses their life, the balance will shatter. Chaos will erupt. Every one of them carries the potential to reach S-rank or even SS-level in the future." Samantha's tone sharpened further. "But a genius who can't survive is just wasted potential."

"So what do we do?" Luke asked, his voice grim. "Should we inform the principal?"

"Indeed," Elena agreed. "This isn't a matter we can decide on our own."

"Alright then, I'll go inform the principal. The rest of you should head for the hunting field." Samantha stood, decisive.

The others rose to follow through—when suddenly, every single one of them froze in place.

A voice echoed in their minds, firm and clear, touching every corner of their consciousness at once:

[There is no need to go anywhere.]

They all recognized the voice instantly. It was their principal—Aryana Quinn.

The air itself seemed to still as her calm, measured tone filled their minds.

[If they cannot overcome this tiny hurdle, then how could they ever be called humanity's hope? Let them fend for themselves. This was always meant to be a test—a chance to measure their effectiveness in real danger. And what better trial than a pack of demon contractors aiming for their throats?]

"But Principal, their identities—" Samantha tried to argue, only for Aryana to cut her off.

[Identities? Do their bloodlines make them more worthy of survival? Would you have rushed to interfere if it had been other, nameless students out there instead?" Her voice sharpened. "You disappoint me. This academy has always prided itself on treating every student as equal—and here you sit, drawing lines between them.]

Samantha lowered her gaze, biting her lip. "Forgive me, Principal. I… misspoke."

[I know you are worried about your disciple," Aryana continued, her tone softening just slightly. "But do you lack confidence in your own students? Can they not handle a few demon contractors? Did they not already prove themselves when fending off the attack on the Royal Museum?]

Her words sank in, and realization dawned across the table. They had been so caught up in the sudden shock of infiltration, so shaken by the thought of hostile intruders in the hunting field, that they had forgotten the truth. Their students weren't helpless children. They were warriors—monsters in the making.

If anything, it wasn't the students they should pity. It was the intruders.

The heavy atmosphere dissolved almost instantly. The professors leaned back in their chairs, their grim faces easing into small, knowing smiles.

"Hah… the Principal's right." Luke chuckled quietly. "Our students aren't the ones in danger. It's those idiots who dared to step foot into the academy's grounds."

A ripple of laughter followed. The suffocating tension that had filled the room moments ago faded like smoke.

Then, cutting through the calm, Assistant Professor Ann raised her hand sheepishly.

"So… who wants coffee?"

The mood broke completely.

"Without sugar."

"I'll have tea."

"Decaf."

The room lightened with casual banter, as though the shadow of death had never passed over it. And yet, deep down, they all knew: the real test of this generation's future was unfolding in blood and steel at that very moment.

~~~~

While the professors eased back into their seats, warmed by talk of coffee and tea, the situation in the hunting field was anything but calm.

The night air was thick with the stench of blood and the guttural roars of beasts gone berserk. Shadows flickered across the battlefield, illuminated by bursts of mana flares and crackling spells.

"Shit—watch your flank!" a student screamed, narrowly avoiding a wolf-like beast with glowing crimson veins that pulsed like molten fire.

Dozens of first-years were scattered across the field, some in groups, others forced into desperate one-on-one struggles. The monsters weren't normal anymore. Their movements were frenzied, unnatural, each one radiating a suffocating miasma that clawed at the mind like invisible hands.

While most students were crammed inside shelters, trembling in fear, Arthur was different. He wasn't hiding. He was hunting.

The Abyssal Fang in his hand thrummed with life, its black blade pulsating faintly with the souls it had devoured. The demon contractors he had cut down earlier had only fueled its hunger. The weapon didn't just drink their blood—it drank their very essence, growing sharper and heavier in his hand with every kill. The boost it gained from contractors was far greater than any demonic beast could ever provide.

Arthur moved like a shadow through the academy's twisted, chaotic grounds. The air smelled of blood and burnt mana. Screams echoed in the distance, sharp, fading, then snuffed out. He followed the sound of chanting and the flicker of unstable magical light.

He found them. A group of five contractors circling two students, their faces twisted with sadistic pleasure. The students—one boy bleeding from a torn arm, a girl clutching her side with mana burns eating away her robes—were barely holding on.

Arthur didn't wait.

One of the contractors noticed too late. "Who the f—"

Arthur was already there, his fist smashing into the man's jaw with a wet crack. Teeth and blood sprayed the ground. The man crumpled before he even registered the blow.

Another swung a blade of conjured fire. Arthur's Abyssal Fang cut straight through it, the black edge swallowing the flames as if mocking the spell. In the same motion, Arthur split the contractor from shoulder to hip. Blood and entrails sprayed in a hot arc across the dirt.

The others panicked. "It's him! Shit—kill—"

Arthur didn't give them time. His shadow moved first, splitting into tendrils that lashed out like whips, coiling around the throat of one. He yanked, pulling the man off his feet. A flick of his wrist—snap. The body went limp.

The fourth tried to flee, launching bolts of lightning behind him to cover his retreat. Arthur stepped through them. Foresight kicked in, and his body slipped past each crackle of energy as if he'd rehearsed it a thousand times. He grabbed the man by the head and smashed his face into the ground with such force the skull caved in like brittle wood.

The last one froze, trembling. "W-wait! I'll tell you anyth—"

Arthur's sword whispered through the air. The Abyssal Fang cut the man clean in half at the waist, both halves falling with a sickening flop. The weapon hummed in satisfaction, shadows along its edge rippling as it drank deeply of the soul.

The students stared at him, wide-eyed and pale. The girl's lips trembled. "You… saved us."

Arthur pulled out two healing potions from his satchel and tossed them over. "Drink. Patch yourselves up and find a shelter."

The boy grabbed them with shaking hands. "Th-thank you… Sir Arthur, thank you… again and again…" His voice cracked, eyes filling with tears of relief. The girl bowed so low her forehead touched the blood-soaked ground.

Arthur didn't linger. Their gratitude washed over him like whispers—empty. He had no time for it.

The sword was still hungry. And so was he.

He moved again, deeper into the academy grounds. The screams had thinned, replaced by the eerie crackle of fire and the occasional echo of distant fighting. His senses sharpened when he noticed something odd—a glow in the distance, steadier than the random chaos.

Arthur crept closer, sticking to shadows. What he found made him pause.

Several camps had been set up around a large fire in the courtyard. It wasn't chaotic like the rest of the academy grounds—it was organized. Controlled. Students walked around, their faces dark with despair, some sitting with their heads buried in their knees.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He didn't recognize most of them, but then his gaze locked onto the fire's center.

There they were.

Oliver Hestia, the Student Council President, sitting stiff and grim. Noah Blake at his side, his sharp eyes darting like a predator even in this tense silence. And between them—

Arthur saw a very familiar figure.

Emily. His sister. Emily Ludwig.