I Transmigrated Into the Game as the Luckiest Extra

Each radiated a faint aura, clearly not ordinary training equipment but carefully selected artifacts suitable for cadets. They hummed with a low, arcane energy that made the air itself feel different.

"Now," Ronan said, his smile turning sharper, "step forward in order. In the center of the stage, you will see the weapons prepared for you. Choose wisely. From this day on, the weapon you take will not only shape your combat style but your entire future as a hero."

The room erupted with anticipation. Some students immediately straightened, eager to be first. Others swallowed nervously, realizing the weight of the decision before them.

Kael Vi-rel leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the weapons from afar. His fingers tapped against the desk in thought.

Choose wisely, huh? he mused. For me, it's not just about a weapon. It's about surviving long enough to uncover the truth behind this world… and to make sure the future I know doesn't swallow me whole.

The first cadet stepped forward, and the selection began.

"Next students, come up please."

The instructor's voice echoed across the training grounds. One by one, the cadets stepped forward, their eyes gleaming with nervous excitement. For many, this moment marked the true beginning of their journey at the academy a chance to declare their path, their weapon, and perhaps their destiny. The air hummed with a palpable energy, a mixture of ambition and the quiet dread of the unknown.

As expected, the most chosen weapon was the sword.

A young man, his posture radiating a forced confidence, strode to the rack and chose a polished blade. "I choose the sword," he announced, his voice just a little too loud. The steel gleamed in the morning sun, reflecting his eager grin. He swung the blade in a wide arc, as if he were already a hero from an epic tale.

No surprise there. The sword was the most common weapon in history, versatile and reliable, a weapon fit for countless heroes. Students who wanted to look strong, noble, or traditional always went for it. It was the weapon of legends, of knights, of all the stories they had grown up with. It required skill, sure, but its very shape was a promise of glory.

"Next will be a spear, a bow, and then the more uncommon weapons," the instructor called.

Spear wielders stepped forward next, holding their weapons upright with pride. They were the methodical ones, the tacticians who understood that range and leverage were as important as brute strength. After that, a few students went for bows, though not nearly as many as swords. The archers were a quieter bunch, valuing distance and precision. Then came the rare choices: axes, scythes, even chains. Every cadet had the freedom to walk their own path, to choose a weapon that spoke to a deeper part of their nature.

On the other hand, those who majored in magic almost always gravitated toward a wand.

Wands weren't just tools they amplified spells, stabilized mana flow, and reduced the mental burden of channeling magic. For a mage, a wand wasn't simply a weapon; it was a lifeline, an extension of their will. A mage without a wand was a car without a steering wheel, able to move but unable to direct itself with any precision.

But there were always exceptions. The academy, it seemed, was designed to attract them.

"I won't choose a wand," Damon Reid declared, crossing his arms stubbornly.

A murmur rippled through the students. Everyone turned their heads, their whispers of "what?" and "why?" filling the sudden silence. Damon Reid, with his arrogant smile and powerful mana, was one of the most promising mages. To refuse the tool of his trade was an act of extreme hubris.

"Sorry, but I won't choose," Damon repeated firmly. He looked at the instructor with a gaze that said, I don't need your tools to be a hero.

The instructor raised a brow but didn't press him. "Well, he won't be forced to pick if he doesn't want to."

Instead of a wand, Damon Reid clenched his fists. His choice was simple: his weapon would be his own body. Bare hands. It was reckless, arrogant even but Damon Reid wasn't the kind of person who followed rules. He forged his own.

Elric Vales, standing a little distance away, smirked faintly. He, too, decided to follow his own path, a path of brute-force manipulation of magic, ignoring the obvious choices laid before him. He simply shrugged, a disdainful look on his face as he walked past the racks of weapons.

I couldn't help but sigh inwardly. "There is no normal person in this academy, that's for sure."

And yet, that was exactly why this academy was special. This was a world where disasters and evil were often taken lightly, where calamities emerged unexpectedly, and where strength was the only guarantee of survival. The main characters of this world were destined to shoulder great burdens. Whether they survived or saved the world would depend entirely on the choices they made here. Every choice, no matter how small, was a step toward a destiny they couldn't possibly foresee.

"Next," the instructor called.

A clear, confident voice rang out, cutting through the buzz of chatter.

"I choose the bow."

I looked up. The girl's long hair shimmered under the sun as she stepped forward, her hands wrapping around the sleek weapon with an elegance that seemed to belong to another era. She handled the bow not as a tool, but as a part of herself.

Her name was Octavia Blake.

The bow fit her perfectly, almost as if it had been waiting for her. Calm, sharp, and poised she was the type of person who would shine on the battlefield from afar, her arrows striking down enemies before they even realized where death had come from. She would be a ghost on the battlefield, a silent bringer of justice.

I didn't approach her, not yet. Timing mattered. Before involving myself with side characters, I needed to deal with the main ones first. Still, making Octavia Blake a colleague or even an ally would definitely be a wise move. Her talent was undeniable.

"Using True Scan on the target," I whispered to myself.

A translucent window appeared before me, its text a familiar comfort.

Target: Octavia Blake

Weapon: Bow

A bow is a weapon best entrusted to the backline. Long-range support, precision strikes, and battlefield awareness all of these made her invaluable.