The Extra Who Stole the Hero’s System

The stale scent of ale and pipe smoke still clung to me, but a new kind of energy pulsed beneath my skin. My body, now an Apprentice-level Sword Knight, felt sharper, more responsive. The D-tier techniques were ingrained, ready to be called upon with a thought. My training with Herald had been brutal, effective, and utterly transformative.

I pushed myself up from the rough cot, my muscles protesting the lack of a soft mattress. The morning light, dull and gray, barely penetrated the grimy window. My first thought, as always, was of training. Herald's relentless regimen had ingrained itself into my very being. The commoner's exam loomed, a tangible deadline in a world where time often felt fluid and unpredictable.

I went through my morning routine quickly: a splash of cold water from a small basin, a few stretches to loosen my protesting muscles. My training sword, a simple steel blade Herald had given me, lay beside my cot. I picked it up, feeling its familiar weight. I was no longer just Alex Miller, the bewildered extra. I was Kai Lorne, an Apprentice-level Sword Knight, with a job, a realm, and a terrifyingly powerful master.

Herald was already awake when I descended the creaking stairs to the common room of the bar. He sat at the same secluded table in the back, near the cold fireplace, his dark cloak pulled tight around him, his hood obscuring most of his face. His presence, even in this public setting, was a heavy, almost suffocating weight. He was constantly aura farming, drawing in ambient mana, saturating the environment with his raw power. It was a constant reminder of his overwhelming strength, a pressure that I was slowly, painfully, growing accustomed to.

Mudrel was already there, hunched over a plate of what looked like dry bread and salted fish. Bella, the cat beast-kin, was curled up on the bench beside him, occasionally twitching her ears at the sounds of the waking city. She looked more relaxed than she had in Megmura, but her large eyes still held a wary alertness.

"Morning, Disciple," Herald's voice was flat, devoid of any warmth. He didn't look up from whatever he was contemplating. "Eat. We have work to do."

I ordered a similar breakfast from the burly bartender. The food was simple, but filling. The bread was coarse, the fish salty, but it provided the necessary fuel for the day ahead. As I ate, I observed the bar slowly coming to life. A few early risers, mostly laborers, drifted in, their faces grim, their movements slow. The bartender, a man of few words, served them with practiced efficiency.

After breakfast, Herald finally looked at me. "Today, Disciple, you will observe. You will learn the rhythm of this city. You will learn to see beyond the surface. The cult is everywhere. They hide in plain sight. Your mana sense is improving. Use it. Discerning a cultist is not just about detecting their mana. It is about understanding their intent. Look for the subtle shifts in behavior, the unnatural calm in their movements."

He then laid out the day's plan. We would walk through various districts of Elyndor, observing. He would point out subtle signs, tell me what to look for. It was another form of training, a lesson in urban survival and infiltration. Mudrel and Bella would accompany us, maintaining their own low profile.

We left The Drunken Griffin just as the sun began to climb higher, casting long shadows down the narrow streets. The city was a chaotic symphony of sights and sounds. Carriages rumbled over cobblestones, merchants hawked their wares, and the chatter of a thousand voices filled the air. The smell of roasted meats, fresh bread, and exotic spices mingled with the less pleasant odors of a bustling city. People of all walks of life filled the streets: commoners in simple tunics, merchants in fine silks, guards in polished armor, and even a few robed figures, clearly mages, moving with an air of quiet authority.

Herald led us through a labyrinth of narrow streets and crowded alleys, avoiding the grander avenues. He moved with an effortless grace, his dark cloak blending into the shadows. I followed, my senses alert, my body tense. My Apprentice-level mana sense picked up subtle fluctuations in the ambient mana, the faint hum of magic from shops, the stronger presence of mana from passing mages. It was a constant, overwhelming input, but my training allowed me to process it, to filter out the noise.

We passed through the artisan's district, where the clang of hammers on metal and the scent of woodsmoke filled the air. Blacksmiths hammered glowing steel, carpenters shaped raw timber, and weavers worked intricate patterns on massive looms. It was a world of skilled labor, of craftsmanship, a stark contrast to the brutality of Megmura. I saw commoners, their hands calloused, their faces grimed with honest work, yet a quiet pride in their eyes. It was a reminder that this world, for all its magic and monsters, still ran on the practicalities of commerce and human interaction.

Herald would occasionally stop, his gaze fixed on a seemingly ordinary scene. "Observe the mana flow, Disciple," he would murmur, his voice low. "The subtle shifts. The unnatural concentrations. The cult hides its presence, but mana does not lie."

I would focus my mana sense, trying to discern what he saw. At first, it was just a chaotic jumble of energy. But slowly, painstakingly, I began to pick up on the nuances. A faint, almost imperceptible distortion in the mana around a seemingly ordinary merchant. A subtle, unnatural flicker of energy from a seemingly innocent passerby. It was like learning a new language, a silent conversation with the world's hidden energies.

We moved into the market district, a vibrant, chaotic hub of activity. Stalls overflowed with exotic fruits, shimmering fabrics, strange magical trinkets, and, of course, food. The air here was thick with the scent of spices, roasted meats, and the general hum of a bustling metropolis. Mudrel, despite his grim demeanor, seemed a little more relaxed here, his eyes scanning the crowds, occasionally exchanging a curt nod with a fellow commoner. Bella, however, remained close to him, her ears twitching, her large eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of apprehension.

I overheard snippets of conversations. Two adventurers at a nearby stall were loudly recounting a monster hunt, their voices filled with exaggerated bravado. "And then, the Ogre, it was massive, I tell you! Its club was like a tree trunk! But I, Sir Reginald, with my trusty blade, struck it down!" The other adventurer, a smaller, more cynical man, rolled his eyes, but offered a polite chuckle. It was a classic scene, straight out of a fantasy novel.

A group of merchants huddled in another corner, their voices low, discussing trade routes and fluctuating prices. Their concerns were mundane, yet vital to the city's lifeblood. It was a reminder that this world, for all its magic and monsters, still ran on the practicalities of commerce and human interaction.

I felt a subtle hum of mana from one of the mages at a nearby stall, a faint, almost imperceptible spell being cast, perhaps to light a pipe or warm a drink. My Apprentice-level mana sense picked up on it instantly, discerning the subtle flow of energy, the precise intent behind the magic. It was a fascinating experience, seeing the mundane and the magical intertwined so seamlessly.

Herald's training continued even amidst the bustling city. He would occasionally point out a specific individual, a seemingly ordinary commoner, and challenge me to discern their mana signature, to detect any hidden abilities or affiliations. It was like a game of 'spot the cultist,' a grim, high-stakes exercise in observation. I found myself becoming more attuned to the subtle shifts in mana, to the faint, almost imperceptible distortions that hinted at hidden power or dark intentions.

We passed by the grander avenues, where noble carriages rumbled past, their occupants clad in fine silks and gleaming jewels. I caught glimpses of familiar Sapphire family crests, a stark reminder of the life I had left behind. The thought of Lady Sapphire's grief, of Evelina's comatose state, still gnawed at me, a persistent ache. But I pushed it down. My path was set. My goal was clear: ultimate strength.

As the day wore on, Herald led us towards the outskirts of the city, near the training grounds where the commoner's exam would be held. The area was less crowded, more open, with large, dusty fields and a few makeshift training dummies. I saw groups of young men, commoners, practicing their sword forms, their movements earnest but often unrefined. They were my competition. My path to the Academy.

Herald stopped at the edge of one of the fields, his gaze sweeping over the aspiring commoner knights. "Observe their forms, Disciple," he commanded. "Their strengths. Their weaknesses. Learn to read their intent. You will be among them soon."

I watched them, my Apprentice-level mana sense discerning the subtle mana flow in their bodies, the rudimentary mana sheaths on their blades, the occasional clumsy Impact Burst. They were strong, some of them. Dedicated. But they lacked the precision, the control, the raw power that Herald had instilled in me. I was confident I could outperform them, but the sheer number of competitors was daunting.

As evening approached, we made our way back to The Drunken Griffin. The bar was even more crowded now, filled with the boisterous laughter and loud conversations of adventurers, laborers, and merchants unwinding after a long day. The air was thick with the smell of ale and fried food.

Herald took his usual seat in the back, Mudrel and Bella settling beside him. I ordered a simple meal, my body aching from the long day of observation and subtle training. As I ate, I continued to observe the patrons, my mana sense constantly active, discerning the subtle mana signatures, the hidden powers, the potential cultists.

My mind drifted to my own situation. My new reality. I was Herald's disciple, an Apprentice-level Sword Knight, heading to the Academy through the commoner's route, all to infiltrate a cult-infested institution. My original goal – to find peace, to survive by avoiding the spotlight – felt like a distant, naive dream. That dream was shattered.

But something else was growing within me. A new resolve. A new purpose. I had been dragged into this world, forced into this conflict. I had witnessed horrors, experienced pain, and been used as a pawn. But I was also gaining power. Unimaginable power. I had the system, the Narrative Override Engine, a tool that could literally rewrite reality. I had Herald's training, the guidance of a Sword Sovereign. I had ascended to the Apprentice realm, and I knew there were higher realms to conquer.

The thought solidified in my mind, a cold, hard truth that resonated with every fiber of my being. Survival. True survival. It wasn't about hiding. It wasn't about avoiding the spotlight. It was about ultimate strength.

I looked at Herald, sitting silently beside me, his presence a constant reminder of the power I still lacked. He was a Sword Sovereign, the pinnacle of known sword mastery. But he wasn't omnipotent. He had limitations. And I had the system.

I looked at the bustling bar, at the faces of the commoners, the adventurers, the mages. The cult was here, hidden among them. The Academy awaited. And with it, the next stage of my unscripted journey. My unscripted beginning was far from over. It was just entering its most dangerous phase. I would become the strongest. By all means. Stronger than Herald, the Sword Sovereign. Stronger than even the "god" that sent me here, the unseen force that controlled this narrative, that had plucked me from my old life and thrust me into this one. Because ultimate strength was the only way to ensure true survival, true control, true freedom.

***

The days blurred into a monotonous, but purposeful, rhythm. Our routine was set: a simple breakfast at The Drunken Griffin, followed by hours of urban training and observation. We would walk through different districts, with Herald silently pointing out subtle mana distortions, forcing me to hone my mana sense. Lunch was usually a simple meal from a street vendor, a practical necessity rather than a moment of rest. Evenings were spent back at the bar, where I would continue my observational training, discerning mana signatures from the crowd, and refining my understanding of the city's undercurrents.

Mudrel was a constant, solid presence. He would often engage in quiet conversation with fellow commoners, his network of contacts providing a constant stream of information. Bella, the cat beast-kin, had become my shadow. She would follow me during our walks, her ears twitching, her large eyes taking in the chaotic world with a blend of fear and curiosity. At night, she would curl up on my lap, her purr a soft, comforting rumble that was a welcome change from the constant tension.

One afternoon, as we were making our way back from the outskirts of the city, Herald stopped me in a quiet alley. He had been silent for hours, but now his gaze was fixed on me, piercing and intense.

"The commoner's exam is in two days, Disciple," he stated, his voice flat. "Your final lesson. You are not a noble. You are a commoner. You will face prejudice. You will face contempt. Your greatest weapon in this exam will not be your strength, but your control. Do not show your full power. Do not reveal your true skill. Hold back. Let them underestimate you. And only show what is necessary to pass."

My mind immediately processed the command. It made perfect sense. The commoner's route was a shield. Revealing a level of skill far beyond what was expected of a commoner would draw immediate, unwanted attention. It was a lesson in strategic restraint, in using my power as a tool, not a spectacle.

"I understand, Master," I replied, my voice steady.

Herald simply nodded, then began walking again. His silence was a form of communication, a testament to his trust in my understanding.

That evening, as the city lights began to twinkle against the darkening sky, we decided to find a new place to stay for the night, a small motel away from the bustle of The Drunken Griffin. It was a small, two-story building, its sign, "The Traveller's Respite," barely legible. The owner, a gaunt, weary man, gave us a look of tired indifference as he handed us the keys to our rooms.

We were given two rooms, simple and spartan, with a shared bath down the hall. Herald took one room, Mudrel and Bella took the other. I was given a small, single room at the end of the hall. The room was clean, though smelled faintly of disinfectant. The window looked out onto a narrow street, lit by the flickering glow of an oil lamp.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The exam was in two days. The Academy, the cult, the main plot of the original novel – it was all about to begin. My role as an 'extra' was officially over. I was now a player, a pawn in a game I was only just beginning to understand. But I had a goal. Ultimate strength. A goal that transcended the plot, that promised to give me the power to ensure my own survival.

I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the flickering lamplight. My gaze swept over the street, the small, bustling activity of the late evening. A group of commoners were huddled at a nearby pub. A lone guard stood at a corner, his face grim.

Then, my eyes landed on a young man standing outside the pub, his back to me. He was of medium height, with a lean build. His hair was a distinctive shade of brown, and his clothes, though simple, were clean. He was talking to a small group of people, his gestures animated, a look of wide-eyed innocence and earnestness on his face.

My heart seized in my chest. A cold, hard certainty washed over me, a chilling recognition that went beyond mere sight. My memories of the original novel, of *Hero's Vow*, flooded my mind, a torrent of information, character descriptions, and plot points. I knew that face. I knew that earnest demeanor.

It was **Eren**. The protagonist. The hero of this world. He was here, in the capital, at this small, commoner-filled pub, just as the novel had foretold. He was about to begin his journey to the Academy.

My unscripted beginning was over. The main plot had officially begun. And I, Kai Lorne, the extra who had been training in the shadows, was now a player. The game had just gotten a lot more dangerous.