The Extra's Rise

"Cecilia and Rachel succeeded. Well done," Nero said, offering the bare minimum amount of praise required by law.

The two princesses—one with pristine elegance, the other with the smug satisfaction of someone who expected no less from herself—stood with their newly formed four-circle spells glowing faintly in their hands.

The rest of us? Not so much.

After Spellcasting II and the subsequent theory classes (which blurred together into one long, uninterrupted assault on my brain), I threw myself into training again.

Four-circle magic was hard.

It wasn't just an increase in complexity—it was a whole new way of thinking about magic.

I focused, summoning fire mana, carefully guiding it through the first three circles, shaping it into the form of a lance.

Perfect.

Then came the transmutation.

And like every other time, that's where it all fell apart.

Transmutation was the bedrock of four-circle spells, the invisible line between 'I am casting a spell' and 'I am rewriting reality'. It was what separated structured spellcasting from mere elemental manipulation.

I took a deep breath and tried again.

The fire shaped itself into a lance. Stable. Balanced.

Then I attempted to compress the mana, transmuting it into a weapon rather than just flame.

The spell shattered instantly.

I sighed. Hard was an understatement.

"You're doing it wrong," a voice soft as silk and far too amused for my liking cut through the air.

I turned to find Rachel Creighton, standing a few feet away, watching me with polite amusement.

She smiled and waved a hand, as if she hadn't just materialized out of nowhere to judge my failures.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "I was watching you and wanted to correct the mistake you were making."

I blinked at her. Then, deciding I had absolutely nothing to lose, I asked, "Not at all. What mistake am I making?"

Rachel tapped a finger against her chin, clearly enjoying herself a little too much.

"Well, you're messing up the formula," she began.

And then she launched into a detailed, incredibly technical explanation of where I was failing, breaking down the mana structuring, the mana flow dynamics, and the specific mathematical ratios required to stabilize transmutation without dispersing elemental integrity.

It was impressive.

It was also completely unfair that she could explain all of this so effortlessly, while I had been struggling for hours.

As expected of a genius.

She finished with a small, satisfied nod, as if she had just solved a particularly complicated puzzle.

Then, after a brief pause, she blinked, suddenly looking sheepish.

"Oh, sorry. I may have rambled too long."

I shook my head immediately. "No, I got it. Thanks, Rach."

She looked mildly surprised for a second, then smiled, bright and genuine.

"I hope you do well," she said, before turning and walking away, leaving only the faint scent of lavender and superiority in her wake.

I watched her go, exhaling.

Rachel Creighton. The future Saintess.

The second princess of the Creighton family—the greatest spellcasting dynasty in the world.

She wasn't just an excellent mage. She was the best of the best, and her true talent lay in light magic, the rarest of all elements.

Of course she had mastered four-circle magic effortlessly.

I shook my head and turned back to my training.

"Alright," I muttered. "Let's try this again."

This time, I applied what Rachel had told me, adjusting the mana flow, refining the compression sequence, focusing on precise transmutation rather than brute force.

The fire shaped itself into a lance.

I took a breath.

Then, carefully—I compressed the mana.

This time, it held.

The fire didn't flicker out. The spell didn't collapse in on itself like a badly built house in a storm. The transmutation stabilized, holding its shape for a full two seconds before the mana structure finally gave out.

I let out a slow breath, lowering my hand.

Not perfect. Not yet.

But it was close.

"Looks like I'll succeed soon enough," I muttered, a small smile tugging at my lips.

With that, I turned and headed back to my dorm, my body heavy with exhaustion but my mind buzzing with satisfaction.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Rachel sat in Spellcasting II, her eyes flickering briefly to Arthur behind her.

He works so hard, she thought, tapping her fingers absently against her desk.

She remembered when she'd given him that advice for Flame Lance. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it—just a bit of guidance for someone struggling with transmutation.

But then, the next time she saw him attempt it, she was genuinely surprised.

He was already close.

Arthur was learning faster than expected, refining the spell at a rate that bordered on unnatural.

At this pace, he'd easily complete it within the time period Nero had given.

She wasn't sure if she was impressed or concerned.

Cecilia, lounging next to her, seemed completely at ease, her crimson eyes scanning a floating spellbook as she idly played with strands of her dark red hair.

"You're spacing out," Cecilia said, not even looking up.

Rachel sighed, straightening in her seat. "Just thinking."

Cecilia smirked. "About a certain commoner?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."

Cecilia shrugged. "It's a gift."

Ignoring her, Rachel focused back on her own training.

She and Cecilia had moved on from basic four-circle spellcasting to something more advanced—spell weaving. Combining two different four-circle spells into a single cohesive structure.

It was far more difficult than simply casting one spell, but Rachel was, as always, determined to master it.

Cecilia? She was determined not to let Rachel be better than her.

The air around them flickered with light magic and arcane sigils, their magic intertwining as they practiced, each trying to refine their control over complex multi-layered casting.

It was delicate work. Precision was everything.

And then, in the middle of her casting, Rachel felt it.

A sudden shift in the mana around them.

She turned, eyes narrowing slightly as she saw Arthur, standing at his training station, his hand extended, his eyes locked onto a glowing four-circle formation in front of him.

The structure was stable.

The fire flickered, twisted—and then sharpened.

With a quiet hum, the fire transmuted. Not raw flames, but something more.

A spear of burning light, its form perfectly contained, perfectly controlled.

Flame Lance.

Fully cast.

Rachel exhaled slowly, a small smile forming.

"Looks like we have a third," she murmured.

Cecilia followed her gaze, raising an eyebrow as Arthur's spell held steady for several more seconds before he finally let it dissipate.

"Not bad," she admitted.

Arthur let out a breath, shaking out his arm.

Rachel could already see it.

The gap between him and the others was closing. Faster than anyone had expected.