The Manaless Extra (A Progression Fantasy Story)

Volume 03, Chapter 114
Uther and Arthur's Reconciliation

Arthur walks down the long, silent corridor of the chateau, his footsteps echoing faintly off the marble floors.

His hands are clenched by his sides, his expression twisted with guilt.

"I messed up…" he mutters under his breath. "I treated him like he was the real Dominic… I let my emotions take over. I knew he wasn't the same, and still…"

His voice cracks. The weight in his chest—raw, bitter, unresolved—refuses to ease.

All these years, the comparisons, the shadows cast by someone he loved… and now, the moment he finally confronts it, he snaps at someone who is no longer even the same person.

"I'm an idiot…" Arthur murmurs, dragging a hand through his hair. "All I ever wanted was to be seen. Just once. Not as someone's second. Not as the shadow of Doms."

"Arthur."

Arthur stops.

His eyes widen as he slowly turns toward the voice that calls him.

Uther stands there, walking toward him from the opposite end of the hallway—his posture tall as always, his expression unreadable.

"Father…" Arthur says softly, his shoulders tensing involuntarily.

He braces himself for cold words. For judgment. For disappointment.

But Uther says nothing.

He simply keeps walking—closer… and closer…

And then, without warning, Uther pulls Arthur into a firm, enveloping hug.

Arthur freezes, his breath catching.

"Fathe—"

"I'm sorry, Arthur." Uther's voice is quiet… strained. "I'm sorry for making you feel… worthless. I'm sorry for comparing you to Dominic. For not seeing you."

Arthur's eyes widen, and for a brief moment, the world around him seems to blur.

He has spent so long chasing approval. Trying to earn it. Pushing himself in silence, through bruises and sleepless nights, waiting for something.

A pat on the back.

A proud word.

A hug.

Just once.

Just once in his life, he has wanted to be held by his father like this.

And now—here it is.

His hands tremble. Slowly, hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Uther in return.

"…I missed this," Arthur whispers.

Uther tightens the hug slightly. "I've failed you as a father. I thought pushing you harder would make you stronger. But all it did was push you away."

Arthur closes his eyes, and a single tear slips down his cheek.

"…Thank you, Father."

They stand there, in the hallway, bathed in soft afternoon light—two generations finally seeing each other as they truly are.

Not expectations.

Not shadows.

Just a father and his son.

Uther gently pulls away from the embrace and rests a firm hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"We'll talk more later," he says, his voice softer than before. "But for now, you should speak with Dominic."

Arthur nods, quickly wiping a tear from his cheek. "Yes, Father."

He turns and begins walking down the corridor, his steps lighter than before.

"Wait."

Arthur stops and glances over his shoulder, his brow lifting. "Yes?"

Uther crosses his arms, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Let's train tomorrow at La Centre Stargate. Just the two of us. After that…" he pauses, his voice lowering just a bit, "…I'll treat you to cheeseburgers."

Arthur blinks, stunned. Then his eyes light up, a subtle blush dusting his cheeks. "…Okay," he says quietly, a shy smile forming on his lips.

He turns back around and continues walking, but this time, there is something new in his stride—hope.

Uther stands still, watching his son retreat down the long hall.

A smile creeps gently across his face. "I'll make sure to be a better father," he murmurs under his breath, the words soft but certain.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Maurice raises both hands in mock surrender. "Relax. I'm not telling anyone. If I were the snitching type, I would have spilled the beans ages ago."

As chaotic and flamboyant as Maurice is, he is not a liar. If anything, he thrives on secrets—guarding them like shiny coins in a pocket. Still, how did he figure it out?

"Professor," I ask slowly, "how… did you know?"

Maurice lets out a small laugh and crosses his arms. "You remember that absolutely embarrassing score of six out of a hundred you got on the written exam?"

I cringe. "...Yeah."

"And you remember how I ruffled your hair that day?"

"...Yeah—"

Wait.

Oh. Oh crap.

"You… cast a spell when you ruffled my hair?"

Maurice points at me, grinning. "Bingo. Little surface-level mind-scrying. Nothing invasive, just enough to check your mental rhythm. I was like, 'There's no way Dominic Eñeforte, the straight-A golden boy, suddenly became a complete moron overnight.'"

He shrugs with casual arrogance. "So, I checked. And instead of Dominic, I found… you. Clark Williams. Japanese-American. Total stranger. Panic, confusion, memory of your death. And then—" his grin widens, "—I found something even weirder."

I stare at him, stunned.

"The world I live in… being the setting of a webnovel in your previous life? Now that's a twist," he says, chuckling to himself. "Though I do appreciate that the author got one thing right—that I'm stupidly overpowered and ridiculously handsome. Finally, some truth in fiction."

I cannot help but laugh.

Even now, he is still… Maurice.

But then, a thought occurs to me.

Should I tell him about the regressions? The loops Célestin and the original Dominic went through? He did scan my mind before I knew about that, so it is safe to assume he does not know.

I glance briefly to the side, hoping the System will not object.

I am not planning to mention you. Just the regressions.

Three dots.

So, the System cannot technically stop me.

Maurice narrows his eyes slightly. "Did you just look at your System again?"

I stiffen. "...Yeah."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Of course, he notices. Maurice does not miss a thing.

He studies me in silence for a beat. Then, in a softer voice, "You've got something to say, don't you?"

I nod. "Professor… there's something I think you should know. About Célestin. And Dominic. The real one."

He tilts his head slightly, his smirk fading into something more serious.

"Go on."

I take a deep breath.

Then I tell him everything.

About the regressions, the cycles Célestin and the original Dominic endured. How the real Dominic is now living on Earth, his memories turned into the very webnovel I read in my past life. How the story I once thought was fiction had actually been the lived experiences of someone who fought endlessly, died countless times, and now lives unaware of the chaos he once carried.

And finally, about Malignor. The one variable that remembered. The one constant in the spiral of time.

When I finish, Maurice closes his eyes and slowly strokes his chin.

"That's a lot to take in."

"...So, what do you think?" I ask, my voice quieter than I intend.

He does not answer right away.

His arms are folded, his chin resting against his knuckles, brows drawn together as though mentally assembling a shattered tapestry. It is the longest silence I have ever heard from him—the kind of silence that feels like it is weighing the entire fate of a world.

Then, he finally opens his eyes.

Gone is the usual sparkle of sarcasm and flair. What remains is the cold, keen stare of an [SS] Ranked Magician.

Focused.

Serious.

"What do I think?" he echoes, voice low.

He steps away, toward the edge of the room, staring out the window like he is watching the entire world from afar.

"Tragic," he murmurs. "To think this world is stuck in an endless loop. No wonder Célestin felt familiar the first time I met him...And a demon that can remember every regression? That's not just dangerous—that's unnatural. It breaks the contract of time itself."

I watch him, and my thoughts spiral.

Getting help from Maurice… it is no exaggeration to say this changes everything.

This is the man people call Sylvestria's Greatest Showman.

Why had Célestin not tried to recruit him in the earlier loops? Was Maurice killed too early in those timelines? Was he too distant, too unpredictable to trust? Or… was Célestin too burdened with the guilt of failing again and again that he simply stopped hoping anyone else could help?

I do not know. But I do know this: with Maurice on our side, we might actually stand a chance.

"Professor... would you be willing to help us stop this?"

He turns, his signature grin sliding back into place like a magician returning after a solemn trick.

"Sure. Why not?"

I blink. "...Really?"

"Of course." He gives an exaggerated flip of his silver-streaked hair. "I'm not just handsome and overpowered, I'm also generous. A true hero of the people, if you will."

I cannot help it—I laugh.

"Thanks... Professor."

Maurice winks. "Anytime, Clark. Or should I say… The Manaficial Extra?"

The Manaficial Extra... That title—it sounds kind of perfect. Fitting, even. It echoes my current place in this world: off-script, out of time, and rewriting fate.

Before I can respond, Maurice raises his right hand and flicks his fingers casually.

In an instant, the loose white tank top I have been wearing vanishes, replaced by a clean, crisp white shirt that fits perfectly.

I blink, glancing down at my now-covered chest. "Thanks, Professor."

"No probs, Clark!" he says cheerfully, winking again.

—Click!

The door opens.

And in comes the younger me.

"Big brother, you're awake!" Clark beams, rushing over to the bed and gripping the edge of the sheets with excitement.

I smile and reach out, gently patting his head. "Hey, Clark."

Maurice grins from where he leans by the door. "Ah, looks like the other Clark has arrived." His voice is teasing, laced with playful mischief.

I shoot him a nervous look. "Professor…"

The last thing I want is for Clark to find out who I really am. He does not need that kind of weight on his shoulders.

I do not want to break his trust or complicate things more than they already are.

"Big brother?" Clark looks up at me, puzzled. "What does he mean? What other Clark?"

"Ah! It's nothing, Clark!" I wave both hands quickly, my face heating up with forced laughter. "He's just messing around. You know Maurice."

Maurice chuckles to himself, clearly enjoying the chaos. "Anyways, I'll take my leave. Training resumes tomorrow. Same flower field, same time, Dominic."

He gives me one last wink before turning into a swarm of red butterflies.

Clark turns to me again, his face lighting up with admiration.

"Big brother, you were so cool!" He raises his hands, shaping his fingers like little guns. "You were all like boom! And then bam!"

I cannot help but laugh softly. His energy is infectious.

"You also did those amazing dark laser thingies!"

I smirk. "Dark beams, Clark."

"Right! Dark beams! Pew pew pew!"

He waves his fingers in a pretend battle, and I lean back against the pillows, watching him with a warmth I have not felt in a long time.

For a moment, the weight of everything—regressions, identities, demons—fades away.

Right now, I am just a big brother, and he is just a kid who thinks I am the coolest person alive.

And that… that makes all of it worth it.

"I see that you're awake."

The voice—calm, cool, unmistakable—cuts through the quiet like a blade through silk.

I turn toward the doorway.

And there she is.

"Ah, Lumi," I say, offering a tired but genuine smile. "You're here."

"Hello, big sis Lumi!" Clark chirps from my bedside, waving his tiny hand enthusiastically.

Big sis? That is… new.

They only met yesterday. But somehow, Clark has already grown attached—and judging by the slight upturn at the corner of Lumi's lips, it is mutual.

Just barely.

But enough to crack the frosted barrier that usually wraps around her like armor.

She steps into the room, arms loosely crossed, her expression unreadable but not unfriendly.

"You've recovered faster than expected," she says as she stops at the edge of the bed.

Her red eyes sweep over me—quick, clinical, but not cold. More like a battlefield medic evaluating a stubborn soldier who refuses to stay down.

I scratch the back of my head sheepishly. "Yeah, I'm just as surprised as you are."

"You took a direct hit from an [A]-rank Light Mana beam," she continues. "Condensed. High-output. Even for a Manaficial, that kind of damage should have kept you under for three days."

I shrug, trying to play it cool. "Guess I'm built different."

"Yeah! Big brother's super strong!" Clark chimes in, puffing his chest out with pride.

Lumi raises an eyebrow at his enthusiasm, then looks back at me.

"Or maybe you're just too stubborn to stay down," she says dryly.

I grin. "That's probably it."

Her eyes linger on me for a moment longer. Something flickers behind them—relief, maybe. Or something close to it. But as quickly as it comes, it vanishes behind her usual mask.

And still, the silence between us feels... lighter somehow.

Clark leans in closer to my side. "Big sis Lumi, did you see when big brother used the dark pew-pew lasers?"

Lumi blinks. Then, very faintly, she smiles.

"I did," she says. "They were… adequate."

I let out a soft laugh. From Lumi, that is high praise.

"Anyway," she says, her tone even, "I'm glad you and Arthur finally resolved things after that duel."

"…Yeah," I reply, my voice soft. "Arthur needed that more than I did."

She tilts her head slightly. "Did you… go easy on him?"

I shake my head. "No. Arthur won fair and square. That sword he was holding—it had a ridiculous amount of Mana stored in it. It matched my total output blow for blow."

"I see…" She brings a hand to her chin. "Then it looks like I've got some catching up to do."

"Big sis," Clark pipes up from beside me, his eyes wide and curious. "You can fight too? Like big brother?"

Lumi glances at him and gives a small nod. "Yes. I'm training to become a Stargate Raider."

"Ohhh! Then you must be really strong!"

She hesitates for a moment, then says, "…I think I am."

I chuckle. "C'mon, Lumi. Don't sell yourself short."

It is true. She placed second in the Verdant Arcanum entrance exam—just beneath Célestin. That alone is a testament to her skill. Her strength is not just real—it is earned.

Lumi's expression does not change, but I see it: the smallest shift in her eyes. Maybe pride. Maybe resolve.

Either way, it suits her.

—Click.

The door creaks open, and Arthur steps inside, his silhouette framed by the hallway light.

"Hey," he greets, his voice low, uncertain.

"Hey," I reply, just as quietly.

The air between us feels thick. Awkward. After everything, we suddenly do not know how to talk.

"Hi, Arthu—"

"Clark," Lumi cuts in smoothly, her tone light but deliberate, "didn't you say the Lyon chateau has beautiful gardens?"

Clark blinks, caught off guard. "Oh! Yeah!" He turns to me with a big smile. "See you later, big brother!"

"Yeah, see you."

Lumi gives me a small nod—one I silently thank her for—then guides Clark out the door, closing it softly behind them.

Now it is just me and Arthur. Alone.

I clear my throat. "So… uh, congrats on winning the duel." I force a small smile, trying to ease the weight in the room.

Arthur looks at the floor momentarily, then back up at me.

"Thanks… but you did great, Dom—Clark."

That slip. He almost calls me Dominic again.

I do not flinch. I understand.

After everything we have been through, everything he has been through, it makes sense. The line between me and Dominic, he remembers, is blurred. To him, I am not just someone wearing Dominic's face. I am the person who laughed with him, who challenged him, who unknowingly stood in the way of his self-worth for years.

Arthur walks over to the side of the bed, hesitating only for a second before sitting on the edge.

"Hey… I'm sorry," he mutters, eyes downcast. "For shouting and everything I said during the duel. I just… I let my emotions get the better of me."

His voice is not bitter. Just tired.

"You adapted so fast," he continues. "Creating new spells in the middle of battle, moving like you'd been training for years… You reminded me of Doms. He used to pick things up like that, too. Effortlessly."

I take a breath.

Everything I saw through the Chronicle Insight skill told me what I needed to know.

His frustration was not born out of arrogance or resentment. It was grief. Guilt. Loneliness.

For years, he was told to chase the light of someone else's brilliance, and when he finally broke free, when he tried to carve his path, I ended up shining again unintentionally.

He never hated Dominic.

He loved him. Looked up to him.

And maybe… in a twisted, unfair way… that love turned into a burden he never knew how to carry.

"You don't have to apologize," I say quietly, my voice steady. "Your feelings… they make sense. What you've been through, it's understandable."

Arthur looks at me, startled. Like he expects me to deflect, to tell him he is overreacting.

But I mean it. Every word.

"I'm not him," I add gently. "But I think… even if I was, he'd forgive you too."

Arthur blinks, his expression wavering.

He lowers his head slightly. "Thanks… for listening to me."

His voice is quiet. Fragile, even. Not the voice of a proud duelist or the son of a noble house, but just Arthur. A boy who has carried too much for too long.

Despite the soreness, despite the sting of every bandaged limb and muscle still aching from the duel, I slowly reach out.

My hand trembles, but I place it on his shoulder, then gently pull him in.

I hug him tightly.

My arms wrap around him with the strength I have left, and I rest my chin on his shoulder.

He freezes for a moment.

And then, without a word, he hugs me back.

His arms are firm around me, like he does not want to let go. Like all the bottled-up hurt, confusion, and guilt can finally breathe for the first time in years.

We did not say anything.

We do not need to.

We just stay there, in silence, two broken pieces finally clicking into place—not perfectly, but enough to hold each other together for a little while longer.

I feel him exhale against my shoulder, as if a weight has been lifted from his chest.

Eventually, he pulls away—gently, as if afraid he might break me again.

"Saying sorry isn't enough," he says with a small, hopeful smile. "So… how about this—we take you out for snacks? Our chateau has the best food in the entire Lyon territory."

—GROOOOWL!

The timing could not be worse.

My stomach lets out a loud, angry growl, echoing in the quiet room like it has been holding itself back just for comedic effect.

Arthur blinks, then bursts into laughter.

I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. "I guess… I'm hungrier than I thought."

But after everything that happened—after the weight of the duel, the memories, and the truth—I think I deserve this.

"Sure," I say. "But help me walk there."

Arthur nods, standing up quickly and holding out his arm. "Of course."

Carefully, he helps me sit up, one hand behind my back, the other bracing my arm.

I grit my teeth through the soreness, then slowly swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

My feet hit the cold floor. I wobble—but Arthur steadies me.

"You got this," he says with a soft smile.

I stand.

My balance holds. Barely.

But I look at Arthur, who has one arm wrapped behind my back, ready to catch me if I fall.