The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?

The moment Luca and the others stepped through the colossal ironbound gates, the arena unfolded before them like a slumbering titan awakening, its ancient stone tiers rising in sweeping arcs that caught the torchlight and fractured it into warm golden ripples. The air hummed faintly, as though the very walls still remembered the roars of warriors long turned to dust.

Sylthara slowed to a halt, her usual composed demeanor slipping as her eyes widened, the light reflecting in them like a girl witnessing a legendary battleground come to life.

Selena's breath escaped her in a soft, involuntary exhale, the frost-like sheen of her irises shimmering with awe as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Aurelia's lips parted slightly, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the hilt of her slender spear as though the arena itself called to the fire in her blood.

Kyle let out a low whistle, tilting his head back so far it almost looked like he would topple over, while Lilliane's shoulders stiffened with a mix of reverence and nervous anticipation, her gaze tracing the ancient carvings etched into the towering pillars surrounding them.

Even Luca, despite his usual quiet composure, felt a subtle tremor of something—excitement, respect, perhaps both—unfurl slowly in his chest as he absorbed the grandeur enclosing them.

Their collective awe lingered for only a heartbeat before a gruff voice cut through the atmosphere.

"Oi! Bring him here!"

A stocky guard waved someone over, and a younger dwarf emerged from behind a column, his gait short but sharp, as if every step carried the full pride of his lineage. His beard was neatly braided, his amber eyes gleaming with the smug confidence typical of his race.

"Take these humans to the rest area," the guard ordered, hardly sparing them another glance.

The young dwarf grunted in acknowledgment before turning sharply on his heel. "Follow me," he said, as though granting a personal favor, and began leading them up a winding stone path.

As they ascended the broad steps, the echo of their footsteps mingled with the distant crackle of molten forges buried somewhere deep beneath the arena. Kyle, unable to restrain the burning curiosity bubbling inside him, leaned forward and blurted out, "But I don't get it… why did this dwarven trial vanish for centuries? How is it that no one knows about it? Doesn't that seem strange?"

The young dwarf snorted loudly, tossing his head back with exaggerated disdain. "Hmph. Isn't that because of you weak humans?"

Kyle bristled immediately, but before he could snap back, Luca's brow arched, his voice steady and unhurried. "What do you mean by that?"

The dwarf turned his head just enough to look at them from the corner of his eye, his smirk stretching with arrogant superiority. "Hmph. Long ago, some human from your so-called big noble house challenged our greatest trial—the 'Thousand Hammer Crucible.' He strutted in, full of pride… and died. Pathetic." He clicked his tongue sharply before continuing, "And when your people couldn't do anything to us in return, what did they do? They spread cowardly rumors, whispered lies, tarnished the honor of our sacred trial. It wasn't we who stopped it." His chin lifted defiantly. "It was you."

His voice deepened with pride, chest swelling as he added, "We are dwarves. Arrogant? Yes. Loud? Always. But no one—no one—respects warriors like we do. After that disgraceful incident, humans stopped coming. And with time… Forgeheart Crucible faded into silence."

They reached a broad stone chamber lined with sturdy benches and glowing mana crystals embedded in the walls. The dwarf jerked a thumb toward it. "This is your rest area. Get in your best condition. Once the Dwarven Council arrives, you'll be taken for the trial."

Without waiting for acknowledgment, he pivoted and strode off, the braids in his beard swinging like pendulums of irritation.

Silence settled over the group for a long moment.

Luca exhaled softly, leaning a shoulder against the cool stone wall as a faint crease formed between his brows. So… that was it? All because of something so petty and human? The thought drifted lazily through his mind.

The quiet was abruptly broken when Kyle huffed, crossing his arms with indignation practically radiating from his body. "Seriously… who the hell was weak enough to die in a trial and then spread rumors afterward? Tarnishing the name of all humanity like that." His jaw clenched, and fire sparked in his eyes. "Just watch. I'll go first and show them what the Drayden house is made of!"

Selena lifted a brow, half amused and half exasperated; Aurelia let out a small sigh, shaking her head as if wondering whether to admire Kyle's spirit or scold his impulsiveness.And Lilliane pressed her lips together, torn between worry and reluctant admiration.

Luca simply nodded, calm and unbothered, his expression unreadable—yet the faintest ghost of a knowing smile touched the corner of his lips.

After settling in the rest chamber, everyone moved with practiced efficiency—uncorking potions, smearing salves across bruised shoulders and scraped knuckles, tightening wraps, and stretching muscles that still ached faintly from the journey here. The soft clinks of potion bottles, the muted rustle of cloth bandages, and the crackle of mana crystals filled the otherwise quiet room.

Luca sat with one knee drawn up, calmly tracing a thin line of healing salve across his forearm, his eyes half-lidded and thoughtful. Kyle winced loudly as Aurelia pressed a cooling balm onto a deep-purple bruise near his ribs; Selena rolled her eyes at his overreaction while Sylthara simply shook her head, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

Time drifted slowly—measured not by clocks, but by the fading tenderness of their injuries. And at last, an hour later, the stone door scraped open.

The young dwarf from before stepped inside, arms crossed and expression faintly impatient. "It's time."

They followed him out, boots thudding against the ancient floors as they were guided through a long corridor lit by glowing runes that pulsed like heartbeats. And when the corridor opened into the main arena, everyone came to an instinctive halt.

Where earlier the stands had been silent and empty, now they overflowed with dwarves—thousands upon thousands, packed shoulder to shoulder, beards braided tightly, eyes gleaming with fanatic expectation. Not a single seat remained unclaimed. The moment the humans stepped into view, a thunderous wave of jeers crashed over them.

"GO BACK, WEAK HUMANS!"

"DON'T TARNISH OUR TRIAL!"

"THIS ISN'T A PLACE FOR COWARDS!"

Kyle's shoulders tensed instantly, his hand twitching toward his spear as his jaw tightened. A vein pulsed near his temple, and a retort was seconds from bursting out.

But before he could leap, Luca's hand closed around his forearm—steady, firm, and unmistakably commanding. Kyle froze, gritting his teeth, as Luca's gaze swept upward, ignoring the crowd entirely.

His eyes were anchored on the grand podium towering over the arena.

Seven seats.

Seven dwarves.

Seven presences so heavy with authority that the air itself seemed to bow before them.

And at the center, seated on the highest stone throne carved with runes older than kingdoms, sat the broad-shouldered, iron-eyed Elder Thrain himself.

A hush passed through their group as each of them followed Luca's gaze. Sylthara's breath caught; Lilliane raised a hand to her lips; Selena's expression tightened; Aurelia's eyes fluttered wide with disbelief.

Kyle blinked, leaned forward, and squinted hard before his eyes nearly popped out. "H-Hey… isn't that… isn't that the guard from the entrance?" His finger shot toward the podium, hands shaking slightly. "The one who… who hit me with his hammer?! That guy?!"

Luca didn't even look at him. His voice, utterly expressionless, dropped like a quiet hammer. "Oh. Now I'm certain he didn't hit you."

A beat.

Kyle flinched. "W–What's that supposed to mean?!"

But Luca was already shifting his attention forward as the massive gate behind them slammed shut, sealing them inside the arena's heart.

A booming voice echoed across the battleground as a dwarf announcer marched to the center of a raised platform, his voice magically amplified, each syllable vibrating through the stone.

"AFTER CENTURIES… AT LONG LAST… SOMEONE HAS DARED TO CHALLENGE THE FORGEHEART CRUCIBLE!"

The crowd roared like an avalanche, stamping their boots, the entire arena trembling from the force of it.

The announcer raised both arms dramatically. "BEHOLD! SEATED ABOVE YOU ARE THE SEVEN PILLARS OF OUR GLORY—THE DWARVEN ELDER COUNCIL!"

He pointed to each elder one by one, their titles rolling out like thunder:

"Elder Brokk, Master of Blades!"

"Elder Duram, Keeper of the Great Furnace!"

"Elder Gilda Flamehair, Mother of Embers!"

"Elder Gromm Stoneback, Unbreakable Shield!"

"Elder Huldor Forgevein, Rune-Smith Supreme!"

"Elder Varrim Ironpulse, Hammer of the East!"

And then, with a pause so heavy the arena held its breath, he extended his arm toward the central throne.

"And at last—the one who leads them all…"

His voice dropped to a reverent growl.

"ELDER THRAIN! DESCENDANT OF THE GREAT HERO, AND THE COMMANDER OF ALL DWARVEN CLANS!"

The stands erupted into another explosive cheer, vibrating the stone beneath Luca's feet.

Then the announcer slowly turned toward the humans, his smirk widening with entertainment and disdain. "You humans are given one last warning—once the crucible begins, anything can happen. If you value your lives, step back now."

Luca's group didn't move.

Not a single step.

Not a single flinch.

The announcer blinked in faint surprise, then shrugged theatrically. "Very well then! LET THE FORGEHEART CRUCIBLE—BEGIN!"

The crowd howled. Dust trembled from the old pillars.

Kyle stepped forward instantly, his confidence flaring hotter than the forges below. "Wait!" he shouted, throwing his hand up.

The announcer turned, utterly unimpressed. "Huh?"

Kyle jabbed a thumb proudly at his chest. "What about OUR introduction?"

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then the announcer burst into roaring laughter—

"HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!"

clutching his stomach, doubling over—and soon the entire arena joined him, their mocking cackles rolling like endless thunder.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA"

"HAHAHAHA"

"AHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!"

"You?" the announcer gasped between laughs. "Why would we remember the names of nobodies?"

More laughter.

"We only remember names of the worthy, boy! If—and that's a very big if—you survive a challenge, then maybe we'll consider learning your names!"

Kyle's eyes sharpened with fierce indignation. His body tensed, mana swirling faintly around his feet.

"Ahemph!" With a swift kick, he vaulted upward, landing on a raised stone block. His blue spear ignited with shimmering mana as he thrust its gleaming tip toward the towering podium—right at the dwarf elder who had once acted as the guard.

The arena instantly fell silent.

The laughter evaporated.

Every dwarf froze, eyes widening.

Kyle's voice rang out clear and bold, cutting through the hush like a blade.

"I CHALLENGE ELDER GROMM STONEBACK!"

The name hit the arena like a hammer striking metal.

Gasps erupted from every direction.

And then—

Silence.

Utter, stunned, trembling silence.