Transmigrating as an Extra, But the Heroine Has Regressed?!

"I hope they've almost wiped out all the heroes by now. The plan is working perfectly."

His eyes glowed faintly red as he extended a hand over the mist.

Dark ripples spread across the surface, and more images appeared: heroes bleeding, terrified civilians fleeing, demons tearing through defenses.

"The Rotfang diversion has drawn them in," he said to himself, his grin widening.

"Soon, their strongest will be scattered… and their weakest will die first. That is when the real hunt begins."

From the darkness behind him, several smaller demons hissed in excitement, sensing their master's pleasure.

The Shadow Disciple didn't turn. His focus remained on the swirling mist.

"Let them struggle," he whispered.

"Let them believe they can win. The more they fight, the sweeter their despair will taste when everything falls apart."

At Rotfang Farmstead Village

Miles away, the village of Rotfang Farmstead burned beneath a blackened sky.

Thick smoke billowed from collapsing houses, filling the air with the acrid stench of ash and blood.

Screams echoed through the night as mad prisoners, once human but now twisted into frenzied killers by demonic corruption, rampaged through the narrow dirt streets.

These prisoners were escaped convicts from the southern mines, who had been infected with shadow magic.

Their minds were gone, replaced with a single desire: TO KILL.

Villagers fled in terror, clutching children and elderly relatives as the prisoners tore through homes with jagged weapons and bare claws.

Chickens scattered, fires roared, and the peaceful farmland became a nightmare of chaos and death.

At the center of the village, Terra and Marcel, two of the strongest upperclassmen from Bighall Academy, stood side by side with swords drawn.

Their uniforms were smeared with blood and ash.

Around them, nearly fifty students from Bighall academy fought desperately to hold the line against the rampaging prisoners.

"Keep your formation tight!" Terra shouted, swinging her broad-bladed halberd to knock back three attackers at once.

Sparks flew as her weapon clashed against crude iron machetes.

"Protect the civilians first! Push them back toward the well!"

Marcel slashed across a prisoner's chest, spun, and drove a boot into another's knee, breaking the man's leg with a sickening crack.

"Don't let them surround you!" he yelled.

"They fight like animals. Keep your distance if you can!"

The students of Bighall Academy fought fiercely, their training and teamwork barely holding the swarm at bay.

But the students of Bighall Academy were not alone in their struggle.

A line of armored defenders braced themselves in the village square, their shields locking into a solid wall.

Behind the shield line, the academy's mages hurled desperate spells into the enemy ranks.

Bolts of lightning cracked through the darkness, searing the air with blinding blue light.

Fireballs streaked across the battlefield, exploding in showers of orange sparks that lit up the shattered houses and broken fences.

Wind blades sliced through the smoke, sending splinters and burning debris spinning into the sky.

But no matter how many spells landed, the enemy did not falter.

The prisoners—twisted by madness—fought without fear or pain.

For every one that fell, two more emerged from the blackened alleys.

Their screams of rage drowned out the crack of breaking wood and the roar of collapsing rooftops.

A piercing cry tore through the chaos.

A young mage—a girl barely sixteen—was tackled by a prisoner wielding a jagged axe.

She raised her trembling hands, trying to summon a shield, but her mana sputtered and died.

The axe came down in a brutal arc.

"NO!" shouted her partner, a boy clutching a staff, but he was too far away.

The sickening sound of steel meeting flesh echoed through the square.

Blood sprayed across the cobblestones as the girl's body crumpled, her lifeless eyes staring at the burning rooftops.

Terra spun toward the scream, her breath catching in horror.

"Fall back! FALL BACK!" he yelled in urgency.

But his warning came too late.

On the opposite flank, an armored warrior of Bighall took a spear through the chest.

The corrupted prisoner who wielded it let out an inhuman shriek, twisting the weapon to drive it deeper.

The student gasped, blood bubbling at his lips as his shield slipped from his grasp and clattered against the frozen ground.

He fell to his knees.

"Dammit!" Marcel cursed, slashing through two attackers in a desperate attempt to reach the fallen warrior.

But by the time he arrived, the young fighter was already gone and his body was collapsing into the dirt.

The sight of their fallen comrades sent a ripple of fear through the students' ranks.

Formations wavered, shields faltering as panic began to spread like wildfire.

"Hold your ground!" Terra roared, slamming the butt of her halberd into the earth.

"Don't you dare give them an inch!"

From the rear line, a desperate mage threw both hands skyward and shouted a final spell.

"STORM VORTEX!"

A column of swirling wind and lightning erupted in the center of the battlefield.

The magical storm roared like a living beast, dragging several prisoners into its whirling heart.

Their screams were lost in the howl of tearing winds as lightning split their bodies apart.

Charred limbs and shattered weapons rained back to the blood-soaked ground.

For a fleeting moment, the tide seemed to shift. The prisoners staggered under the force of the spell.

Students rallied, slamming their shields together in unison.

Sparks of courage lit their eyes as they began to push forward, step by bloody step.

But the reprieve was short-lived. From the shadows of the ruined farmhouses, more prisoners surged forth—dozens of them—faces twisted with murderous glee.

Their red eyes burned brighter, their movements faster, as if the death of their kin only fueled their madness.

Marcel darted back to Terra's side, he wiped blood from his face.

"They're endless," he panted.

"We can't hold like this. Where's the reinforcement squad? They were supposed to be here by now!"

"They should've arrived already,".

Nearby, a young healer knelt beside a wounded defender, her palms glow faintly as she tried to seal a deep gash across his thigh.

Her mana flickered weakly, the light in her hands fading.

"I—I can't stop the bleeding," she whispered, tears streaking down her soot-stained face.

Marcel tightened his grip on his daggers, his jaw set like stone.

"If we don't break their line soon," he said, "everyone here is dead."

"Then we don't break," Terra shot back.

"We hold until help comes… or we die standing."

With a defiant roar, he surged forward.

The weapon cleaved through three prisoners in a single, brutal swing, sparks flying with every strike.

Marcel followed close behind, his twin daggers flashing like streaks of silver as he cut down attacker after attacker.