From Master Assassin to a Random Extra: OP in a Dating Sim
Chapter 79: Marcus and Cynthia (8)

Chapter 79: Marcus and Cynthia (8)

Meanwhile...

Marcus gritted his teeth, his breath ragged as he fought against the endless, unyielding tide of watery opponents. The battlefield around him shimmered and churned—waves crashing unnaturally sideways, figures forming from the liquid all around them.

He ducked low, sweat flying from his brow as a razor-sharp trident narrowly missed impaling his skull. The wind from the strike hissed past his ear, and he rolled with the momentum, twisting around to retaliate with a sharp mana-infused punch.

"Isn’t this..." he muttered between breaths, limbs burning, lungs aflame, "...the dimension where Cynthia gets her power in the game?"

He pivoted on his heel, sidestepping an enemy just in time to drive his elbow into its chest, which burst into a splash of cursed water. Another figure lunged at him from the left—he spun and delivered a mana-coated roundhouse, shattering it mid-form.

"But that’s supposed to be in the later parts... this shouldn’t happen during the Trial of Pairs arc," he grumbled, tossing a fire-infused blast over his shoulder. It detonated with a hiss, sending steam and shredded enemies flying behind him.

The air smelled like scorched brine and ozone.

"Did my choices really affect the game that much...?" Marcus continued, voice cracking under strain. Mana crackled around him like a second skin, wild and unstable. His shirt clung to his body, soaked in sweat and water, every muscle trembling from overuse.

Still, he didn’t stop.

He didn’t dare stop.

"This is a good place to farm EXP... but at the same time... this body can’t handle this much prolonged fighting for long!" he shouted, force-summoning a pair of glowing pistols on his hands. With an expert flick, he unloaded mana-charged rounds into the crowd, each impact bursting like grenades on contact.

Enemies were sent flying—disintegrated, dispersed, or torn in half.

But more came. Always more.

"While I trust her to finish this trial! I still don’t know how long it’ll take her to finish up!" he yelled, ducking under a wave of liquid spears. He vaulted over a charging foe and turned mid-air, blasting a hole through ten watery bodies in a single line, the pistols overheating in his hands.

[Warning: Low on Mana]

"Ugh, this crap again?" Marcus growled, his tone ragged with exhaustion and frustration. The System’s cold, synthetic voice echoed in his mind—taunting him at the worst possible time.

His balance faltered—his legs, heavy as steel, slipped on the slick, treacherous surface. With a grunt, he was suddenly airborne, tumbling backward through mid-air.

"Shit!" he barked.

A trident—spinning like a cursed javelin—was already halfway toward his falling form. Eyes wide with panic, Marcus thrust his hand downward, trying to detonate the platform beneath him for an emergency boost.

Only sparks fizzled out.

Nothing happened.

No mana.

[Warning: Low on Mana]

"Ghh—!" Marcus clenched his jaw, forcing himself into a mid-air twist. The trident passed just inches from his face, but not cleanly—its jagged edge carved a searing vertical wound across his left eye.

Hot pain tore through his skull.

His left eye immediately snapped shut, blood running in a hot line down his cheek.

He hit the ground hard, water splashing upward as he skidded—but he didn’t stay down. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Marcus rolled to his feet, soaked, panting, trembling—but still standing.

"In the original game... you could choose which partner you’d have for this test," he spat, wiping the blood from his face as more enemies surged toward him. "But since I’m not in the game anymore... I got paired up with Cynthia."

His voice was bitter, but beneath it... resignation. Not to defeat—but to the absurdity of it all.

He fired again, but this time his aim shook. His rate of fire slowed, and each shot drew more from him—more than he could give. His mana regeneration, once a lifeline, was weakening with every beat of his failing heart.

"But in Cynthia’s original route—which was supposed to happen way later in the game—the main character’s already strong enough to take on a million of these things no problem..."

He ducked low, reloading mid-dodge. Three bullets, three kills. The recoil snapped through his wrists like whips.

"WHILE HERE I AM WITH ONLY THREE DAMN RUNES!" he screamed, letting out a furious barrage that tore into the advancing horde like a storm.

His laugh cracked and broke—a sharp, hollow sound that echoed over the chaos.

"This is what I get for interfering with the main plot!" he bellowed, just as another trident zipped past his face and carved a thin line across his right cheek.

He stumbled again, but didn’t fall. He couldn’t afford to.

"I can’t even use magic to be more mobile! I’ll burn all my mana before I even land!"

A wet cough escaped his throat, flecks of blood hitting the watery ground.

"Seems like my high mana regen doesn’t matter when my body itself is giving up!" he shouted to no one—because no one was coming to help. His laugh this time was manic, unhinged, eyes wide with a blend of fury and madness as he kept running, kept gunning.

Every step was agony. Every breath a war.

But still, he moved.

Still, he fought.

"CYNTHIA! Please... do your best!" he roared into the storm, even as his vision blurred, blood dripping down both sides of his face.

And still, the horde came.

—

Back to Cynthia...

—

The air around her thickened—charged, pregnant with power.

Tiny beads of water shimmered in the air like stardust, dancing on invisible threads. Slowly, deliberately, they began to spiral inward, drawn to a single point just before her outstretched hand.

A droplet. Then another. Then dozens.

The moisture in the air—sweat, vapor, humidity—answered her silent call. A small sphere began to form, hovering like a pearl spun from air and light.

She wasn’t channeling mana.

She wasn’t casting a spell.

She was willing the water to obey.

A gift not borrowed from a spellbook, but born of her own bloodline. An instinctive connection to the element itself—unfiltered, unrefined, and deeply hers.

"It’s working..." she whispered, eyes wide with wonder and disbelief. Her voice trembled with awe. "It’s really working!"

A smile tugged at her cracked lips, the first genuine one in what felt like hours—relief blooming like an oasis in the middle of her exhaustion.

But it didn’t last.

The ground trembled beneath her—softly at first, then with an unmistakable rumble. Dry sand split open around her in jagged lines, and the groan of the earth was quickly drowned out by something else.

Growls.

Dozens of them.

Low. Wet. Hunger-laced.

From every direction.

The dead stirred.

More ghouls.

More hollow-eyed abominations, dragging themselves up from beneath the sand like cursed memories. Their flesh was cracked and leathery, barely clinging to ancient bones, their mouths gaping open in thirst that defied death itself.

Their gazes locked on her—not her face, not her fear.

But the sphere.

The moisture.

The water.

Their growls grew louder, forming a twisted harmony of desperation and hunger. And still, the water swirled in front of her, fragile and unfinished, flickering with unstable shape.

"Come on," she gritted, sweat dripping into her eyes, her hands trembling from the strain. "Just a bit more... just a little more and I can use it to take care of them!"

She couldn’t rush it.

She couldn’t afford to lose focus.

The sphere pulsed, almost complete now, but teetering on the edge of collapse if she lost control for even a second.

The ghouls began to close in—shambling forward with broken, uneven steps, arms outstretched, their rasping voices like wind scraping bone.

Cynthia stood her ground.

One girl. No magic. No weapons.

Only her breath. Her instincts. Her gift.

While Marcus fought his endless war in another world of water, she was fighting her own.

And this was a battle only Cynthia could resolve.