The Extra Who Stole the Hero's System
Chapter 64: Head Out

Chapter 64: Head Out

The dull thud of Mudrel’s body hitting the floor still echoed in the hideout. Herald stood over him, unmoved, calm. His presence filled the room, quiet but impossible to ignore. He hadn’t broken a sweat.

I looked down at my training sword. It felt cheap. Useless.

I’d been getting stronger. Herald’s brutal training routine had transformed my body. Every part of me moved better, responded faster. I could hold my own against manor guards now, maybe even against someone like Mudrel if he didn’t take me seriously. But Herald wasn’t on the same scale. His speed, his precision, his ability to control mana—it was overwhelming. He wasn’t just strong. He made everything look easy.

The faint morning light leaking in from the ruins above meant it was time to start again. My muscles were sore just from thinking about it. Every inch of me ached from yesterday. Footwork drills. Mana flow control. Sword forms, repeated until failure. Then repeated again. Herald never let up. He never praised. He just pushed, corrected, and expected results.

After a quick rinse with cold water from the basin, I started my stretches. Every movement reminded me that I was still healing from something. Herald was already awake, as always. He sat in a quiet corner, legs crossed, eyes closed. Meditating. The air around him seemed thick. The mana here was stronger, and it wasn’t by accident. He drew it in constantly, saturating the space with his own energy.

"Your form is improving," Herald said without looking. His voice was even, just loud enough to hear. "But you’re still overthinking. Let the body react. Thinking slows you down."

I kept stretching. "Hard not to think when a mistake can cost you an arm."

He didn’t respond. Just that faint humming sound he sometimes made when he was drawing in mana more aggressively. His feedback always came later, in action.

Training began the way it always did: repetition. Herald showed a movement—perfect, clean—and I copied it. Then again. Then again. He didn’t speak unless I messed up badly. He moved like it was second nature. Even using a simple steel training blade, he made it feel like art. But this wasn’t just swordplay. He was teaching me how to use mana like a weapon, how to move it with my breath, how to channel it into my limbs.

"Mana isn’t just for casting spells," he told me once. "It’s part of every living thing. If you can’t make it move the way your arm moves, you’re wasting your time."

It wasn’t enough to swing harder or faster. He made me learn how to coat my weapon in mana, how to strengthen my guard, how to build barriers. At first, I couldn’t feel anything. Then, slowly, it started to click. A pulse here. A current there. Small shifts in pressure and tension. Over time, I learned how to respond to invisible threats—his blade coated in mana that didn’t even leave a glow.

Thanks to the training, my body was evolving. The stat boosts helped, of course. I was learning faster than I should have. What should’ve taken months was taking days. I could tell I was changing. The mana inside me moved faster. I could tap into it more easily, sharpen my senses, tighten my defense, speed up when I needed to.

But Herald was still miles ahead. He made me feel like a beginner every time we sparred. And he wasn’t even trying.

During one session, I landed three quick hits. Fast, tight strikes. Clean technique. Any normal opponent would have gone down. Herald didn’t even flinch. He stepped back, lowered his sword, and looked at me for a moment.

"You’re progressing," he said, voice still flat. Maybe that was his version of a compliment. "Your body is adapting quickly. Your core responds well. But this isn’t just about power. You need to see beyond the immediate. Pay attention. The world’s bigger than a sword swing."

After that, he sent me on an errand.

"Go to Megmura," he said. "Get rations, medical herbs, and a new sharpening stone. Pay attention while you’re there. Watch. Don’t get involved. Don’t make a scene."

Just the thought of leaving the hideout made my chest tighten. Megmura wasn’t safe. It was a filthy town run on fear and desperation. But it was a chance to see more. To understand what kind of world I was training to survive in.

I climbed out of the hatch and squinted into the sunlight. The air smelled like rot and smoke. The road into town was thick with dust. Drunks lined the edges of the streets, sleeping where they fell. The buildings were crooked, barely held together. The worst part was the cage in the town center.

I stopped there. Just for a second. Inside, several beast-kins sat or crouched. Dirty, shivering. Their animal features—ears, tails, claws—didn’t make them less human. Just easier to exploit. Herald had told me about them. About how they were turned into tools. Bought and sold. A cornerstone of the province’s twisted economy.

It made my stomach turn.

I kept walking and found a general store. Sparse shelves, dusty bottles, stale air. The man behind the counter was thin, with nervous eyes. He watched my every move. I bought what I needed using the coins Herald had given me. No words were exchanged. Just business.

Outside, I saw a group of men leaning against a broken wall beside a crooked sign that read "The Rusty Blade." Adventurer’s guild. Just like in the books. A place for mercenaries, fighters, and wanderers. They didn’t look like heroes. Just tired men with weapons and nowhere else to go.

I listened as I passed. They talked about monsters, old ruins, and the usual jobs. The kind of work that sounded exciting in stories but deadly in real life. These were the kinds of people who lived and died by strength. No rules. No safety.

I started walking back, the sun dropping low behind me, casting long shadows through the broken buildings. Megmura hadn’t changed. Still broken. Still ugly. But now, I understood it a little better. It was the world behind the curtain. The part the nobles didn’t want to see.

Back in the hideout, I dropped the supplies on the table. Mudrel was up again. Still quiet. Still brooding. He gave me a nod, then went back to his corner.

Herald didn’t even look. Still meditating.

I lay back on my cot, every muscle throbbing. My mind wouldn’t shut off. Megmura, the beast-kins, the cage, the guards, the guild, the weight of everything I’d seen. I wasn’t just training anymore. I was being shaped into something. Not a hero. Not a savior.

A weapon.

The Azurine Blade waited in its box. I hadn’t touched it yet. Not until Herald said I was ready. It was powerful, but that power came with expectations. And responsibility.

I closed my eyes. The images swirled—Megmura, blood, chains, broken faces. The world was uglier than I thought. The Academy wasn’t going to be a safe haven. Just another stop on the road.

My life as an extra was over.

This was the real beginning.