The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?
Chapter 80 - The World Alert

Chapter 80: Chapter 80 - The World Alert

The news of what happened in Beastridge mountain quickly spread all over to the world’s leaders

Holy Kingdom of Solaira – Sanctum Gardens

Within the tranquil gardens of the Papal Sanctum, the scent of incense mingled with blooming roses. Pope Silvanus, draped in ivory and gold, knelt beside a flowerbed, pruning gently with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

A senior priest approached swiftly, robes rustling. "Your Holiness... the reports from Beastridge have been verified. The cult has revealed its hand—they used the blood crystal on dragon. Over seven hundred casualties. We believe this marks the beginning of open warfare."

Silvanus paused, staring at the clipped rose in his hand. "They always intended to force our hand eventually. I just thought they’d play the long game a little longer."

The priest hesitated. "Should we inform the Cardinals?"

The Pope rose slowly, his smile gone. "Yes. Convene the Council. And send word to the Templars stationed in the North—we no longer have the luxury of watching from the garden’s shade."

***

Middle Kingdom of Valdros – Golden Court

The king lounged on his marble throne beneath tapestries of past conquests, but the mood was far from celebratory. Before him stood his war council, a map of Beastridge marked with ominous red ink.

A general spoke, voice tight. "We underestimated them. They’ve gone from whispers to war. The movement of the dragon confirms it. They’re not hiding anymore."

King Leontar twirled his wine lazily, then finally set the goblet down with a soft clink. "They’ve burned a thousand men just to make a statement. That’s not a rebellion—that’s a declaration."

Another noble asked cautiously, "What are your orders, Your Majesty?"

The king stood, adjusting the fur-lined mantle draped over his shoulders. "Ready the southern legions, fortify our borders with Astravia, and call back every scouting force still within the Beastridge region. If they want to play with monsters, we’ll remind them who wrote the history of this continent."

***

In the Empire of Astravia - Throne of stars

A grand chamber stretched into shadow and light, red banners flowing like rivers of fire. On a towering throne of obsidian and silver, a figure sat—posture perfect, eyes cold and ageless. The figure’s presence demanded reverence.

Before it, a prophet in white robes trembled, yet spoke with resolve.

"Your Majesty... destiny has shifted."

The figure didn’t flinch. It’s gaze pierced through the haze of incense curling in the air.

"Let’s hope it’s for the best..."

The prophet bowed deeper.

"...and not for the worst."

***

Ylladwyn – The Elven Forests

Deep within a forest soaked in ancient magic, a breathtaking elven woman knelt before the colossal trunk of the World Tree. Her silver hair trailed like silk against the moss-covered ground.

Wind rustled the glowing leaves above as she whispered,

"The Devil Cult no longer crawls in the shadows. They challenged everyone again."

She bowed her head lower.

"Mother, I will bring him to you. Before this world falls again into chaos."

The tree pulsed faintly—alive, listening.

***

Brymholde – The Dwarven Clans

Amid clanging iron and roaring furnaces, a titan of a dwarf hammered at molten steel. His beard, longer than his torso, bounced with each strike. Sweat glistened on his brow.

A younger dwarf ran up, panting, "Elder Thrain! The Devil Cult—open action at Beastridge! They sacrificed hundreds with that cursed dragon!"

Thrain didn’t stop hammering. The sparks seemed angrier now.

"Tch. They’ve finally kicked the hornet’s nest."

He slammed the hammer down one last time, hard enough to shake the table.

"Call for the World Council. And bring out the old war gear. Looks like peace was just a damn nap."

The rumours spread around about the dragon and devil cult to commoners as well, being talked about all over the world.

***Soldier Barracks – Western Garrison Outpost

The clang of steel echoed across the yard as recruits trained under the morning sun. But even the rhythm of swordplay couldn’t drown the quiet tension that hung in the air.

A grizzled sergeant paced slowly in front of his unit. "Mountain went red last night. Whole sky lit up. You all heard."

One of the recruits, barely out of boyhood, asked, "Was it the dragon?"

The sergeant gave a short nod. "Aye. Reports say it went mad. Smoke, tremors... half the ridge caved in."

Another soldier spoke up, hesitant. "They say it was corrupted."

"Maybe," the sergeant muttered. "But that ain’t all. Some reports say seven hundred dead. Others say a thousand. One drunk courier claimed two thousand. Either way, too many."

A silence fell over the group.

"They’re saying... it’s the devil cult. That they’re back."

One of the older guards scoffed, but there was no real conviction in it. "After all these years?"

The sergeant didn’t answer. He just said, "Keep your blades sharp. Whatever it is, it’s not done yet."

Marketplace – Capital Outskirts

The market bustled, but the usual cheer was missing. Merchants whispered over their stalls, eyes flicking toward the mountains beyond the haze.

"Did you hear?" a woman muttered while picking through onions. "They say the dragon was seen near the ridge—breathing black smoke."

"Nonsense," the seller replied, though he kept his voice low. "It was chained, wasn’t it? Moved for safety or some military reason. That’s what they said."

"Then why’s the smoke still rising?" a nearby fishmonger cut in. "And why are soldiers marching through town with funeral wagons? I heard over a thousand dead."

"Seven hundred," corrected a man in dusty traveler’s robes. "That’s what they told me in the next village."

"And I heard two thousand," the fishmonger shot back. "Doesn’t matter the number. It’s too many."

Another merchant glanced around nervously. "They’re saying it’s not just the dragon. That something’s come back... something from the old age. That devil cult from the stories."

"You mean the one from seven thousand years ago?" the onion buyer whispered.

The silence that followed said enough.

***

Tavern – Borderlands Hamlet

The tavern fire crackled, but the warmth didn’t reach anyone’s bones.

"...It was no wildfire," a trader said, his voice quiet over the rim of his cup. "The mountain lit up like a forge. Crimson, not orange. Saw it myself on the road."

"Dragon’s breath," grunted a man from the corner table. "They said it was moved for research or something. But what beast turns against its own handlers?"

"A cursed one," muttered the barkeep. "That’s what the scouts are saying. That it wasn’t just wild—it was... corrupted."

A woman beside the fire leaned in. "And the cult? That name’s spreading again. I thought it was just bedtime horror, but now..."

"They were gone," someone said weakly.

"No," the barkeep replied, setting down the mug he’d been wiping. "They are back."

***

The sun hung low as the academy caravan crossed through Arcadia’s main gates. What should’ve been a proud return felt like a funeral procession.

The rumble of wheels on stone, the faint clatter of hooves... but fewer now. The line of carriages was shorter than when they had left. Faces once full of excitement were pale, hollow. Even the vibrant academy banners fluttered weakly in the breeze, as if mourning.

No one cheered.

No one spoke.

By the time Luca stepped off the carriage, the sky had already begun to darken. His limbs felt heavier than ever, every step a battle. He didn’t even greet the others—just drifted toward the dorms, as if carried by memory alone.

Inside his room, he dropped his gear by the door and collapsed onto the bed, face-first.

His mind was blank. No thoughts, no plans. Only silence.

Then—

BZZZT.

His communication crystal buzzed to life.

Luca groaned and reached out, half-asleep. The soft blue glow lit up the dim room as he tapped the crystal. A voice burst through the silence like a firecracker.

"HOOW ARE YOU, BROTHEERR?!"

"ARE YOU OKAY?!"

"ARE YOU BACK AT THE ACADEMY YET?!"

Luca blinked at the crystal, dazed.

"...Wha—"