An Extra’s Rise in an Eroge - Chapter 266

Chapter 266: Demon

Alex wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing finally steady. “We can’t idle around here,” he said firmly. “We need to find Alan. Earlier, I made a gap for him to slip away and look for help, but the other two assassins went after him. Only one of them came back… and you dealt with him.”

Arthur glanced at the unconscious corpse beside them, his expression unreadable. “Calm down. I’ve fought Alan before. He’s not weak. I’d say he can handle one assassin on his own.”

Alex frowned. “You’re just guessing.”

Arthur shrugged. “Well, unless that assassin’s a fourth-tier warrior, he should be fine. And even if he is—Alan’s a member of the elven royal family. You think someone like that walks around without life-saving treasures?”

Alex scowled. “We can’t take chances with our classmates’ lives, Arthur. Those are just probabilities.”

Arthur gave an exaggerated sigh, raising both hands. “Okay, okay. For your peace of mind, we’ll go find your elf friend. Which direction did he run?”

Alex pointed east, his expression tense. “Follow me.”

He broke into a sprint, branches whipping against his arms as he pushed through the undergrowth. Arthur followed behind at an easy pace, hands in his pockets, almost bored. The forest soon opened into a rocky clearing—then they heard it.

Clashing steel. Gritted shouts. A sharp burst of mana pressure.

Arthur tilted his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “That voice… yeah, that’s Alan.”

They broke through the last of the brush, stopping at the edge of the clearing. In the center, Alan was dueling an assassin dressed in black. His movements were sharp and refined, his twin daggers flowing like silver streaks. Despite being cornered, Alan’s breathing was steady, his expression calm—completely different from the panicked image Alex had imagined.

Alex’s grip tightened around his sword. “He’s still holding on. I should go—”

Arthur’s arm shot out, blocking him. “Wait.”

“What are you doing?” Alex snapped.

“Relax.” Arthur’s tone was calm, almost amused. “Can’t you see? He’s not in real trouble. Let him handle it. The guy’s holding his ground fine.” He smirked slightly. “Besides, we’re already here. The moment things turn ugly, we’ll step in.”

Alex glared at him. “Did you also ‘watch like this’ when I was fighting for my life earlier?”

Arthur pretended to think for a moment, then said lightly, “Ah… I won’t comment on that.”

Alex groaned, rubbing his forehead. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said casually.

With that, they both turned their focus back to the fight. Alan’s dagger caught the assassin’s blade mid-swing, sparks flying. He twisted his wrist, disarming the man in one fluid motion before sweeping his leg out. The assassin stumbled—but then a faint red glow spread across his arm.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the grin fading. “Huh… looks like things just got interesting.”

From her frame and movements, it was clear the assassin was a woman.

Her black outfit was torn in several places, blood seeping through shallow cuts on her arms and legs. Despite the wounds, she stood her ground, glaring at Alan with eyes full of disbelief and barely contained anger.

The shift in her expression made it obvious—she was losing her composure.

“Lady,” Alan said calmly, raising his sword, “I don’t enjoy hurting women. Stop now, and I’ll spare your life.”

The masked woman’s brows furrowed in irritation. For a moment, she flicked her gaze toward the two bodies lying nearby—her comrades.

Alan caught that brief hesitation and sighed. “You shouldn’t have looked away.”

He extended his hand, mana swirling around his palm as he chanted, “[Ice Spike].”

A thin, razor-sharp shard of ice shot forward like a bullet. The woman barely managed to twist her body aside, the spike slicing through her cloak and embedding deep into a tree behind her.

The close call made her flinch involuntarily. She glanced at the frozen spike, then back at the boy whose eyes glowed faintly with mana.

“Your dirty tricks won’t work on me,” she spat.

Alan grinned faintly. “Oh? We’ll see.”

He didn’t know where the sudden confidence was coming from—maybe adrenaline, maybe desperation—but his blood was boiling with excitement. Even if he ran out of mana and collapsed, he would give it everything.

The woman growled in frustration. “Cheap tricks like that are useless against me!”

“Then stop talking and prove it,” Alan replied coldly.

Without another word, both charged forward.

Their blades met with a sharp clang, followed by a spray of sparks. The forest echoed with the clash of steel, their weapons ringing through the darkness.

Blood splattered across the dirt as they exchanged blows, neither giving an inch.

Small shockwaves rippled through the clearing with every strike, shaking loose leaves from the trees.

The night that had fallen silent moments ago was once again alive—with violence, willpower, and the raw struggle to survive.

Alan’s blade swung upward, deflecting her strike at the last second. He followed with a sharp kick to her ribs, forcing her to stagger. Before she could recover, his hand snapped up, mana gathering at his fingertips. “[Frost Bind!]”

Thin lines of blue light spread from his feet across the ground like roots, freezing everything they touched. She leaped back, slicing through the forming ice—but that instant of defense gave Alan his opening.

He lunged in, blade flashing. The woman barely caught the swing, sparks bursting from the clash. Alan’s other hand glowed as he released a pulse of mana—”[Arcane Push!]”—blasting her backward before closing in again.

He fought like someone used to fighting above his level—mixing short bursts of magic between tight sword forms. His left hand cast, his right hand struck. His footwork was rough but efficient, magic reinforcing every step.

A burst of ice traced his sword as he slashed. She blocked, but frost crept up her blade and bit into her skin. He followed with another thrust, the rhythm of his attacks faster, sharper.

Her movements slowed. Each block became heavier.

Alan’s mana flared. “[Ice Shatter!]” he shouted, driving his sword into her chest. The freezing wave exploded point-blank, blasting her backward through a tree. The trunk split, her body covered in frost, blood dripping down her chin.

Alan panted hard, sweat running down his face. “It’s done…” he muttered, lowering his sword slightly.

Then she twitched.

At first, it looked like a spasm. Then came the sound—a low wet crack, like someone twisting meat and bone. Her back arched violently. Her arms jerked up, trembling.

Her shoulders snapped outward, dislocating, then reforming with a sharp pop. The sound alone made Alan flinch.

Her veins bulged black against her pale skin, crawling like living worms beneath the surface. Her chest expanded, ribs pushing against her skin until a few of them pierced through the flesh. Blood leaked down her sides.

Her neck twisted, head jerking unnaturally as her jaw dislocated with a crunch.

Her mouth tore wider—far too wide—before sealing shut again, vanishing completely as if swallowed by the skin.

Alan stepped back, the stench of blood and rot hitting him full force. “What the fuck…”

Her skin began to split along her spine, black smoke hissing out of the open wounds. The bones beneath glowed faintly red, pulsing like embers.

Then—pop, pop, pop—her flesh broke open in multiple places.

Tiny, wet openings appeared along her arms, followed by eyeballs forcing their way out, twitching rapidly. Each one blinked erratically, moving independently in random directions.

Two jagged horns burst from her skull, curving backward.

Her arms elongated, fingers turning into long, sharp claws that scraped against the dirt.

Her human shape was gone. What remained was a tall, misshapen creature, its skin dark gray, muscles twisted and uneven.

Steam rose from her wounds, blood hissing as it hit the ground.

When the transformation finally stopped, the thing stood at least eight feet tall. Its body was lean yet powerful, its limbs stretched unnaturally long.

Dozens of eyes blinked across its forearms, shoulders, and ribs—some too small, others wide and unblinking.

Its face was a blank slate of smooth skin—no nose, no mouth, no eyes—just featureless flesh that pulsed faintly, as if something beneath it was still alive.

Alan felt his stomach twist. “What the hell did I just fight…?”

Arthur and Alex stepped out from hiding, weapons ready. Arthur’s expression hardened, eyes narrowing at the grotesque sight.

“What the hell is that thing?” Alex muttered, his hand instinctively gripping his weapon.

Arthur’s voice stayed low. “That’s a demon.”

The creature tilted its head toward them, and the blank skin where its face should’ve been rippled like liquid.

Then a distorted voice echoed from deep within its chest—low, broken, layered, and wrong.

“Finally… that bitch is dead. I can finally come out.”

The voice made the air vibrate. It wasn’t just heard—it was felt, deep in their bones.

Even the tone sounded sickening, like several voices mashed together, some male, some female, some screaming beneath the surface.

Alan’s grip tightened on his sword, forcing himself upright despite his exhaustion.

Arthur and Alex stepped beside him, all three facing the creature.

A demon has been summoned inside the empire and a high level at that.