The Extra's Rise

We organized the squads quickly, the pieces falling into place exactly as I wanted them to.

Cecilia led one prong, Ren another, Rachel's archers the third, and Ian the fourth. All of them aggressive, all of them blunt instruments, each unit designed to push forward with sheer force, making it look like we were relying entirely on raw strength.

That was exactly what the second years expected.

After all, Class 1-A had a reputation—loud, forceful, unstoppable.

A steamroller of talent and power. 

Lucifer was waiting for the perfect chance.

That had been his idea.

Jin and Seraphina looked profoundly uninterested as we went through the final instructions. Jin played with his dagger absentmindedly, sliding it in and out of its sheath, while Seraphina sat on a broken chunk of concrete, legs crossed, gaze distant, as if none of this particularly mattered to her.

And honestly? It didn't.

She didn't care about the grand plan. She didn't care about strategy, tactics, or positioning. She only cared that she had a squad of assassins at her disposal—stealthy fighters who would move unseen through the battlefield, striking at the weakest points.

I pretended to make a casual suggestion, as if it had just occurred to me.

"Aim for their strategists," I said, glancing at her briefly. "They're bound to have a few second-years keeping things organized."

Seraphina's gaze flicked toward me.

She didn't nod. Didn't acknowledge it.

She just stood, stretched, and walked away, her small unit following in silence.

That was the thing about Seraphina—she didn't ask why. She didn't second-guess.

She just did the job.

And that made her perfect for what I had in mind.

The second years expected us to fight them head-on.

So we will.

Rose and Leon stayed behind with a handful of support mages, their roles clear: coordinate, relay, keep the illusion of standard strategy alive. I stood with them at first, partly to maintain the image of a grounded strategist, partly because the slight rise of our base gave me the perfect vantage point.

From up here, I could watch it all unfold.

Three prongs of attack, cutting through the ruins toward the city center. Rachel's archers fanned out to the east, slipping between shattered storefronts, keeping their bows trained on the main roads. Ren took the southern approach, a crumbling overpass his only obstacle before he could charge straight into the thick of it. Ian's elemental casters marched from the west, moving carefully, their eyes scanning for higher ground.

It all looked exactly as expected—a straightforward, brute-force assault from the first years.

It wasn't.

A flicker of mana caught my eye in the distance—a second-year lookout, watching us from the rooftops. A moment later, an arrow whistled through the air from Ian's side, cutting straight for the scout. It missed by inches, but the damage was done—a second-year turret activated almost immediately, launching a counterattack.

The battle had officially begun.

Seraphina and her unit slipped away before the chaos escalated, vanishing between half-demolished warehouses and crumbling alleyways. None of the others paid her much attention; their focus was on the direct confrontation, the spectacle of it.

Rose frowned, leaning forward. "The second years' defenses are tighter than expected."

Leon muttered something under his breath, adjusting his spyglass. "They've set up heavy wards on the main roads. If our squads try to break through recklessly, they'll get slaughtered."

I nodded, appearing thoughtful. Then, with measured confidence, I reassured them.

"We'll break through soon enough."

That was what they wanted to hear.

And just like that, they went back to work, oblivious to the real battle being played beneath the surface.

I glanced down at my communicator. Rachel's name flashed on the screen—she was pinned behind a collapsed building, facing unexpectedly heavy fire from the second years.

"Should I retreat or press forward?" she asked, voice tight with frustration.

I didn't hesitate.

"Press forward."

Rose gave me a sharp look, as if waiting for a better explanation.

"We have the advantage in raw power," I said, calm, unwavering. "They'll fold under pressure. Just keep them busy."

That was the answer Rachel needed. Her voice relaxed, and she confirmed she'd push forward.

Leon gave me a questioning look but said nothing. Rose turned away to relay the strategy.

No one guessed the real reason I wanted Rachel locked in a drawn-out skirmish.

She was exactly where I needed her to be.

Ren's battle was unfolding exactly as expected.

Through the haze of dust and smoke from spellfire, I could see the blinding flashes of mana lighting up the southern approach.

Ren wasn't subtle. He had never been subtle.

His unit crashed straight into the second-year defenses, smashing through their formations like a hurricane tearing through a village.

From up here, I could see the second years desperately trying to reorganize, pulling back behind makeshift barricades, retreating into battered courtyards. But it didn't matter—Ren was too fast, too relentless. He was laughing as he tore through their lines, reveling in the sheer thrill of combat.

An hour passed.

Skirmishes flared across the battlefield, scattered like brushfires, each one feeding into the greater storm.

The second years were fraying at the edges—their tacticians had sent three squads to flank Rachel's unit, thinking they had her cornered.

But Seraphina was already there.

I caught a flicker of movement between two battered warehouse walls.

A choked scream.

Then another.

The second years' flanking maneuver collapsed before it even fully took shape.

They were losing their chain of command, their structure crumbling before their eyes, and they didn't know why.

Lucifer still hadn't moved.

He stood near a half-collapsed tower, arms crossed, watching everything unfold with cold amusement.

To everyone else, it looked like he was waiting for a worthy challenge.

The second years had begun actively avoiding him, refusing to engage until they had no other choice.

Lucifer smirked, as if disappointed that no one had dared approach him yet.

Another volley of spells exploded across the skyline.

Our front lines cheered—they'd broken through the main barricade, forcing the second years deeper into the city.

I encouraged them forward with brief, standard commands, all while keeping my real purpose buried beneath polite nods and mild expressions.

The second years had no choice but to retreat further.

Ren overran the southern approach, Rachel's archers dominated the east, Ian controlled the west.

Smoke curled from burning rubble, a city reduced to an ash-streaked battlefield.

We advanced steadily, pushing them deeper into the district.

Corralling them.

Herding them.

Like livestock.