The Extra's Rise Chapter 153 Prelude to Tower of Magic Conference (1)

As the End of Year festival lood closer, the atmosphere in Mythos Academy shifted. The air buzzed with anticipation, students scurrying about like particularly stressed-out ants preparing for winter. The curriculum lightened considerably, leaving us ti to focus on three major things: the upcoming festival, the written exams, and our end-of-year projects.

For , the latter was a matter already resolved.

The Lich.

The culmination of months of effort, planning, and a few near-death experiences—both figuratively and otherwise. It was done, complete, and, if I dared say, a masterpiece. There wasn't much left but to hand it in, so I decided to get it out of the way.

Professor Gravemore's office was tucked into a quiet corner of the necromancy wing. Gravemore himself was hunched over his desk, pen in hand, writing notes on what appeared to be a disturbingly animated diagram of a corpse.

"Arthur," he greeted without looking up, his deep voice carrying the sort of warmth one might reserve for an exceptionally promising science experint. "You're here to submit, I assu?"

"Yes, Professor," I said, stepping forward and holding out the neatly bound file. It contained every detail about the Lich's creation process—well, almost every detail. So secrets, especially the ones tied to the Basilisk Heart, were better kept buried.

Gravemore finally looked up, his dark eyes twinkling with sothing between pride and incredulity. "Alright then," he said with a chuckle, flipping through the file. "A . Done."

I blinked. "You're not even going to check it?"

Gravemore leaned back in his chair, waving a hand dismissively. "Arthur, please. Check what? That Lich of yours could qualify as a final project for a sixth-year student. A is a foregone conclusion."

I didn't know whether to feel flattered or slightly concerned. I chose the forr. "Thank you, Professor."

"Don't thank ," he said, waving it off. "Thank yourself. And that unnatural knack you have for turning necromancy into an art form."

He closed the file with a decisive snap and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His gaze sharpened, and I felt the shift in the room's atmosphere.

"But," he said, "there's sothing else I wanted to discuss with you."

I straightened up instinctively. "What is it, Professor?"

"The Tower of Magic Conference," he said, his voice carrying the weight of importance. "Have you heard of it?"

I frowned, the na ringing a faint bell. "I think so. Isn't that the event where research papers are presented?"

"Exactly," Gravemore said, his expression lighting up. "It's the largest academic symposium in the magical world. Students from every major institution are selected to submit papers. Research, innovation, groundbreaking theories—it all happens there."

I tilted my head, curiosity piqued. "Why are you bringing this up?"

"Because," Gravemore said, his tone turning conspiratorial, "I want you to participate. Specifically, I want you to submit a paper on your Lich creation process."

I stared at him. "You an… reveal my thods?"

"Not all of them," he said quickly, leaning back again. "Obviously, there are parts of your work that are unreplicable—like the Basilisk Heart. But so elents, Arthur… So elents are pure brilliance. The way you harmonized the Soul aspect with the Body and Mind. The subtle alterations you made to the mana programming. Those are innovations worth sharing."

I hesitated. The thought of putting my research out there, exposing it to the scrutiny of experts, was both thrilling and daunting. "What's the benefit?"

Gravemore grinned. "Money, for one. You'd receive a stipend if your paper is accepted, and if it's particularly well-received, grants could follow. Then there's recognition—your na would be known in every major magical institution. And lastly, it's a challenge. A chance to refine your work, to present it to the world and say, 'Look what I've done.'"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I'd have to be careful about what I reveal."

"Of course," Gravemore said, nodding. "We'll review the paper together before you submit it. But Arthur, you've achieved sothing extraordinary. It's worth sharing—at least in part."

I exhaled, the weight of the decision settling on my shoulders. "Alright," I said finally. "I'll do it."

Gravemore's grin widened. "Excellent. I knew you'd say yes. Now, get to work. Write that paper and bring it to for review before the deadline."

"Yes, Professor," I said, already planning how to approach the task.

As I turned to leave, Gravemore's voice stopped .

"Oh, and Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Don't hold back," he said, his tone serious. "The world doesn't need another half-asure. Show them what you're capable of."

I nodded, a slow grin spreading across my face. "I will."

The Tower of Magic, an institution nearly synonymous with excellence, sat comfortably in its position as number two in the world when it ca to overall spellcasting and magical innovation, second only to the Creighton family. When it ca to necromancy, they occupied a similar position of near-supremacy, shadowed only by the Ebony Tower of the Western Continent.

The Tower of Magic Conference wasn't just an annual event—it was the event. Held every year in Avalon, the heart of the Slatemark Empire, it was where the most brilliant magical minds gathered to showcase their latest discoveries, theories, and groundbreaking innovations. For younger, less seasoned participants, the junior section offered an invaluable opportunity: a chance to present research, compete for grants, and gain a foothold in the wider world of magical academia. For soone like , it was the perfect stage.

"So," Cecilia began, her lips curling into an all-too-familiar mischievous smile, "you're going to present at the Tower of Magic?"

I glanced up from the notebook where I was jotting down preliminary ideas for my research paper. She was leaning against the doorfra of the lounge, her crimson eyes alight with curiosity and sothing else—a spark of amusent, perhaps?

"Yeah," I said with a nod, "though I still need to prepare a paper. Professor Gravemore has to approve it first before I can proceed."

"Interesting, interesting," Cecilia mused, her head tilting ever so slightly, that glint in her eyes growing brighter. "I look forward to it."

There was a certain inflection in her voice that put on edge. I couldn't shake the feeling that she was planning sothing, though what, I couldn't say. Cecilia Slatemark had a way of operating on her own wavelength, and I wasn't sure I wanted to tune in.

I let it slide for now and focused on my work. The truth was, the money wasn't a driving factor for . I had plenty of that already, courtesy of my carefully orchestrated deals and investnts. What mattered more was the opportunity—the chance to get noticed by the Tower of Magic itself.

If I managed to defeat Lucifer in the Sovereign's Tournant, the ripples would spread far and wide. Speculation would bloom among the superpowers of the world, particularly those aware of the prophecy. They'd question whether I, not Lucifer, was the Second Hero foretold. It was a prospect that both excited and unnerved . Victory would bring recognition, yes, but it would also paint a target on my back—one that the Five Cults would be all too eager to aim at.

The Tower of Magic was no simple ally to court, but even a tenuous connection to them could prove invaluable. For now, it would be a seed planted, one that might grow into sothing greater in the future.

And, if I were being honest, the whole thing just seed... fun.

Research, writing a paper, presenting it—it scratched a part of my brain that enjoyed solving puzzles and unraveling mysteries. Yet even as I delved into the details of my Lich's creation, a nagging thought pulled at .

There was sothing missing.

I had the materials, the thod, and the results, but the process itself was hazy. There was a mont, a pivotal mont, when everything had shifted. I knew I'd been enticed by the Basilisk Heart's consciousness, lured into a dreamscape of absolute power. But after that? Nothing. A blank space in my mory, like a page torn from a book. Even Luna, with all her insight, had no answers.

The frustration simred as I worked late into the night. Finally, unable to resist the urge any longer, I decided to go straight to the source.

Returning to my room, I summoned Erebus.

The air in front of tore like fragile fabric, a small rift opening into a dark void. Erebus erged from it, his skeletal fra both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Even in his suppressed state, the sheer weight of his presence—a manifestation of death itself—pressed against , a reminder of the raw power he held.

He knelt before , his hollow eyes glowing faintly. "You summoned , Master?" His voice was a low, resonant hum, like a distant echo in a cavern.

I steadied myself, the sensation of his presence still sothing I was getting used to. "Erebus, I have a question. When I was assembling you—when I was enticed by the Basilisk Heart—do you rember what happened?"

For a mont, Erebus was silent. Then, he spoke, his words slow and deliberate. "My mory of that ti is blank."

I frowned, my frustration mounting. "Blank? You don't rember anything at all?"

"Nothing clear," Erebus admitted. "But... there is one thing."

I leaned forward, my pulse quickening. "What is it?"

Erebus lifted his head, his glowing eyes narrowing. "All I rember... is seeing a skull split in two."

The words landed like a hamr blow, sending a shiver down my spine. A skull split in two. The image was vivid, visceral, and it left with more questions than answers.

Luna's voice echoed in my mind, uncharacteristically quiet. 'A skull split in two... What does it an, Arthur?'

"I don't know," I murmured, my thoughts racing. The mory—or whatever fragnt of it Erebus retained—felt significant, but its aning eluded .