Extra's Ascent

Chapter 141 141: Not The Usual Occurrence

Eric's head hung dangerously over the ledge, neck caught in a vice-like grip. The yawning void beneath him was a silent promise of death. Within the ruined structure, Hector straddled him like a predator that had finally caught its prey, hands tightening around his throat, choking him into submission.

Every breath Eric tried to steal was denied, every gasp strangled at the source. He fought back with what little strength remained, clawing at Hector's wrists, kicking at nothing, desperate to reclaim control. His vision blurred. The fight was slipping from his body.

But Hector was relentless. His eyes burned with manic rage, his teeth clenched as he roared, "Die! Die! Die!"

Each repetition came with added pressure as if Hector intended to crush the very essence out of Eric's being. His hands pulled Eric further toward the void, inch by inch, neck stretched over the precipice, body limp from exhaustion.

Then; "Clap. Clap. Clap."

A calm, deliberate rhythm of hands striking each other echoed through the chaos, cutting through the madness with ease. Unhurried steps followed each one steady, assured, and growing louder.

"You've both done enough damage for one day," came a voice, firm yet composed. "Time to put an end to this and call it a day."

The voice didn't carry anger or urgency, just the quiet authority of someone who knew they were in control. It made the destruction and violence around him feel trivial.

Hector snarled, not even glancing at the source. "Who the hell do you think you are, interfering with something that doesn't concern you?!"

Still, his grip remained tight, his knuckles pale as he continued to choke the life from Eric.

"I said enough."

The words arrived much closer than expected, too close compared to the distance the steps were heard.

"You—

That was all Hector managed to say before darkness overtook him.

A single, swift chop landed cleanly on the back of his neck. His body went rigid for a heartbeat, then slumped forward like a marionette with its strings severed. His unconscious weight collapsed onto Eric.

Breath rushed into Eric's lungs with the sudden force of a floodgate breaking open. He coughed violently, gasping for air while his vision fluttered, trying to make sense of what had just occurred.

"Well, there goes one."

The same tranquil voice now addressed him directly.

The figure crouched down, resting on the balls of his feet, arms draped over his knees. His eyes settled on Eric with clinical curiosity.

"So, young man with silver hair, care to explain what happened here?"

Eric blinked, struggling to comprehend. Who was this man in formal attire, radiating authority and calm in the middle of such wreckage? And how had he subdued Hector so effortlessly?

But there wasn't time for questions.

Ramprandt. Marvellous. They were still trapped. The elevator could give way any moment and send them plummeting to their deaths.

Eric lifted a trembling hand, pointing weakly toward the shaft where they were stranded. His lips struggled to form words.

"T-The... M..."

The man followed his gesture and turned his gaze toward the elevator.

To Eric's relief, he saw others dressed similarly to the man beside him already working on the situation. Two of them were hoisting the broken system upward, using no equipment, just sheer strength and control.

Mystics.

"Right on the mark," the man affirmed, catching Eric's breathless whisper. "You're safe now. Conserve your strength."

He rose smoothly and turned, calling out, "I have an injured mystic here! Bring medical support immediately!"

He took a step forward and accidentally stepped on Hector's hand.

With a slight glance downward, he corrected himself, "Make that two. Bring additional aid."

...

The sterile white of the hospital ceiling greeted Eric when his eyelids finally opened. His vision adjusted slowly, light bleeding in as his consciousness returned.

"You're up already?" said a familiar voice.

Marvelous stood nearby, her lips curled in a soft smile of relief. Despite the dirt-stained remnants of her clothing, her presence radiated warmth.

Her voice rekindled his senses, and he instinctively tried to sit up.

She moved quickly, guiding him back down gently. "Easy now. Are you trying to finish the job they started?"

He eased back into the bed, exhaling with a wince.

"This... a hospital?" he croaked.

"Pretty much," she replied with a nod. "You collapsed from what they called 'mana burnout.' Apparently, your mana pool was completely drained. Sounded serious."

The way she relayed the diagnosis betrayed her inexperience with the terminology. It was clear she was echoing the explanation the doctors had given her, repeating it more out of concern than understanding.

"I figured," Eric whispered.

What was meant to be a routine assignment had turned into a full-scale catastrophe. Buildings had crumbled. Streets had been carved into craters. And he'd barely made it out alive.

This wasn't the easy life of a bodyguard he'd envisioned when he signed up to protect a wealthy entrepreneur. He'd thought the job would bring comfort, stability, perhaps even luxury. Instead, it had dragged him into a maelstrom of power struggles and near-death experiences.

At least, through it all, he had kept his promise. Aldrich and Saldrich weren't orphans. That alone was worth the bruises and scars.

He turned his head slowly, scanning the room. One presence was missing.

"Sir Ramprandt," he murmured, voice hoarse. "Where... where is he?"

Marvelous opened her mouth, but another voice beat her to it.

"At ease, soldier. Your employer's just fine."

A tall figure pushed aside the curtain.

Dressed in military-grade formal wear, yet distinct in design and cut, the man's coat flared behind him with an authority that couldn't be faked. His beard stretched from ear to jawline, his moustache long and curling, dreadlocks hanging like proud banners atop his head.

It was the same man Eric had seen before he collapsed.

Ramprandt stood beside him, arms folded, gaze solemn.

"Sir Ramprandt… you're alright," Eric said, relief washing over his face.

"Worry less. Focus on healing," Ramprandt replied gently. His concern was etched into every syllable.

The uniformed man took a step closer, hands clasped behind his back.

"I've been briefed on the events that transpired at the hotel," he stated, his eyes locking onto Eric. "From what I've heard, you held your ground in impossible odds. You're a fighter, one worth recognizing."

There was a pause. The air shifted.

"And so," he continued, "I come with an offer."

He extended a hand not in greeting, but in purpose.

"Eric Aldaman, how would you like to become an Executive Official of the Mystic Order?"