An Unordinary Extra

The private party, for all its initial lightheartedness, naturally veered toward a discussion of our progress and strength. As the laughter and teasing gave way to earnest reflections, I realized something profound about the women I loved.

They didn't see themselves as needing protection, even though I often instinctively stepped into that role. To me, loving them meant ensuring they never faced harm. But to them, loving me meant ensuring I didn't have to bear the burden alone.

Seraphina, Cecilia, Rachel—they were all proud, talented, and unyielding in their determination. Each of them was carving their own path to strength, not just to survive in this world but to stand shoulder to shoulder with me. It wasn't just a matter of pride; it was a promise they made to themselves, one I silently vowed to support.

I wanted that for them, too—for us. I wanted them by my side, not behind me.

Yet, I couldn't help but admit it: the gap between us remained significant. Not because they lacked talent or drive—they had both in spades—but because the nature of my strength had outpaced not only them but nearly everyone.

How strong even am I, really? I wondered.

It wasn't an idle question. My growth had been so rapid, my arsenal so varied, that even I struggled to measure my limits.

'How strong am I, Luna?' I asked her.

The qilin, ever patient yet slyly amused, responded with a measured tone. 'That depends on how you define strength, Arthur. But… terrifyingly strong is an apt descriptor.'

She wasn't wrong. I had amassed an array of abilities that defied most expectations.

Lucent Harmony.

Soul Resonance, which allowed me to take on the abilities of those near me or transform into qilinification. Within qilinification alone lay Mythic Body, enhancing my physical capabilities; Soul Vision, enabling me to peer into the essence of spells and people alike; Astral Manifestation, elevating my energy to unparalleled levels; and Mythic Transplant, a new and formidable augmentation.

My Grade 5 art, Tempest Dance Technique.

My self-crafted Grade 6 art, born of countless hours of refinement and determination.

My Sword Heart, the crystallization of my intent and mastery.

The Spectral Sword art, now at its zenith.

The Fuller method, guiding my spellcasting to the realm of seven-circle magic.

And soon, the Astareus method, promising to elevate my magic even further.

Not to mention Luna herself, always there, a guide and ally in spellcasting.

The list went on, a collection of skills and abilities that might overwhelm any other warrior or mage. And yet, I knew enough of the world to temper my confidence. The higher you climbed, the more exceptional those around you became. At this level, raw talent and training weren't enough; strategy, refinement, and experience carried equal weight.

Still, I had to admit—I had reached a point that would be daunting to most.

'You've achieved much, Arthur,' Luna said, breaking my musings, 'but your strength is far from its peak. You have the tools, but your mana rank isn't high enough to sustain everything properly.'

'Why not?' I asked, curious.

'Because the powers you wield demand more than what your current level provides,' she explained. 'Especially something like Mythic Transplant. It's potent but also extraordinarily taxing. Without a higher mana rank, you'll find yourself limited in prolonged battles.'

Her words were a sobering reminder. Strength wasn't just about the abilities one possessed but also the capacity to wield them effectively. Right now, I was a craftsman with an arsenal of exquisite tools—but the forge of my mana rank still needed to grow to shape them to their fullest potential.

'So,' I mused, 'mid Ascendant-rank is my next benchmark.'

'Exactly,' Luna replied, her voice tinged with encouragement. 'And you'll reach it sooner than you think. But don't rush. Every step matters.'

Nonetheless, the private party was a delight, as it always was with the three women I loved. Their laughter, their determination, their presence—it filled a part of me that I hadn't realized was hollow until they were there to fill it. But now, in the quiet solitude of my room, my thoughts churned as I lay sprawled across my bed.

More. The word echoed in my mind, unrelenting and insistent. I wanted more. More strength. More mastery. More time to ascend even faster. The desire burned, a relentless inferno pushing me forward.

"You're too restless, Arthur," Luna said, her voice chiming gently as she materialized beside me. She looked like a child in form but bore an ancient weight in her galaxy-like eyes. Her liquid amethyst hair shimmered, pooling around her like a living cascade.

I turned to her, one arm draped across my forehead. "I kind of have to be."

Luna folded her arms, tilting her head in a way that made her appear both endearingly childlike and maddeningly wise. "You're already strong enough to crush that Jack you've been so worried about."

I frowned at her words. Jack was far from my only concern. The world was filled with threats far greater than him. But Luna wasn't done.

"Julius, at your age, wasn't even close to your current level of strength," she said, her voice calm but firm. "You're doing extraordinarily well in this world, Arthur. Take a moment to appreciate that."

I stared at her, my lips pressed into a thin line. "I am, huh?"

"You are," she confirmed with a slow nod. "But your strength isn't just in how fast you're growing. It's in how you've used that growth to adapt, to lead. That's where you truly shine."

Her words were meant to reassure, but they left me feeling restless instead. I wanted to argue, to point out the looming threats, the forces in motion far beyond my control. But even I couldn't deny the truth in her statement.

"Sometimes," Luna said, her voice softer now, "the strongest force isn't the one that rushes ahead, but the one that learns to move at the right pace, striking when the time is perfect."

I exhaled, my thoughts slowing under her steady gaze. "It's hard not to feel like I'm racing against the clock."

"And maybe you are," Luna replied, a flicker of empathy in her eyes. "But even the fastest runner knows when to breathe."

The words settled in the air between us, heavy with meaning. She was right. I hated to admit it, but she was.

"Fine," I said after a moment, rolling onto my side to face her fully. "I'll try to relax."

Luna smiled faintly, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Good. Because the next steps will demand more than speed. They'll demand focus."

She disappeared as quickly as she had arrived, leaving me alone once more. The quiet of the room pressed in around me, but it no longer felt suffocating. Instead, it felt purposeful, like the silence before a storm.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself breathe, truly breathe, as I stared at the ceiling. I wouldn't stop pushing forward—never that. But maybe, just maybe, I could learn to move with the world, rather than against it.