The Extra is a Genius!? Chapter 613: Dark Sun

Noel remained motionless upon the high ground. This lack of movement spoke volumes regarding the gravity of the five minutes that lay ahead.

Suspended before him, the ebony sphere known as the "Dark Sun" continued to swell, lingering in the atmosphere like a nocturnal fragment torn away and solidified by sheer resolve. With every ticking moment, it grew denser, blacker, and heavier, the dark flames compressed with such intensity that the ambient mana appeared warped by its very existence. The atmosphere surrounding Noel had ceased to act naturally; it trembled and buckled inward. Even from the far reaches below, onlookers sensed that a monstrous entity was being forged above the fray.

Yet, those five minutes were not granted for free.

Down below, the grinding machinery of war pushed forward with unrelenting weight. Selene’s earlier incantation had carved a breach through Roberto’s primary wave, though it proved insufficient to halt the onslaught entirely. Archmage-level beasts persisted, dragons attempted to descend through the haze and frost, and massive monsters continued to tread over the corpses of their fallen kin. The defensive line had stabilized, but only under severe duress, much like an injured soldier standing despite a spear still lodged deep within his side.

Those gathered below grasped the essence of their sacrifice, even without a word being exchanged. They were purchasing time for Noel.

Marcus remained anchored at the vanguard, his blade flashing amidst the spray of blood and arcane light as he hacked at anything threatening to breach their perimeter. Garron fought nearby, operating like a living war hammer, colliding with titanic creatures just to prevent them from encroaching further. Laziel maneuvered through the critical pressure points with clinical precision, his magic now devoid of artistry or comfort, yielding only pure utility. Elena, Clara, Redna, Daemar, the imperial legion, and the remaining Archmages guarded their respective sectors—not because the tide had turned, but because witnessing the failure of their unity would render those five minutes futile.

The cost was steep. Every defense demanded more mana, more life-blood, and heavier breaths. The wounded were dragged to the rear, while some dying Archmage monsters unleashed lethal final bursts upon their killers. The formation held, though it resembled a fortress wall riddled with fracturing cracks.

High above this carnage, Noel continued his chant. His focus remained fixed upon the battlefield, never flickering. The dark orb folded inward once more, growing increasingly compact and lethal with every layer added. For every second the spell remained incomplete, those below were forced to endure for his sake.

And so, they persevered. Because now, their singular purpose was to hold until the sun grew dark enough to descend.

Roberto continued his forward march, though his attention drifted upward.

He sensed the shift before he even observed it. The mana above the battlefield had begun to mutate in a manner beyond the reach of standard spells. It had become heavy, dense, and possessed that discordant quality unique to top-tier power. Upon raising his eyes to locate Noel, he witnessed the hovering black sphere and instantly grasped its significance.

So, this was the solution.

The dark orb had already eclipsed the dimensions of any conventional high-ranking technique. Obsidian flames fanned inward, suppressed so rigorously that it resembled a manifestation of absolute destruction rather than mere fire. Roberto observed it momentarily, a subtle smirk quirking his lips.

Noel was truly planning to annihilate a massive segment of the battlefield before turning his attention to him. Naturally. Had Noel struck him directly, the potent monsters in Roberto’s wake would have decimated the lines below while they battled. But if Noel eradicated that pressure first, the battlefield would breathe again, allowing their duel to transpire without that catastrophic burden.

"You are actually proceeding with this plan."

It was precisely this type of calculation that distinguished this cycle from the last. It was cruel, perhaps, for demanding the defenders survive five additional minutes of purgatory, yet it was the correct course of action. "A strategy worthy of the Manacode."

Below, the fiercer monsters continued their advance. Dragons dipped lower toward the front. Massive abominations slammed into the defensive line. Speedier foes attempted to bypass the fray before the spell reached fruition. Roberto made no move to halt them; if anything, he allowed the collision to unfold precisely as destiny intended.

He understood Noel’s intent, yet he kept walking, permitting the battlefield to struggle under that expanding black sun, driven by his desire to witness the outcome. Curiosity had intertwined too deeply with all other motivations—mission, fellowship, war, and entertainment had fused into a complex web he could no longer untangle.

And overlooking that blood-stained expanse, Noel finalized a technique destined to etch the next answer directly onto reality.

Roberto allowed his gaze to drift back to the fray. The decisive confrontation was drawing near.

The five minutes expired.

Noel’s eyes opened abruptly, and the battlefield seemed to sense the shift before a single muscle moved. Before him, the "Dark Sun" had inflated into an entity defying the categorization of a spell. It hung suspended like a piece of dead, heavy sky, black flames compressed so far beyond logic that it resembled a small, vengeful star. Its surface shimmered, constrained by force so absolute it felt more terrifying than the most violent conflagration.

Below, the monsters pressed on. Archmage-level beasts crashed into the line, while dragons thrashed through the frost-laden smoke. Giant entities trampled over the dead and the broken. Noel’s allies remained steadfast, utilizing every drop of blood and mana to secure those final seconds.

The time they could purchase had reached its limit.

Noel raised a hand. Then, he released it.

The "Dark Sun" plummeted toward the densest concentration of Roberto’s forces. It did not sink like a fireball; it descended with the heavy, inevitable momentum of an object that had already sealed the fate of all below. As it reached the heart of the enemy throng, the very world seemed to collapse toward it. The black flames imploded, dragging heat, atmosphere, dust, flesh, and bone toward a singular, burning singularity. The nearest monsters were crushed into nothingness before they could emit a cry, their very life force drawn inward as if the battlefield itself had transformed into a dying star.

Then came the release.

The implosion erupted into a catastrophic torrent of dark energy. A wave of heat raced outward, dark and terrifying, consuming the light rather than illuminating the field. Dragons were vaporized; cohorts of Archmage beasts were erased instantly. Colossal monsters exceeding ten meters were swallowed, incinerated, and reduced to collapsing shadows within the blast. Even the agile predators attempting to flee were overtaken, their bodies shredded by heat so dense it appeared tangible. Entire sectors of Roberto’s vanguard simply vanished, black flames rolling through their ranks until a massive portion of the battlefield was devoid of living opposition.

Everyone felt the shockwave. Defenders nearby were physically repelled by the pressure. Those further afield ceased their fighting for a heartbeat, eyes fixed on the eruption of black fire that had carved a path through the war. Even Roberto’s beasts faltered, staggering backward from the sudden void where thousands of them had stood only moments before.

As the black fire finally began to dissipate, a permanent scar remained on the earth. A gargantuan barren zone had been etched into the army; a stretch of scorched ground and lingering heat. Bodies continued to smolder, now unrecognizable husks. The air above churned from the residual power, and the mana in that sector felt corrupted—as though the "Dark Sun" had wounded the battlefield itself, not just its inhabitants.

Then, the reaction. It struck the defenders with the force of a physical blow. Soldiers who had been nearing their breaking point felt a surge of vitality return. Mages with trembling hands tightened their grip on their staves and began to cast with renewed focus. The Archmages at the front immediately seized the opening. Marcus charged ahead; Garron roared a wordless, guttural sound; the imperial forces of Alveron IV surged forward, claiming the space they had just won.

The line had stopped merely holding; it had surged forward.

Roberto’s army remained intact, for too many monsters lingered to claim a total victory. Yet, a devastating portion of his reinforcements had been obliterated in one blow, and every soul on the battlefield understood the implication. The war had changed once more.

High above, Noel exhaled—a slow, controlled breath. Below, Selene and Noir continued their advance through the remaining chaos, but the battle no longer appeared to be teetering on the edge of ruin. It possessed room to breathe, to strike, and to survive the impending exchange.

Noel’s gaze surveyed the scar he had carved into the opposition before shifting beyond it. Toward Roberto.

Now, he was free to act.

Shadows gathered around his ankles. For a fleeting instant, the battlefield still held the specter of Noel atop the high ground, the fading heat of the "Dark Sun" twisting through the air beneath him.

Noel uttered, "Shadow Step," and the darkness consumed him.

Far ahead, Roberto raised his eyes just in time to watch the shadow open, signaling that Noel was coming for him.