The Extra is a Genius!? Chapter 622: After the War

The battlefield didn't halt abruptly.

For a time, it continued churning from sheer momentum, as though the conflict hadn't yet heard the news of its conclusion. A battered creature hauled itself along a ditch brimming with gore and splintered lances until a dwarven mallet smashed its head. To the east, a pair of surviving drakes struggled to take flight, but imperial bowmen riddled one wing, plummeting both into the ravaged soil. Lesser beasts now scurried in disorganized groups, neither assaulting nor structured, merely desperate to flee the site where their reality had shattered. Few escaped very far.

The immense pressure had vanished.

All sensed it prior to comprehending it. The field shed its suffocating dread of imminent ruin. What lingered was mere tidying up. Grueling, gory, essential. Yet tidying nonetheless.

Marcus thrust his blade into a hobbling monster's neck and yanked it out amid a tremor he couldn't fully hide. Lifting his gaze, he spotted the women clustered around Noel, and reality struck home completely.

He returned.

Roberto hadn't.

Garron grasped it simultaneously. He yanked a retreating fiend from the dirt by its limb, bashed it against a companion, and barked a laugh blending incredulity and grief. "That bastard actually did it."

Laziel dispatched the final beast nearby more by reflex than intent, then froze briefly, his form unsure how to proceed without the fear driving it. Clara arrived at his area soon after, witnessing what the rest already had. Noel cradled among them. No sign of Roberto.

Daemar comprehended it quickest yet responded most subtly. His face scarcely altered, yet a profound resolve took root within, like a man beholding a burden destined to haunt his days forever. Here, the world had pivoted. Silently. Savagely. Without consent.

The monsters sensed it as well. Survivors no longer advanced as a force. Some bolted in terror. Others struck wildly at whatever neared. Still more halted, bewildered for fleeting instants before blades, spells, or shafts finished them.

Gradually, the battlefield fell silent.

Smoke hung low across fractured terrain. Crimson soaked the soil. Bodies sprawled amid wrecked arms, toppled defenses, and weary victors just starting to grasp their survival.

The unthinkable had occurred regardless.

Noel rested where they'd placed him, near the back lines where the earth felt somewhat secure, though marred by the fresh carnage.

Viewed closely, his state appeared graver.

Dried blood crusted parts of his garb while fresh stains gleamed elsewhere. Slashes marred his frame in multiple streaks, some superficial, others severe enough to make Elena's fingers hesitate upon first contact.

"He really came back..." Charlotte murmured.

Her tone was gentle, nearly breakable. She hovered by him, a hand fluttering to her lips before dropping, as if still proving his presence to herself.

Elyra projected the most composure, though merely outwardly. One palm stayed anchored on Noel throughout, resolute and unmoving, denying him any further departure now that he'd reappeared. Her features held steady, but strain lingered at her eyes' edges.

Elena commenced true healing first. Emerald glow emanated from her palms in rhythmic pulses as she mended injuries sequentially, prioritizing critical ones before fatigue shattered her concentration.

"Don’t let him wake up yet," she murmured softly. "He needs to sleep."

Selene positioned herself by his head, mute, her stance rigid and vigilant. She hadn't strayed far since he collapsed into their grasp. Even as combat ebbed nearby, she seemed poised to fell any approaching threat.

Noir stayed wolf-shaped at his side, violet gaze locked on his visage. Her inner turmoil persisted, profound and visceral, yet the frenzy had ebbed. Detecting his breaths sufficed.

"He actually did it," Charlotte repeated, her words carrying greater exhale now.

Marcus reached them first of the group. Garron followed, with Laziel, Clara, and Daemar trailing. They decelerated upon sighting Noel prone, and silence gripped them briefly.

This marked victory's intimate face.

Not majestic. Not heroic. Merely a comrade they'd almost forfeited.

Garron snorted a breath. "That idiot really killed him."

No one disputed it.

No Roberto lingered. No corpse. No lingering link to Noel. The void conveyed all required.

The Circle had concluded.

The cycle as well.

Daemar eyed Noel extendedly, then scanned the field where final beasts fell. "The field is almost secured."

Elyra nodded faintly, palm unmoved from Noel.

"Good," she replied. "Then we take him home."

Beyond Noel's repose, the battlefield transformed into another scene.

Daemar conferred with Redna, assorted noble heads, and commanders enduring to witness closure. Voices stayed hushed. No need for volume. The fact etched itself in gore, cinders, and hush across the landscape.

King Alveron IV’s troops verified it initially. No further unified advances. No fresh surges. No mounting threat at borders. Only remnants of prior onslaughts.

"So it’s really over," a noble whispered, lest bold utterance reverse it.

Redna fixed her stare on the terrain. "It is," she affirmed.

Daemar breathed out deliberately. "There won’t be another attack like this."

That realization weighed oddly upon the assembly.

Not from the Circle.

Over the past year, countless enigmas loomed. Endless calamities seemed bound to an invisible force, lurking beyond reality like a gamer's hovering palm. Now that shadow lifted. No reboot. No follow-up play. No concealed support emerging.

Survivors too began fathoming it.

They no longer teetered on the brink.

The realm, scarred and soiled and corpse-laden, had reclaimed its autonomy at last.

And over that devastated expanse, as terminal commands issued and ultimate casualties collected, Noel was borne from the field fated to echo his name eternally beyond the drying blood.