Previously on The Hidden Extra: The Lazy Prince Refuses to Ascend The Throne...
Sylvia struggles to advance her magic until Nolan offers a simple analogy—mana is water and the body is a riverbed. Inspired, Sylvia achieves novice mage status in under a minute, an unprecedented feat. Nolan reveals he is a time traveler from the future and must depart, leaving Sylvia heartbroken but hopeful.
"Will we ever meet again?" Nolan was taken aback by her question. Would they? Honestly, he had no idea. The future he foresaw was already set in stone, immutable. No matter his efforts to alter its course, it inevitably gravitated back to its predetermined path. At best, perhaps minor deviations might occur, not a completely divergent future, but merely a subtly reshaped version of what was meant to be. Yet, he couldn't voice these thoughts to her. So, Nolan remained silent for a spell, choosing his words with utmost care. Ultimately, a smile graced his lips, accompanied by a slight nod. "Of course, we shall meet again. In the future, you will have ascended to the position of Master of the Tower of Silence, and our encounters will be frequent. Despite your occasional bothersome nature, I don't dislike you," he remarked with a lighthearted tone. Sylvia pressed her face against Nolan's abdomen, then her cheeks puffed out in vexation. "Why do I sense you dislike me in the future? Did I commit some transgression?" she inquired softly, her embrace gradually loosening as she gazed up at Nolan, her eyes filled with melancholy. Nolan gently brushed away the residual tears from the corners of Sylvia's eyes. "It's not that I dislike you... it's simply that your future self... How can I articulate this? You are somewhat exasperating." Sylvia was taken aback, followed by a surge of displeasure. However, her ire was not directed at Nolan, but rather at her future self. She was unaware of what her future counterpart had done to elicit such a sentiment from Nolan, but one certainty resonated within her: her future self must have committed a grievous error. "By the way, I wish to present you with a gift," Nolan stated. He extended his left palm, and a silver necklace materialized within it. "It is named Symphony of Serenity. For the wearer, it wards off stress, headaches, and similar ailments, ensuring mental clarity. I wish for you to possess it." Sylvia observed the necklace, her eyes widening in sheer wonder. It gleamed with a silver luminescence, its pendant fashioned in the shape of a radiant sun. "Please, place it upon me, Brother Nolan!" she exclaimed with palpable excitement. Nolan offered a nod and delicately fastened the necklace around her neck. The instant it made contact with her skin, Sylvia felt its effect. A sudden lightness permeated her being, her thoughts became exceptionally clear—as if an immense burden had instantaneously dissolved. "This..." Her gaze widened as she looked down. "This necklace is absolutely marvelous!" "Do you find yourself pleased with it?" Nolan inquired. "Mm! I adore it! Thank you, Brother Nolan!" Sylvia embraced him once more, playfully nestling her face against his stomach. She had never been the recipient of a gift from anyone, not even her master. In essence, this was her very first genuine present. The profound emotion stirred within her caused her eyes to well up, threatening tears. She was merely an orphan, devoid of family. Had her master not taken her in, she might have perished as a helpless elven waif, abandoned and alone in the wild. Despite her master's kindness, Sylvia had always perceived an intangible barrier between them—a closeness that never quite bridged the gap. Yet, with Nolan, she felt no such divide. Not only was Nolan exceptionally kind to her, but he also treated her without any prejudice. If only Nolan were not a visitor from the future, Sylvia would have readily surrendered everything to remain by his side. Alas, her adversary was the very fabric of space and time—forces utterly beyond her control. All she could do was acquiesce and witness Nolan's departure. "Very well. I must take my leave now. Take good care of yourself." With those words, his form dissipated like a fleeting breeze. Sylvia remained rooted to the spot, her gaze fixed upon the empty space where he had stood. Her expression turned vacant, weighed down by profound sorrow. However, the feeling was ephemeral. She swiftly regained her composure, her fists clenched resolutely. "Be it a thousand years or ten thousand years... I shall find you, Brother Nolan. And when our paths cross once more, I will be powerful—just as you foretold." It was her inaugural vow, and deep within her heart, she knew this promise would one day be fulfilled. … The Western Region was historically the domain of both the dragon and demon races. Initially, they divided the territory equitably, each race claiming one half. However, a seismic shift occurred with the ascension of the Demon Emperor and the commencement of his aggressive expansion. The entire region was plunged into the throes of conflict. Ultimately, the dragon race suffered substantial territorial losses, their dominion dwindling to a mere quarter of its former expanse. Predictably, their fury was immense, particularly within the Celestial Empire of Velgranth. Nevertheless, a full-scale war never erupted. The Demon Emperor and his formidable legions were simply too overpowering at that juncture, compelling even the pragmatic Velgranth to refrain from risking annihilation. *** The Western Region, the ancestral home of the demon race, bore little resemblance to the territories inhabited by the dragons.
A desolate, dim, and somber expanse stretched for millions of kilometers. The very soil was a void of black, as if all vitality had been leached away.
Life struggled to exist here, save for a few peculiar, contorted purple grasses that inexplicably endured.
Many whispered that the land had fallen under a divine curse, for no other reason could explain its profound lifelessness and arid state.
At the heart of the demon race's dominion stood a colossal palace, fashioned entirely from polished black marble.
Reaching nearly a hundred meters in height, its summit was adorned with seven spires, rumored to embody the Seven Deadly Sins.
The main gate was a spectacle in itself, an immense thirty-meter structure, subjected to such stringent surveillance that not even a fly could pass unnoticed.
Tap… tap… tap…
The rhythmic echo of footsteps traversed the shadowy corridor as an exquisite woman advanced with graceful composure.
Her slightly pointed ears and the reddish-purple hue of her skin were unmistakable markers of her demonic heritage.
She was clad in formal attire, reminiscent of a blazer but tailored to accord with demonic customs.
Tall and perfectly proportioned, her black hair possessed a subtle violet tint, meticulously gathered into a neat bun.
Clutched in her hand was a document. Its cover bore the inscription: "Plan for the Invasion of the Central Continent."
"Welcome, Prime Minister Yuria," the sentinels at the throne room's entrance offered their salutations.
Yuria inclined her head in acknowledgment and proceeded inward.
The throne room itself was a vast and awe-inspiring chamber, measuring fifty meters in width and a hundred in length.
Towering black pillars, subtly embellished with threads of gold, reached towards the lofty ceiling.
Yet, the most captivating element was undoubtedly the figure seated upon the throne.
He was a man of imposing height and striking looks, with short, crimson hair.
His attire consisted of black armor, intricately engraved with ancient runes across the chest and abdomen.
This was no common armor but a high-grade artifact, a legacy passed down through countless generations.
The man sat with his eyes closed, his head casually propped on his palm in a posture of profound relaxation.
As Yuria drew nearer, she could sense the overwhelming aura emanating from him.
She knew that were he not actively suppressing his power, she would never have been able to approach him.
Arriving at the base of the throne, she knelt on a single knee, inclining her head in deference.
