Transmigrating as an Extra, But the Heroine Has Regressed?!

Meanwhile, word of the duel had already reached the first-year training ground.

The younger students dropped their drills and rushed to the edges of Ground Zero, whispering in shock as they pieced together what was happening.

"Kael’s fighting Darius? The rank third of a second-year?"

"He’ll die out there!"

"Why would he even agree to something so stupid?"

Among them, Cecelia’s eyes widened with alarm. Without thinking, she took a step forward. "I have to go—Kael needs help!"

But before she could move, a hand gripped her wrist firmly.

"Don’t," Elysia said flatly.

Cecelia turned, startled. "But he’s hurt—can’t you see? He’ll be killed!"

Elysia’s gaze remained fixed on the distance where Kael fought.

"If you go now, you’ll only humiliate him further. Do you think he’d want you to interfere? Let him fight his own battle. Let him suffer if he must."

Cecelia hesitated, her chest tightening. She wanted to argue, but the quiet weight of Elysia’s words froze her in place.

Slowly, she withdrew her hand, though her expression remained troubled.

Not far from them, Edwin leaned lazily against a training post, arms folded.

His lips curved into a smirk. "Hmph. He should’ve known better. Challenging Darius... what a fool." His voice carried no sympathy, only disdain.

But while some hesitated and others mocked, two figures broke away from the Ground Zero field.

Jin Halden and Veyla, bolted toward Ground One the moment they heard the whispers.

"Damn it, Kael," Jin muttered under his breath, his fists clenched. "I can’t let my classmate being bullied and humiliated?"

"Save the lecture for later," Veyla snapped.

"If we don’t hurry, he’ll bleed out before we even get there."

Back in Ground One, the scene grew intense.

Kael lay sprawled in the dirt, his body trembling, his uniform torn and soaked through with blood.

The tungsten sword still rested near his hand, but it felt impossibly heavy now—more like a chain binding him to the earth than a weapon of hope.

Darius paced slowly in front of him, lifting his blade as though savoring the moment. His laughter rang out again, cruel and triumphant.

"Look at you. The mighty challenger. You can barely move. Did you really think you were my equal?" He leaned down slightly, his eyes flashing with mockery.

"I am Darius, rank third and You? You’re nothing."

The second-year students cheered him on, some clapping, others shaking their heads at Kael’s battered form. To them, the outcome was already decided.

Kael coughed, blood splattering against the ground. His vision swam, but still, deep inside, something burned faintly—a stubborn spark refusing to die.

(His strength... his speed... I can’t match it. But I... won’t let it end here. Not like this.)

The murmurs grew louder as more first-years filtered into the viewing area, craning their necks to see.

A duel between classes was rare enough, but seeing one of their own bloodied and beaten stirred a storm of emotions—fear, anger, and a dawning realization of just how wide the gap between them and the second-years truly was.

Thɪs chapter is updated by novel·fıre·net

And still, Kael struggled on the ground, his body broken, his spirit clawing desperately to remain standing.

The dirt beneath him darkened with blood. His breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps. Yet his hand inched slowly, painfully, toward the hilt of the tungsten sword once more.

The circle of students around Ground One had grown thick, their whispers buzzing like a hive.

Darius stood tall in the center, his blade at the ready, smirking down at the battered figure before him.

Kael, bloodied and trembling, reached out with shaking fingers.

His hand pressed into the dirt, smearing crimson into the ground as he dragged himself toward the weapon that had slipped from his grasp.

The tungsten sword lay dull and heavy beside him, its grey sheen almost mocking in the lantern light.

"Still crawling?" Darius scoffed, lifting his sword as though to strike again.

"Do yourself a favor and stay down. You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough."

But Kael didn’t stop. His breathing was ragged, his arms shaking, but his hand stretched further.

His fingertips brushed the hilt—slick with his own blood.

From the edge of the arena, a voice split.

"HEYYYYY!"

Everyone’s heads snapped upward. At the top of the steps above Ground One, Jin Halden stood, his fists clenched tight at his sword.

His sharp voice boomed across the field. Beside him, Veyla skidded to a halt, her chest heaving from the sprint.

"What the hell are you doing to him?!" Jin roared, his fury unmistakable. His words drew gasps and murmurs from the gathered crowd.

First-years rarely spoke against second-years, let alone shouted at them.

Darius glanced up briefly, unimpressed. His smirk widened. "Another one? Don’t worry, your friend will join him soon if you keep yapping."

But Jin’s glare never wavered, his voice dripping with venom. "Touch him again, and you’ll regret it."

The crowd stirred, some whispering in excitement, others in fear.

But down on the ground, Kael barely heard them. His focus was entirely on the hilt of his sword.

Blood seeped from his palm as he grasped it, smearing across the rough surface of the tungsten blade.

The moment his blood touched metal, something shifted.

A faint hum echoed from the weapon, low at first, then growing louder, vibrating through the air.

Students stepped back in alarm as the grey metal began to change.

Kael’s eyes widened as the dull, lifeless surface of the sword bled into black, like ink seeping through parchment.

Within seconds, the entire blade had darkened, transforming into something far more ominous.

Its edges glimmered faintly with a violet sheen, and a thick black aura rippled outward, distorting the air around it.

Gasps rippled through the watching crowd.

"What... what is that?!"

"The sword—it’s....!"

"That’s no ordinary blade..."

Kael’s hand tightened around the hilt, and a surge of strength rushed into his body.

The burning pain in his chest, his legs, his arms—faded in an instant. His wounds no longer screamed.

Instead, his veins thrummed with raw, cold power.

His vision sharpened, his breathing steadied. And then... his eyes changed.

The once-clear blue irises darkened, twisting into a shade of deep, glowing crimson of red colour.

A thin black ring circled them, like a shadow lurking within.