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

The Shadow Disciple raised a hand to cut the talk.

"We will not be brutish fools. We will plan. Varrun — you will study their strengths. If any show promise, you take the source. Take their mana by night, make them stumble. Serath, you will pick the prey from a distance. No one walks away without feeling a pinprick. Grathun will hold the center of battle and absorb their first burst. Kaelthor — you break their leaders. Rylik — you run the lines, sow panic, crush morale."

Rylik’s eyes shone. "Chaos is my craft."

"Good." The Shadow Disciple looked at each of them. "And remember, we look like men. We will travel to the outskirts of Silverroot as humans. We will talk to a hunter’s guild there, bribe a patrol, leave false tracks leading them where we want. Darien will help with the false rumor about beast packs in the southern vale. The first-years will move prepared for beasts, not for blades with purpose."

"They will be easy then," Serath said, and his fingers twitched as if around a bowstring.

"Beasts do not strategize. Children will die from a clear shot."

The Shadow Disciple’s voice dropped low. "We will leave none," he repeated.

"The second lord grows tired of weaklings who cannot secure our lands. If the academy thinks to sweep our footholds, they shall find their hands empty. And the message will spread: demons do not retreat. Demons take."

Varrun’s lips moved almost to a laugh. "And what of the apprentice who might survive?" he asked. "Some first-years show stubbornness."

"Then he will be taught by pain," the Disciple said. "Pain teaches better than mercy."

They turned then to the map, fingers tracing routes, whispering angles and traps. Varrun sketched illusions that would echo across the stream and hide false openings.

Kaelthor drew lines of engagement with a sword flick in the air, all flash and sweeping arcs.

Grathun planned to plant rocks that would channel charge, to stand like a living dam.

Rylik suggested burning a small corpse to force them into a choke. Serath marked high pines and silent perches where arrows would wait.

All these plans were simple and cruel, not grand designs but precise blows.

The Shadow Disciple nodded at every suggestion, letting them speak until the map was a web of lines and crosses.

"At night," he said finally, "two of you will meet Darien at the old ferry. He will have a list of patrols. We move like traders. We move like lost men. We move like friends. No one pays us attention. The glade will be our stage. And once the first arrow falls, follow through. Leave no one to carry the tale home, no survivors to warn others."

They answered in a chorus with their voices tight and eager.

"Yes, my lord." "Yes." "It will be done."

The Shadow Disciple leaned back, tasting triumph like iron on his tongue.

"One more thing," he added, eyes narrowing on Kaelthor.

"We must not only kill. We must humiliate. Let Kaelthor take a trophy from the strongest. Let them have an example to remember."

Kaelthor’s grin was quick and ugly. "I will take pride from them," he said. "I will carve my name into their memory."

The five demons bowed, and their silhouettes spread across the cavern like shadows breaking free. Outside the lair, the world went on in ignorant softness.

Inside, plans were sealed in whispers.

The Shadow Disciple watched them go, and when the last shadow folded back into the dark, he sat alone once more on his brittle throne.

"Six days," he muttered to himself. "Six days until the academy learns what beasts truly look like."

If the world listened, it would hear only the wind. But in six days, in the Silverroot Glade valley, the wind would carry screams — and the memory of five men who had looked like humans but believed in sins more than mercy.

Just as the five demons were still discussing their plan, a strange vibration echoed through the hall, a dark pulse that came from the throne itself.

The Shadow Disciple’s eyes narrowed.

"...Ah, looks like the Second Lord is calling for us."

The five deadly demons immediately dropped to one knee, their heads lowered in respect.

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"My lord," said one of them, "the Second Lord has summoned us. We shall take our leave for now."

The Shadow Disciple waved his hand lazily, resting his chin on his black-gloved palm.

"Alright, alright... go, go. Shoo, shoo... I have enough noise in this chamber already."

The demons bowed deeply once more before fading into the swirling shadows that appeared behind them.

A faint hiss filled the air as the darkness swallowed their figures, leaving the chamber in silence again.

The Shadow Disciple leaned back in his throne, sighing. "Tch. Always so formal. You’d think demons would know how to relax after a few centuries of chaos."

But his peace didn’t last long. The heavy doors of the hall burst open, and a figure stumbled inside, Dakin, one of his loyal demons.

His wings were torn, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat and dark mist clung to his skin.

"My lord... my lord!" Dakin shouted, dropping to one knee as he caught his breath.

The Shadow Disciple didn’t move. He simply tilted his head.

"What brings you here in such a mess, Dakin?"

Dakin raised his head slightly, his red eyes glowing with fear.

"There’s... there’s a hero, my lord. A human hero. He’s from the Arcadia Academy — a first-year!"

The Shadow Disciple let out a short laugh. "A first-year? And that’s worth barging in for? You look like you’ve flown through fire for this nonsense."

Dakin shook his head quickly. "No, my lord. This one is... different. He doesn’t fight like a human."

"What do you mean... different?"

Dakin gulped, lowering his gaze.

"He uses the skills... the same way we do. His aura—his movement—it’s like one of us. Like a demon."

The Shadow Disciple slowly leaned forward on his throne.

"...You’d better not be mistaken, Dakin."

"There are no humans who can mimic our demonic energy. Unless..."

He trailed off, eyes narrowing to slits.

Dakin hesitated before speaking again. "I saw it clearly, my lord. His attacks left traces of shadow energy. His strikes were fast and violent—just like a Shadowborn."

The Shadow Disciple stood up from his throne.

"Interesting," he murmured. "A human with demonic energy... That could only mean one of two things."

He raised his hand, and a black flame appeared on his palm, flickering with a sinister hum.

"Either he made a forbidden pact..."

"Or," he smiled thinly, "one of my lost fragments has finally awakened inside a human."

Dakin’s eyes widened. "Your fragment, my lord?"

The Shadow Disciple chuckled slowly. "Yes. I once spread my essence across the battlefield decades ago. It seems one foolish soul has inherited it."

He turned toward the dark corridor behind the throne.

"Prepare a scouting team. Keep your distance. I want to know everything about this hero — his name, his strength, his connection to the academy."

Dakin bowed deeply. "As you command, my lord."

The Shadow Disciple smiled faintly.

"Arcadia Academy... a place where light gathers," he muttered.

"How amusing that darkness has started to bloom there instead."

Then he turned away, the hall filled with whispers of dark magic as he vanished into the void behind the throne.