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Alaric soared quietly through the sky, the wind brushing past him like a gentle reminder that he was no longer running for his life.

This time, he wasn't ripping through the air like a blade—he was floating, slower, more thoughtful.

Something was changing. No—he was changing.

Maybe this was always who he truly was beneath all the pressure. Survival, endless tasks, the crushing weight of expectations—they'd buried his real self somewhere deep.

Now, with the Divine Heart beating in his chest and no immediate crisis on his heels, that buried self was clawing its way to the surface. And strangely... he liked it.

He felt free.

Not caged by duty. Not suffocated by fear. Just—free. Even if the Divine Heart was influencing him, it didn't matter. Not if it made him feel alive.

His golden eyes locked onto the horizon, and in the near distance, nestled among the darkening trees, was Valderroth.

Back before dusk. Just like he promised.

He descended into the nearby forest—careful, subtle—landing with a soft thud among the fallen leaves. No need to make a dramatic entrance. A little normalcy wouldn't hurt.

He strolled casually through the outer gates of Veldroth, his cloak catching the amber light of the setting sun. The guards barely glanced at him—his presence was already familiar enough to pass without question.

When he reached the front steps of the manor, he exhaled.

Home.

The wooden door creaked open under his touch.

"...Master?"

Three voices, fragile and anxious, called out almost at once.

There they were.

Aurevia. Serineth. Cellione.

Waiting for him in the foyer like they'd been pacing circles for hours.

Their eyes widened, and in the next instant—

They ran to him.

All three crashed into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around him, as if he might vanish again if they didn't hold him down.

"You're really back,"

Aurevia whispered, voice cracking ever so slightly.

"I thought…"

Serineth buried her face into his coat.

"You didn't even say goodbye properly."

"You idiot…"

Cellione muttered, fists clutching his shirt.

"Don't do that again."

Alaric blinked—stunned for a breath—and then slowly, tenderly, wrapped his arms around them. He didn't say anything at first. Just let them hold on, let the silence speak.

"I'm sorry,"

He said at last, his voice low but steady.

"I should've told you more. Trusted you more."

"We're not your decoration pieces, you know,"

Cellione snapped, though her voice trembled.

"We're your vessels. Or... whatever this is."

"Don't scare us like that again,"

Aurevia murmured.

"I won't,"

Alaric replied, gently resting his chin atop their heads.

"You're right. I didn't think... I was just trying to protect you. But maybe that's not enough anymore."

They stayed like that for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other like a knot of fear, frustration, and relief finally loosening.

Then—

A dry voice cut in from the side.

"Well, well. Looks like the Mistresses have gotten a lot bolder since I last checked."

Virellen.

Standing a few steps behind, arms crossed, grinning like the cat that caught three very flustered mice.

Her grey eyes sparkled with mischief—pure, unapologetic teasing layered beneath every word.

The girls practically jumped back from Alaric like they'd been zapped.

"W-We weren't—"

Cellione started.

"I mean—it's not like—"

Aurevia flailed slightly.

Serineth's face turned bright red, and she coughed. Loudly. Several times.

"Water. I need water."

Alaric raised an eyebrow, biting back a smirk.

"You good?"

"I'm fine,"

Serineth said in a voice several octaves higher than normal.

"Totally fine. Peachy."

Virellen clicked her tongue.

"Peachy? Really? You look like a strawberry sundae that saw God."

"Virellen!"

Serineth shrieked.

The maid shrugged with exaggerated innocence.

"What? I'm just happy Master's home. You girls are acting like you were about to start a cult or something."

"Don't tempt us,"

Cellione muttered under her breath, still red-faced.

Alaric chuckled—really chuckled this time. The warmth in his chest didn't feel foreign anymore. It felt earned.

"Alright, alright,"

He said, running a hand through his golden hair.

"Let's go inside. I'll explain everything. Dinner's on me."

"You cooking?"

Virellen blinked.

"Wait—do you cook?"

"Emotionally, yes,"

Alaric deadpanned.

The girls laughed—soft, breathless, but real.

The manor's door closed behind them with a click, shutting out the dusk and welcoming in something warmer.

Something that felt a lot like home.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

The dining room was calm, aglow with a soft, ambient shimmer. Magical sconces lining the walls pulsed gently—like the room itself was holding its breath, listening.

The girls sat around the long oak table, plates mostly cleared, cups still warm. The warmth of the evening meal lingered—but Alaric hadn't spoken in a while. Not really.

He finally leaned back in his chair, golden eyes reflecting the enchanted lights overhead.

"Let me tell you what I ran after so desperately. "

He began, tone casual—but too steady to be small talk.

"Do you know why the World Tree in Eldros is destroyed?"

The question drew a frown from Cellione.

"That's... not a legend?"

Legend has it that the the world tree was once alive and was destroyed in the battle of a hero and demon. But most believe that it just died and withered.

"It's history. Forgotten history."

Serineth blinked.

"You're serious?"

Alaric nodded.

"The World Tree was real. Alive. Massive enough to cast a shadow over cities. And it wasn't just nature. It was sacred. Divine."

Aurevia's voice dropped.

"Then... how did it fall?"

"One hundred thousand years ago,"

Alaric said, his voice even,

"two beings clashed beneath its roots. A demon. And a hero."

The table fell silent, save for the gentle hum of the magic lamps.

"The hero fought to protect the world. The demon fought to consume it. In the end, the hero won—but only just. He couldn't kill the demon... so he sealed him. But not before their battle tore the World Tree apart."

Alaric paused, letting that truth settle like dust over old stone.

"But here's where it gets strange,"

He continued, glancing at each of them in turn.

"We've already met that demon."

Aurevia's eyes widened.

"You mean—"

"The one in the dungeon,"

He confirmed.

"Yes. That one."

"The one that nearly killed us,"

Serineth whispered, her voice barely audible.

"That very one. And you remember the wound on his chest?"

They nodded.

"That wasn't ours. That scar was left by the hero. A remnant of their battle. It's why we had a chance at all."

The flickering enchantments along the ceiling dimmed briefly, like the room itself had exhaled.

"I met what was left of the hero,"

Alaric said quietly.

"His Will. Bound to the ruin where their final clash took place. He told me... he'd been reincarnated. Just like I was."

Cellione leaned forward.

"Did he say why?"

Alaric nodded once.

"He wanted someone—anyone—to be ready when the world started crumbling again. His Will remained... to pass the baton."

In the far corner, Virelan scoffed lightly, reclining in her chair.

"Let me guess. He told you to 'go save the world,' right? Some kind of chosen one speech?"

Alaric chuckled, a dry sound.

"You'd think so, huh? But no. Nothing that dramatic. He just looked at me and said... 'Support the world. Keep it from being destroyed.'"

The girls blinked.

"That's it?"

Cellione said.

"Yup."

"Sounds fake,"

Virellen muttered, sipping from her cup.

"Right? I thought so too,"

Alaric said.

"But then I felt it—Elyssira's Grace. The divine didn't lie. It confirmed everything."

"And what did he say about the demon?"

Aurevia asked softly.

Alaric exhaled.

"He said it's not over. That the seal's weakening. The demons... they're coming back. And this time, the war might not leave survivors. It's not just another skirmish—it's the war. The one that ends it all."

Not really. The Hero said no such thing. The Hero probably wasn't even aware that the Demons are going to attack again soon. He just remembered the plot. That the Current Hero will fight the demons.

He said that to make them aware of the future danger. He can't just out right say that he knew this from a novel he knew nothing about. His reputation will take a hit.

Besides, this is now his reality. Mixing it with fiction doesn't fit right with him. He likes to keep those thoughts away.

No one spoke.

Outside, a breeze swept through the enchantments guarding the windows, and the lights dimmed for a heartbeat before blooming gently again.

Serineth's voice broke the silence.

"So... what now?"

Alaric's gaze swept across them again—his companions, his strength.

"That's what I wanted to ask you,"

He said quietly.

"What should I do?"

The question hung in the air—gentle, but heavy.

Alaric didn't often ask for guidance. Not like this.

So when he did, it carried weight.

Aurevia was the first to speak, ever composed, her back straight, hands folded neatly on the table.

"You already know what to do, Master,"

She said softly.

"You wouldn't have asked if your heart wasn't already leaning toward action. You just… wanted to hear it from us. And we will say it: we'll stand with you. Whatever comes."

She looked him in the eyes—firm, clear, and calm.

"Let the world lean on you, if it must."

Alaric gave her a small smile.

"I figured you'd say that."

"I figured you knew I'd say it,"

Dhe replied with a little tilt of her head. A soldier's loyalty with a housemaid's grace.

Cellione, ever the skeptic, narrowed her eyes.

"And what happens if you 'support the world' so well that the gods decide to throw more responsibility at you? What if you become a puppet of divine will? Did the Will say anything about that?"

Alaric raised an eyebrow.

"That's... very specific paranoia."

"Look,"

Cellione said, tossing her blonde braid over her shoulder,

"you're talking about prophecy and war and world-ending demons. Forgive me if I want to read the fine print on our divine mission contract."

"I appreciate the caution,"

He said, nodding.

"But... Elyssira's Grace didn't bind me. It empowered me. And I'm still me."

She frowned for a second longer, then sighed and muttered,

"Fine. I'll complain later if it all blows up. But I'm in too."

Serineth had been quiet the whole time, stirring her tea absently. Her voice was quiet, but resolute.

"I want to help… because I'm scared."

Everyone looked at her.

"I don't want to see another dungeon like that again. I don't want to feel that hopeless again,"

She said, fingers tightening around the cup.

"If you say there's a war coming, then... I want to be stronger. Strong enough to stand with you."

Alaric felt something catch in his chest—something warm and ancient, like recognition.

"Then we'll get stronger together,"

He said, reaching across to rest a hand over hers.

Serineth's face turned red instantly. She squeaked, nearly dropped her spoon, and then buried her face in her hands.

"D-Don't do that so suddenly!"

A muffled chuckle echoed from the corner. Virellen, still reclining like the chaos gremlin she was, drawled,

"My, my. Looks like the mistresses are growing bold these days."

All three girls leapt apart from Alaric as if struck by lightning.

"Sh-Shut up!"

Serineth squeaked, cheeks a deep crimson.

Cellione cleared her throat. Loudly.

Aurevia, to her credit, managed to maintain composure—barely—but the red tint on her ears betrayed her.

Virellen grinned, swinging her legs off the chair.

"I leave you alone for five minutes, and you're already reenacting romance dramas around the dinner table."

"Virellen,"

Aurevia warned.

"That's enough."

"Of course, Mistress."

Virellen bowed—deep and mocking.

"Your will is my command."

Alaric exhaled slowly, standing up.

"Alright. Enough teasing. We've got a world to support. And if we're going to be ready… we start tomorrow."

"Training?"

Cellione groaned.

"Planning,"

He said, smirking.

"Then training."

Aurevia stood as well, straightening her skirt.

"We'll be ready, Master."

Serineth nodded, eyes still a little wide, but voice stronger.

"We will."

Virellen leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable now.

"Just don't forget... even gods can bleed."

Alaric turned, golden eyes gleaming beneath the shifting glow of the magical lights.

"Then it's good I'm not one."

***

The dinner was done.Before anyone could rise from their chairs, a voice chimed in—light, playful, but laced with a curious seriousness.

"Master,"

Virellen said, placing her teacup down with surprising grace.

"May I make a suggestion as well?"

Alaric leaned back, surprised at her tone.

"Well, of course. Why not?"

The girls turned toward her, equally intrigued.

Virellen's expression, for once, lacked its usual glint of mischief. She sat up straighter, folded her hands on the table, and said plainly,

"Why don't you become a merchant?"

"A… merchant?"

Alaric echoed, blinking. The table collectively tilted their heads.

"Merchant?"

Aurevia repeated.

"Merchant?"

Cellione narrowed her eyes.

"Merchant?"

Serineth whispered.

Virelan nodded solemnly.

"Yes. A merchant."

The table was silent for a beat too long.

"I… thought you were joking,"

Alaric said.

"I never joke when I'm serious,"

She replied, lips twitching.

"Imagine it—you're from another world, right? With strange knowledge. Things like... the internet, missiles, nuclear bombs, automated systems, mass manufacturing, global communications. Words I barely understand but you toss around like breadcrumbs. Why not bring that knowledge here?"

She leaned in slightly, her grey eyes glinting beneath the ambient magic lights.

"Become the seed of a technological revolution. At the center of it all—you. A network only you can control. A merchant empire that doesn't just sell—redefines the very fabric of society. Industry, war, peace, faith, entertainment. All of it."

Alaric looked at her, and—for just a moment—there was something like awe in his gaze.

"Why… didn't I think of that?"

The girls turned to him, blinking as realization began to settle in.

Virellen simply smiled.

But the spark faded quickly as Alaric sat back and exhaled.

"Your idea is brilliant,"

He admitted,

"but it takes too much effort to raise a merchant house from nothing. Logistics, politics, staff, contracts, guild bureaucracy... It's all a mess. I don't have the patience for that. It's too—bothersome."

The girls nodded slowly, understanding. Even a man blessed by Elyssira could only do so much, and Alaric's tolerance for tedium was... famously thin.

But Virellen didn't miss a beat.

"Then maybe,"

She said,

"you shouldn't start from scratch."

Alaric looked up.

"What do you mean?"

She rose from her chair with a fluid motion, and for the first time that night, she bowed deeply, lifting the hem of her skirt in a proper noblewoman's curtsy. Her smile this time held no sarcasm—only old pride buried beneath dust and ash.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly,"

She said, voice measured.

"My name is Virellen Elowen Cyradis daughter of the Cyradis House—a long-standing merchant lineage of the capital."

Everyone froze except Alaric. He expected it some how. Virellen's grace wasn't something you get just by training in a academy. She was born with it.

"The Cyradis family,"

She continued,

"once sat among the five permanent merchant families of Caerwyn. Due to sabotage and… poor investment gambles, our company suffered a near collapse. We're not what we once were, but our licenses and name still stand. The infrastructure is there. Dormant. Waiting."

She lifted her head and looked him in the eye.

"If you desire a ready-made merchant foundation... I can give you one."

Aurevia blinked slowly.

"You… hid that from us?"

"Were you ever planning to tell us?"

Cellione asked, squinting.

"You're a noble?" Serineth squeaked.

"Minor noble,"

Virellen said coolly.

"My family doesn't hold lands. We own networks."

"But still,"

Cellione muttered.

"A noble pretending to be a commoner and serving another one..."

"Oh, please."

Virellen gave her signature teasing smile, the mask returning.

"The commoner pays better than most nobles out there."

Alaric chuckled at that.

"So? What are you asking of me?"

She met his gaze.

"Partner with me. Revive the house of Cyradis under your name. Build something new atop the old bones. I offer everything I have—connections, licenses, trade routes. You supply the vision."

Alaric leaned back, the room's magical lights casting long shadows across the dining table.

"…I'll need to think this through."

Virellen gave a small bow.

"Of course. It's not a decision you make on a whim."

A gentle hush returned to the room. One by one, the girls excused themselves, each thoughtful in their own way—some quietly contemplative, others more openly curious, even excited.

Eventually, only Alaric remained, his fingers absently brushing against the rim of his untouched teacup. The warmth had long since faded.

He stared into the dim glow above, mind adrift in the ripples of everything he'd learned that day.

The hero. The demon. The vision. The war to come. The weight of divine expectation. And now… a merchant empire?

What was his purpose in this world?

To fight?

To lead?

To save?

Or perhaps… to build?

The silence of the mansion settled around him like a cloak. Faint magical lights pulsed gently along the walls, soft as moonlight, as the night deepened.

Alaric stood up at last and walked slowly toward the balcony, where the stars stretched endless above a sleeping world.

There, with only the whispering wind and distant hum of mana lamps for company, he closed his eyes.

"…What should I do?"

He asked no one. Yet somehow, he felt the world listening.

-To Be Continued