The extra Is too Strong – Chapter 113

The Extra is too strong

Chapter 113: The Extra Is Too Strong

Herto alternated his gaze between the two before asking,

“Do you know each other?”

“From our trainee days, briefly…”

Mordt trailed off.

It might not be the best idea to mention they hadn’t seen each other since Mordt beat him for picking a fight and sent him to the medical center, would it?

Herto called out to Pyon.

“Hey, you.”

“Yes? Yes!”

Pyon replied, his voice tense with the stiffness of a green recruit.

“Is it urgent, your visit for Sir Yurik?”

“Ah, the command is looking for the captain.”

“It’s urgent then. But are you in a rush?”


“Do you have any other urgent matters besides this message?”


Pyon looked around, wondering why Herto was acting this way.

Herto chuckled and patted Mordt’s shoulder.

“Sir Yurik, why not give your peer some time to chat?”

“That would be fine. Sir Pyon, take your time talking before you return.”

Yurik nodded at Mordt and then left with Herto.

‘Damn it, the nosy old man…’

Mordt, left alone with Pyon in this insanely awkward atmosphere, cursed Herto internally.

* * *

Silence descended.

Both Mordt and Pyon had no idea what to say, so they remained silent. The urge to flee was precisely the same for both of them.

Eventually, Mordt let out a small sigh and stood up.

“Let’s get out of here. Change of scenery.”

“Uh, okay.”

Mordt led the way and Pyon followed, his movements awkward.

They went to a place away from eavesdroppers, then Mordt spoke.

“It’s been a while.”


“Don’t be so frozen. Where’s the feisty spirit from when you used to clench your fists at the sight of me?”

At that, Pyon let out a deep sigh.

“I remember vividly what happened because of that so-called spirit, do you think I’d want more?”

“Well, you seem a bit more human now that you’ve learned your lesson.”


Pyon ground his teeth at the overt sarcasm.

Warm words were far off; their relationship wasn’t amicable.

One had provoked a fight, the other had retaliated with his fists; it was impossible to harbor good feelings.

‘…Still, maybe I’m being a bit too rough now.’

After experiencing a moment of self-reflection, Mordt asked,

“How did you end up here?”

“After being hospitalized because of you, I came back to find the world had changed. You changed it.”

Pyon still looked defeated but began to share his story.

After being severely injured by Mordt, Pyon had spent about ten days in the medical center before returning.

However, in that short time, Mordt had swept through the upper class like a tornado.

“Instructor Daisley was stripped of his position.”

“He was dismissed, not retired?”

“Exactly. And it was your duel of spirit with him that sparked it all.”

The duel of spirit between Mordt and Daisley became a high-profile event, especially with Kessner acting as a public witness.

Naturally, even the Grand Duke took interest.

Upon learning the whole story, the Grand Duke ordered an investigation into the conditions at the training ground.

Investigators sent from the higher-ups conducted a thorough inquiry, revealing Daisley’s transgressions.

Daisley, using his family’s influence to dominate the high class, had committed multiple illegal acts and even embezzled profits afterward.

After these revelations, Daisley was stripped of his instructorship and reduced to a criminal status.

Even his family couldn’t support him this time, and to disassociate themselves from Daisley’s corruption, they began cutting ties desperately.


Mordt hadn’t realized the situation would escalate so much.

His challenge to Daisley had merely been in response to being unfairly oppressed by an old-timer. He never intended to overturn the training ground’s social structure for the better.

Yet, the result seemed to have changed many people’s fates for the good, and Mordt felt an inexplicable sensation.

“My situation turned really bad.”

Pyon sighed.

As the leader of the 2nd platoon in the high class, Pyon had been a useful tool for Daisley’s control.

Their relationship was symbiotic—Daisley had extended various favors, and Pyon had been useful to him.

Naturally, trainees who had suffered under Daisley’s mistreatment viewed Pyon with disdain.

During the investigation, when delivering testimonies about Daisley, Pyon’s name came up frequently, always in a negative light.

“Still, I managed to avoid being labeled as a criminal.”

Pyon’s father had intervened.

Claiming that his son was merely following an instructor’s orders as a trainee, no official charges were made against Pyon.

However, this did not mean Pyon was completely off the hook.

Rapidly taking and passing the warrior exam as an escape, Pyon soon left the Grand Ducal City.

That, too, was his father’s decision.

Although Pyon was a bastard, his father, a legitimate Bernas scion, had prevented him from becoming a criminal. But for the father, having his name linked with the upheaval Daisley caused was an embarrassment.

And for a nobleman with high-standing blood, it was not unusual to distance himself from shame.

“Right after becoming a warrior, I was shoved into some backwater village. It was so peaceful.”

Pyon scoffed at the absurdity.

The technique for pestering a Bernas bastard disfavored by the power elites was simple.

Send them where feats of valor are rare.

Place Pyon in an ordinary duchy force, somewhere without much conflict.

For bastards of Bernas, it brought torment.

Burning with combat instincts and the desire to prove themselves as warriors, they had no outlet for their passions.

“Couldn’t display my skills at all. It was way too peaceful. Occasionally, monsters would show up, but even those were handled by local guards.”

Despite his achievement of becoming a warrior, Pyon was placed in a location where he had no chance to show his worth, driving him nearly insane.

Yet, he trained diligently, hoping for an opportunity to prove himself. Perhaps a band of marauders might come from another region, or a minor demonic influx that unleashes menacing creatures?

Holding onto such slim hopes, he waited for an opportunity, but to no avail. After eight months, the chance Pyon waited for never came. All he had to show for it was quelling drunkards or smashing unruly boars’ skulls.

“Then I heard from a retired veteran turned hunter. The North is perpetually understaffed, so anytime fresh blood requests a transfer, they’ll approve it.”

Moreover, if the gatekeeper forces agreed to his transfer, not even his father’s influence from the Grand Ducal City would reach there.

“So, four days ago, I arrived here. After being on standby for two days, they placed me in this unit. It’s been a stroke of luck for me.”

“An independent operation unit is no cakewalk.”

“I know. But there’s also more opportunity to earn credit, right? I’m prepared.”

Determination blazed in Pyon’s eyes.

Mordt quietly observed him and asked,

“Why go to such lengths?”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it good enough to live leisurely in peace?”

“Are you serious?”

The disdain in Pyon’s voice was akin to hearing a bad joke.

“A life growing dull in a place without strife? Are you insulting me?”

“Is it just that?”


Mordt’s question made Pyon flinch.

Mordt’s piercing gaze seemed to see right through him.

After a long silence, Pyon finally spoke, surprising Mordt with unexpected words.

“…Mordt, they say you’re the Grand Duke’s son.”


“Have you ever called him ‘Father’? Even once?”

Mordt tried to conceal his confusion as he replied,


“Me neither.”

A bitter smile crossed Pyon’s lips.

“It’s the same for everyone. He’s my father, but I’ve never called him that. Even when we faced each other in private, it was the same.”

Why Pyon felt compelled to share such personal grievances with Mordt was unclear.

Because they were both bastards?

Or because, since leaving the Grand Ducal City, he found someone to confide in about the happenings there?

One thing was for certain—he couldn’t stop the words pouring from his mouth.

“I’ve always wanted to call him that, at least once. Or hoped he’d look at me and say, ‘That’s my son.’”


Mordt didn’t know what to say, understanding the yearning that Bernas’ bastard children harbored.

It went beyond what he learned through the Mark of Sedok—the lived experience as a Bernas made it evident.

However, for Mordt, it felt like someone else’s tale; his roots were not of the illegitimate Mordt but of Earthling Eom Tae-Sung.


After venting, Pyon frowned and let out a sigh.

“Damn it. I’m not even drunk, and what’s this…”

Flushed with embarrassment after unloading his thoughts, he changed the subject.

“It seems we’ve talked enough. Anything else you want to say?”

“Nothing more.”

“Then, I’ll be off.”


“What now?”

“Good luck in your endeavors.”

Pyon’s eyes widened at Mordt’s blunt remark.

“I’ll take it gratefully. Same to you.”

With a smirk, he sauntered away.

* * *

Fortunes for Mordt’s unit were improving day by day.

In less than two months since they began activity, they’d firmly established their prowess.

Not only were basic supplies provided, custom-ordered gear catered to personal specifications was now granted—a privilege reserved for a select few in the entire gatekeeper forces.

Moreover, Mordt, as the unit leader, was offered a residence within Antak Fortress, allowing for daily commutes.

Like at the Bernas Grand Ducal City, two servants were appointed to him.

“It’s tough to get that mid-level warrior badge, really.”

Keyel sighed deeply.

He, along with Leon and Eriu, still bore the rank of regular warriors.

But their achievements were rapidly accumulating, and having recently caught a lord-class demon, they expected a promotion to mid-warrior within a few months.

Whoooosh! Boom!

At their designated training grounds, loud noises echoed.

Parwel had set up a sound barrier to dampen the noise leaking out from the intense sparring session inside.

Mordt and Eriu were the ones exchanging fierce blows.

Eriu hammered with a hefty club, and Mordt deftly defended, moving as little as possible—a testament to his skill.

Each clash shook the earth and resonated through the air.

Despite the sound barrier, the cacophony reached beyond its confines.

Keyel clicked his tongue.

“They’re getting more terrifying by the day.”

“And increasingly careless with power control.”

Leon added his observation.

Only Mordt could spar with Eriu one-on-one.

Others could only train with her in team exercises, where all five would synchronize movements.

For Eriu was too unbridled in strength, which even Leon discovered; after being struck with her club, seeing stars, he swore off any repeat attempts.

And the training didn’t stop at physical exchange.

Eriu possessed the ability to wield ice. She hardly grasped the nature of her power, but it was there.

As Eriu released her chilling waves indiscriminately, she tilted her head in thought.

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