The Extra Wants Control

The valley pulsed with the raw energy of desperation. Neveah, a phantom woven from the very fabric of darkness, drifted through the carnage, his movements devoid of sound or flourish. His crimson eyes, the only spark of life amidst his inky cloak, scanned the battlefield with a cold, detached intensity. He wasn't driven by bloodlust this time. He'd satiated that hours ago.

This, the final act of the exam, was about observation, a clinical assessment. He needed pawns – expendable pieces he could manipulate in the intricate games to come. More importantly, he needed to understand the strengths and limitations of the Blessed he would inevitably face.

His gaze flickered to a group of three figures - a human swordsman, a dwarven warrior, and a wiry elf mage. They fought with a practiced efficiency, each covering the other's weaknesses. The human, a whirlwind of steel, deflected blows meant for the dwarf while the elf, his staff crackling with arcane energy, cast spells that disoriented their opponents. This, was a force to be reckoned with.

Here, a human knight, his armor rent and bloodied, met his end by a hulking beastman wielding a spiked club. The knight's valiant charge, a flicker of defiance in the dying light, failed to pierce the beastman's savage fury.

There, a knot of elves, nimble and precise, weaved a deadly dance with a band of heavily armored dwarves. Their elven blades and arrows, singing a song of death, met the dwarven axes with a sickening clang.

A flash of silver caught his eye. Lara, the Elven Blessed, weaved through a pack of snarling Beastmen with a grace that belied her lethal intent. Her twin blades, enchanted with a green enery, danced a deadly ballet, leaving trails of sliced and cut corpses in their wake. Neveah noted her exceptional agility and also her blade skills.

Although there was a predictability in her movements, a reliance on finesse over raw power.

A booming laugh shattered the silence. Astrid, the Dwarven Blessed, stood amidst a wreckage of broken shields and crumpled bodies. Her warhammer, a weapon as large as some men themselves, was coated in molten rock, magma. Each swing was a miniature storm, sending shockwaves that rippled outwards, turning Beastmen into smoldering husks. Her strength was awe-inspiring, her ferocity unmatched.

Astrid was a raging inferno, but an inferno without direction.She lacked experience.

Suddenly, a blur of white and black tore through the battle lines. Kim, the Tigerkin Blessed, fought with a primal fury. Every swipe of her claws was a whirlwind of destruction, every pounce a devastating takedown. Unlike the others, Kim moved with a feral cunning, anticipating attacks and exploiting weaknesses. Neveah's muted gaze held a hint of something akin to approval.

This one… this one was interesting. The rawness, the unpredictability… it had potential.

Neveah catalogued their strengths, their weaknesses. Lara, though swift, was vulnerable to brute force. Kim and Astrid, they were powerful, lacked in experience.

Axl's fighting style showcases his reliance on instinct and his inability to adapt to the situation.His movements were erratic, his blows although powerful rained down with reckless abandon.

Frustration gnawed at Neveah. Fourteen hours he'd spent cloaked in the shadows, a silent observer to the carnage below. He'd witnessed displays of raw power, strategic brilliance, and even feral rage. Yet, the one he sought remained elusive.

He scoured the battlefield once more, his red eyes boring into the fray. Bodies littered the ground, friend and foe indistinguishable in the fading light. The blessed he'd observed earlier were gone – Lara, the swift elf, likely resting. Astrid, the dwarven powerhouse, probably leading a mop-up operation. Kim, the tigerkin berserker, perhaps succumbed to exhaustion.

Just eight hours remained. The allotted time, the very reason for this charade, loomed heavy. He couldn't leave without seeing Azrael.

A flicker of gold caught his eye. High atop a crumbling boulder, silhouetted against the bruised sky, stood a lone figure. He was clad in simple white robes that were now dusty and tattered, his head bowed in quiet contemplation. But the air crackled with a faint luminescence, a telltale sign of his element.

********************

[Neveah's pov]

As if on cue, Axl, a whirlwind of crimson scales and brute force, launched himself towards the aAn elimination attempt? The tension crackled in the air.

Sure, the blessed clashed. Axl, the dragon-blessed, barreled into Azrael, the human blessed, with the grace of a runaway bull. They traded blows, a blur of white robes and crimson scales, but it was a show, not a fight. No crackling auras, no earth-shattering blows. They sparred, then stopped, a silent understanding passing between them.

Frustration gnawed at me. Were they all so eager to play nice? Or was there something more? An unspoken agreement, perhaps, not to eliminate each other. Maybe the fragile alliance that would shatter as soon as the real conflict began. Wiping out one of their own blessed would be a slap in the face to their entire race.

More information. Always more. It was a constant thrumming in my head, a hunger for knowledge that wouldn't be satiated.

The air crackled with nervous excitement as the other blessed started filtering back towards the designated area. This "match" seemed over, with no clear victor. A dull thought settled in my chest. Should I disrupt this charade? Eliminate more people even the blessed? No.

I'd revealed enough for now.

Unlike my first life, I wouldn't be a fool. Piling up points wouldn't guarantee a top rank. No leader in their right mind would allow an unknown, unblessed individual to outrank their own championed warriors (I'm also not revealing my Royal status anytime soon). They'd see it as a mockery of their power.

No. Subtlety is the key. I've shown enough to be noticed, yet remain an enigma. So I'll wait.

The simulated battlefield dissolved around me, the stench of blood and dust fading into the antiseptic sterility of the training hall. Eight grueling hours. Eight hours of posturing, petty squabbling, and ultimately, a disappointing lack of true combat.

A tense silence hung in the air. Blessed and non-blessed alike emerged from the simulation, weariness etched on their faces. The camaraderie forged in the initial stages had fractured, replaced by suspicion and simmering resentment. A flicker of something dark glinted in some eyes – the seeds of doubt undoubtedly planted during those simulated betrayals and murders.

A sickening smile stretched across the lead instructor's face, a grotesque display that felt like a reward for the chaos they'd orchestrated. So, that was the objective, then? To pit us against each other, to shatter any illusions of unity.

A clever tactic, I'll give them that. Divide and conquer, ensure no true alliances form. It seems unity has no place in their little game.To remind them that this wasn't a training exercise, but a ruthless competition.

Another test, the written exam, loomed tomorrow. Three hours to showcase knowledge, strategy, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of something unexpected. Another tool used to rank them, to separate the wheat from the chaff. And like the combat test, the results would be a tool for categorizing.

A ranking list of combat and written test shall be made separately and a combined evaluation list shall be made after.

Still, I wouldn't underestimate the value of a good rank. Higher rankings meant better living quarters, better training resources, and perhaps more importantly, the ability to choose my classmates, high rankers will be placed together. Surrounding myself with the weak wouldn't do.

I would excel, naturally. But how much? How much could I reveal without drawing unwanted attention?

As the students shuffled out, their gazes flickered towards me, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in their eyes. Good. Let them wonder and fear, I don't want to deal with annoying drama. Let them simmer in the uncertainty.

With a languid stretch, I ignored the curious glances thrown my way and headed towards the dormitories. The real test had just begun, and I wouldn't waste this opportunity to establish myself as a force to be reckoned with.

**************

The steam from the shower hung heavy in the air, clinging to the coolness of my skin as I finished drying off. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the harsh vibration a jarring note in the quiet room. Two years of honing my darkness element had yielded many unexpected benefits. Not only could I cloak myself in shadows, but I could extend that cloak to information itself. This call, for instance.

The caller could be tracked, their location easily pinpointed. Not me, though.

The call wouldn't be traced – a perk of being the receiver, not the sender. It was like masking the phone booth itself, not just the me receiving it. My voice, too, would be encrypted, a tangled mess of sound decipherable only by those I'd pre-marked with a trace of my darkness element.Only ones who can bypass it were people with Absolute and above level proficiency in darkness manipulation.

Still that didn't mean I just left my people defenseless they were using high end phone's that couldn't be easily tracked, yes they could be tracked but that was after a lot of effort. This was just extra precaution on my part.

"Sir," the man spoke, his voice a familiar rasp, "some people came in looking for your information."

A flicker of amusement touched me. Efficient, these people. But predictable. "Did you give them what I prepared?" I inquired, my voice a low murmur that only he could understand.

"Yes," he replied curtly.

"Good," I said, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. "Now, it's time for the next phase. I want you to start building a network. I want a vast network, a web of informants stretching far and wide. Be meticulous in your selection, recruit those with talent and a thirst for something more. Discreetly, of course.

I'll be visiting you soon to discuss this further and finalize the plan."

"Yes... Master," came the man's hushed reply.

"Now, don't they work fast?" I mused, a wry smile playing on my lips. "Barely a glimpse, and here they come sniffing after me. It seems I've piqued their curiosity."

Two years. Two years of meticulous planning, building my network in the shadows. It wasn't easy. Some were receptive, their skills and ambition aligning with my vision. Others required a... firmer touch.

Coercion, manipulation – necessary tools in this game. And a few, a lucky few, were bound by debts of gratitude, saved lives owed to my intervention.

Yet, trust was a luxury I couldn't afford. Unbeknownst to them, a touch, a brush of my darkness element marked each new addition. A silent contingency, a failsafe against betrayal. Added to this, a subtle vampiric charm, a gentle erosion of their will, nudging them towards loyalty. Not mindless slaves, but individuals subtly reshaped, their loyalty subtly bent towards me.

My plan was simple and easy well not that easy. I craved an information network, a vast, invisible web feeding me knowledge from every corner of the academy and beyond while also controlling information given to people.

Creating it from scratch was too slow.

I needed a catalyst, a spark to ignite interest.

And what better spark than myself?

A powerful unknown, shrouded in mystery. I displayed just enough strength in the "tests," enough to pique curiosity without revealing my full hand. The instructors, these supposed leaders and even the students, had fallen prey to it.

I displayed enough power and skill during the test to pique curiosity, to make people question the enigma that was Neveah. They'd search for information, naturally, and when they came up empty - no lineage, no history, a void where there should be details – they'd scramble for any scraps they could find.

That's where my network came in. Through them, I'd let out a trickle of information. Just the basics – a name, a vague origin, a glimpse of strength and potential.

Trivial information, yet more than any other source could offer.

And then, the inevitable. They'd seek more. The game was afoot. They would contact me again, desperate for knowledge. And with each interaction, I'd tighten my grip, weaving a web of information exchange.

This initial leak would be my bait. They'd seek me out, desperate for insider knowledge, for a connection to the unknown. Slowly, methodically, I'd convert these desperate contacts into loyal informants. A network, much like the legendary Beggars Sect or the Hao Clan back in the Murim world, would form in the shadows.

A network where information flowed freely, bought and sold with gold and secrets as currency.

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