The Extra Who Shouldn't Exist novel Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Chapter 29: Life of the protagonist ethan willams

POV: Ethan Williams

The first rays of dawn filtered through the crystal-paneled windows of the Ducal Estate, setting the room aglow with soft golden light. Birds chirped in synchrony, as if the entire natural world had rehearsed to welcome the chosen one.

Ethan Williams opened one eye.

"Ugh. Too bright. Tell the sun to tone it down," he muttered, burying himself deeper into his silk-stitched pillow mountain.

Knock knock.

"Young Lord Ethan," came the crisp, too-cheerful voice of Alfred, his personal butler of fifteen years, "your schedule for the day awaits."

Of course it does.

Ethan groaned and sat up, his platinum-blonde hair falling messily over one eye. With an annoyed flick, he brushed it back and looked at the tall man holding a crystal pad.

"Read it," Ethan said flatly.

Alfred adjusted his monocle. "At 8 a.m., a breakfast banquet with the Imperial Algae Guild…"

Ethan blinked. "Do I look like I want to eat algae pancakes while listening to fish enthusiasts argue about chlorophyll variants?"

"…9 a.m., etiquette training with Duchess Fontaine…"

"She tried to marry me off to her niece last week."

"…10 a.m., mandatory prayer at the Temple of the Light Goddess—"

"Let me guess, where they chant my name like I'm a golden retriever who cured cancer."

"…11 a.m.—"

"Alfred."

"Yes, Young Lord?"

"I am sixteen. I wield six elemental affinities, have a prophecy hanging over my head like a chandelier in a soap opera, and I'm about to attend the most cutthroat academy in the world. Maybe… just maybe, I could get a morning off?"

"…I'll reschedule the algae."

"Thanks, Alfie."

Alfred winced at the nickname, but bowed. "Of course, my Lord."

---

As the door closed behind him, Ethan let out a sigh and flopped back on the bed.

Ever since the Goddess of Light had whispered her grand prophecy into the Pope's ears—that Ethan Williams shall cleanse the world of darkness—his life had become a stage play.

Worshippers. Expectations. Applause he never asked for.

He stared at the ceiling.

"They all think I'm the golden child… the chosen one. But the path I walk? It's paved by others."

He flexed his fingers, feeling the hum of his elemental cores. Six elements—Light, Lightning, Wind, Water, Earth, and even the elusive Holy Flame.

But his family had made it clear: Reveal only two. Never show your full hand until you sit on the throne of power.

What kind of hero hides parts of himself to fit a narrative?

---

In the courtyard, golden tiles shimmered underfoot as Ethan faced off against his instructor, a Master-rank Sword Saint named Master Kael.

"Again," Kael barked. "Your stance is off."

"I just split a mountain dummy in half."

"With a flick of the wrist. That's not technique. That's brute force disguised as elegance."

Ethan exhaled and shifted his posture. The blade in his hand—Sun blade —hummed with divine energy. It responded only to him, given to him by the First King of Humanity himself.

It had happened a year ago during the Royal Concordia Summit, held once every decade in the Imperial Palace of Avaloria. As the heir to House Williams, Ethan had been forced to attend—dressed in ceremonial robes, smiling for politicians, and pretending not to be bored out of his mind.

While nobles debated reforms that would never happen, Ethan had wandered off, finding himself in the Hall of Legacy, a sealed-off chamber dedicated to the ancient heroes of humanity.

The air had changed the moment he stepped inside—thick, heavy with power, as if time itself held its breath.

Towering statues of ancient warriors lined the hall. Knights, mages, beast tamers, and kings. But one statue stood apart.

A figure clad in radiant armor, his sword buried in stone. No name. No plaque. Just an overwhelming aura that pressed against Ethan's soul.

He took a step closer, something pulling at his core.

Suddenly, the air crackled. Ethan's eyes widened.

> "You who bear the light… Do you seek purpose, or do you wait for fate?"

The voice was ancient, neither loud nor soft, but it echoed within his mind with the weight of centuries.

Ethan staggered back. "Who—"

> "I am the First King. The Flame that lit Humanity's path. I chose none during my life… but I choose you now because you are worthy."

Light exploded from the statue. The sword embedded in stone glowed white-hot, and Ethan collapsed to his knees as a torrent of divine knowledge flooded his mind.

His muscles locked. His heart thundered. Runes—ancient, forgotten—burned into his soul.

Images of war, of heavens split by blades of light. Of an art not forged by mortal hands.

> "This sword art is not of your era. It has no rank, for it was never measured. It is not meant to fit your world—it is meant to reshape it."

When the vision ended, Ethan was gasping on the floor. The statue had returned to silence, as if nothing had happened.

But within him, something had changed.

A name had etched itself into his spirit like fire.

> "Dawnbreaker Judgement."

Since that day, the sword art had evolved with him. It wasn't just a technique—it was a test. Each form pushed the limits of his power, demanding purity of intent and unwavering resolve.

Not even his family knew the full truth.

-----

As he moved through the forms, light flared from the blade. Each swing cleansed the air itself. Even Kael stepped back.

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