The Extra Can't be A Hero

The Golden Dragon Order.

The Solaris House's most legendary Knight Order.

Knight Orders were typically organised around a specialisation, each vital in Solaris House's grand design.

The Black Dragon Order operated in the shadows, excelling in espionage, covert operations, and the relentless pursuit of demonic threats. In contrast, the White Dragon Order stood as the stalwart guardians of the Solaris House, devoted to defence and protection, often forming the first and last line of defence.

The Violet Order functioned as the realm's internal law enforcers—its police force—maintaining order and justice within the cities. The Brown Order, masters of wilderness survival and tracking, served as rangers, patrolling the vast and untamed frontiers. Meanwhile, the kingdom's military might was divided among the Green, Blue, and Grey Orders, which comprised the army, navy, and air force, each a cornerstone of the nation's defence.

Yet among all these Orders, one stood apart—the Golden Dragon Order.

Unlike their peers, they did not specialise in any single domain, because they didn't need to. If they were known for anything, it was sheer, unrelenting power. Every knight inducted into their ranks was capable of facing entire battalions alone. As a unit, the Golden Dragon Order represented an unstoppable force, unmatched across the continent, feared and revered in equal measure.

And their Commander was the unparalleled Gallahad Solaris.

A Sun Knight who had condensed seven Suns, he stood at the summit of the Solaris House. Yet it was not merely his cultivation that made him exceptional. His raw strength was legendary, his battlefield experience unrivalled, and his strategic brilliance beyond measure.

These qualities combined to earn him command over the most formidable Knight Order in the world.

Even Alrock Solaris, the reigning Lord of the Solaris House and Gallahad's liege, offered him deference.

So for such a figure to be offering Leon his unfiltered support…

"Lord Gallahad, thank you for helping us."

Standing alone in the conference room with the imposing figure, Leon gave the man one more reverent bow of thanks. Once Eldorin realised they had back-up, the tension eased and spirits lifted. After all, if Gallahad was present, they didn't have to worry about the might of the Apostle.

"There's no need for that!" Gallahad laughed. "The scope of your mission had changed the moment that Apostle appeared. I bet Amon would say the same."

"Yeah…"

Leon thought back on the task Amon had assigned him: to investigate the lost city of El Dorado and the enigmatic Clay Emperor. Amon had warned him that the Demon Cult might be involved, but even Amon wasn't all-knowing. There was no way he could have foreseen that an Apostle of Samael's calibre would become entangled in this.

As the conversation steered, the Knight Commander and Leon joyfully shared tales from the past.

"It's been a while since I last saw you, and you've grown into a splendid young man! Your father would have been pleased to see your growth!"

"You knew my father?"

"Naturally," Gallahad said with a wry smile. "I'm not sure if he ever told you, but he was part of the Golden Order for a brief time. He disappeared shortly after his confirmation, so I didn't get many chances to speak with him, but I remember he always had a warm smile."

"Oh, that's surprising…"

Leon always had fond memories of his father, no… of his parents. Unfortunately, they were separated when he was far too young, and the memories that used to fill his mind with joy were slowly fading away. The young hero grabbed his chest, recalling his father's parting words.

'Live well and… find me when you're ready.'

Those words were the anchor that kept Leon moving forward. In his bleakest moments within the cold, unforgiving walls of the Solaris House—when isolation pressed in and no one stood beside him—he clung to the hope that he would see his family again one day.

That hope became his fuel, pushing him through every trial. But as the years wore on and memories began to fade, that once-burning resolve dulled, the image of his family growing fainter, and the purpose that had once driven him became a distant blur.

'Maybe… I should look for them now.'

Though he still didn't fully understand why his father had entrusted him to Sir Arthur and the Holy Church, Leon accepted that it had been for his own good. That much, he could grasp. But now, having taken up the mantle of the Hero, perhaps it was time to stop accepting things as they were. Maybe—just this once—he could allow himself to be selfish and try to save his parents.

'But first… let's resolve this problem.'

El Dorado. The Clay Emperor. The Demon Cult.

These three were intertwined within Olavaguel and were key to resolving Amon's request. Sighing, Leon gazed out the window as he wondered:

'What is Amon doing right now?'

❖❖❖

Contrary to Leon's worry, Amon wasn't locked in a deadly duel with the Sword Saint or in any immediate danger. Instead, he was crouched in the middle of a modest garden, yanking weeds from the soil with a scowl across his face.

Gone was his usual immaculate appearance—in its place was a man clad in a gardener's outfit, his once-pristine white robes stained with earth and sweat. His face, normally striking and composed, was now smeared with dirt and glistening with perspiration, giving him an almost unapproachable, rugged edge.

Despite the grime and discomfort, Amon moved with quiet efficiency. His motions showed no sign of frustration—only steady, purposeful action. He tore through the infestation with practised hands, removing the weeds and clearing the overgrowth with meticulous care. In a matter of moments, once wild and neglected, the garden had been restored to a clean, orderly state—completed in record time.

"Impressive! You've completely overhauled the garden in a day! You have a real talent for gardening, you know?"

"..."

Beside him stood a wizened old man, his back slightly hunched with age but his movements surprisingly steady. He gripped a garden hoe with practised ease, a bright, almost childlike smile as he cheerfully worked the soil.

With deliberate care, he tilled the earth and planted his favourite vegetables, much to Amon's quiet disbelief. It was hard to reconcile this cheerful, grandfatherly figure with the infamous Sword Saint—a man whose name stirred fear in Amon and the Demon Cult alike.

Amon sighed and dropped his gardening tools, glancing over the vast prairie beyond the fields. The wind stirred gently, carrying with it the scent of soil and blooming plants. It was peaceful—disarmingly so.

Three days had passed since Malachi attacked the Sword Saint's mirror dimension.

After accomplishing the unthinkable and repelling the looming threat, Amon finally stood face-to-face with the Sword Saint.

There, with no room for ambiguity, he issued an ultimatum: stand with humanity or betray the world and align with the Demon Cult. It was a line in the sand—one Amon was prepared to defend at all costs. If the Sword Saint chose the wrong side, Amon was ready to strike him down, to eliminate the transcendental threat before it spiralled out of control.

But the Sword Saint didn't choose. No—he couldn't. Not yet. Instead, he looked Amon in the eye and dropped a bomb on his lap.

"Traveller from another world."

Somehow, the Sword Saint had figured out his identity. That was enough for Amon to consider sending the old man to an early grave, but his following explanation stopped him.

"You don't have to be that surprised. I accidentally tore the fabric of reality, so I know there are multiple dimensions beyond ours. The Demon Realm is one of them. While I don't know how exactly you ended up here, your soul is practically integrated into our dimension. I only guessed it because of how unorthodox your strength is."

"..."

Unsure of how to react, Amon could only keep silent as the Sword Saint suggested they stay in his home—a gesture of goodwill as they figure out how to communicate. Hence, the odd scene of Amon tending to the garden with the Sword Saint as his gardening mentor followed.

"Lord Kassadin."

"I said you don't have to be so formal," the Sword Saint sighed, helpless at Amon's complete show of politeness. "Call me Kassadin, or Grandpa Kassadin! You call Alrock that, right? Why don't you do the same for me?"

"... Lord Kassadin."

Ignoring the senile old man's ramblings, Amon replied calmly while holding back the twitching in his eyebrows.

"What is the point of doing all this gardening? The longer you delay our conversation, the more time you're giving the Demon Cult to prepare their next attack."

"Oh? So you noticed? Well, while I did humour the thought of buying time for the Demon Cult… Gardening with you has ignited a joy of humanity in my heart."

"Is it enough to give up your dream of immortality?"

"Hah… You really don't know anything about foreplay, huh? Always cutting straight to the point."

The Sword Saint let out a long, weary sigh and slowly shook his head, his expression heavy with disappointment. Amon's rigid mindset and lack of introspection grated on him.

With a furrowed brow and a touch of frustration in his movements, the old man jabbed a finger firmly into Amon's chest and spoke in a low, grave tone:

"Then let me give you something to think about. Why are you trying to protect humanity?"

"...What?" Amon's brow shot up, startled by the seemingly absurd question.

"I can't take advice from someone who doesn't even understand what it means to love humanity," the Sword Saint continued. "What exactly are you fighting for? Why this obsession with protecting the human race? And more importantly… who is it you're projecting onto yourself?"

Each question landed like a blow, cutting deeper than any sword.

"!!!"

"I haven't known you long, Amon, but even I can see it—you're just a puppet, swinging your sword for a cause you don't truly care about. I don't know how you reached such heights without the fire of desire, but I can't relate. Not even a little. And if I can't connect with you on that level… then convincing me to abandon my pursuit of immortality will be a hard sell."

"I…"

"You don't have to answer me now," the Sword Saint smiled warmly like a true grandfather doting on his grandchild.

"Let's have this conversation again when you've completely sorted out your emotions."

"..."

And thus, the morning in the garden passed in silence until Yue came out from the hut to call them in for breakfast.