Transmigrating as an Extra, But the Heroine Has Regressed?!

Chapter 111: When the Mist open!



Fenn, the dagger-user, crawled weakly across the ground. His hands glowed faintly green as he whispered trembling healing spells, pressing his palms to whichever teammate was closest.

His lips moved constantly, muttering desperate prayers as much as incantations. His face was streaked with tears, his body shivering with exhaustion.

They had survived the Ironfang Wolves.

Edwin's knees buckled, but he forced himself to remain standing. His lungs burned as he coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the crushed leaves beneath his boots.

"We… we did it," he whispered hoarsely, almost to himself. His voice cracked, trembling between relief and disbelief. "We're still alive…"

For a moment, silence held.

The kind of silence that comes only after chaos.

But the forest was not kind enough to let them rest.

The silence broke.

It started as a faint rustle. Leaves shifting where no wind stirred. The fog seemed to thicken, curling tighter around the clearing as though the trees themselves leaned closer to listen.

The temperature dropped, sharp and biting, and a prickling sensation crawled up Edwin's spine.

His grip on his sword tightened, though the blade was heavy and his arms ached.

"Not yet…" he muttered, forcing his body to stay upright. "Don't you dare end here…"

Because he knew—deep in his instincts—

The exam wasn't finished with them.

(…To reach his level? It's impossible.)

The thought gnawed at the back of the tank's mind as he sat slumped against the broken roots, watching Edwin wipe the blood from his blade.

Even battered, clothes torn and streaked with crimson, Edwin stood tall, his presence unshaken.

His eyes burned with the calm fire of someone who had stared death in the face and refused to bow.

(If I want to fight like him, I'd need at least twenty years of training. Twenty years of sweat, of scars, of pushing past every limit. And by then… he'll already be at the top. A national hero. Someone whose name is carved into history.)

The boy clenched his fists, not out of envy, but out of awe. There was no jealousy, only respect—the kind of respect that cut deep because it was mixed with the painful truth of his own weakness.

A weak laugh broke through the silence. "We… we'd all be dead if not for him." It was Mira, her voice shaky, but steady enough to carry the truth.

Talia, pale and trembling, nodded faintly. "He… he doesn't just fight. He carries us. Even when the wolves had us surrounded… he never faltered."

Ronan, bloodied but regaining consciousness, forced a smirk. His voice was hoarse but loud.

"He yells like a madman, but damn… he's the reason we're still breathing."

Leo, wincing as Alina tended to his wounds, whispered softly, "Thank you, Edwin… I couldn't last even a minute without you."

Fenn's voice cracked as he tried to add, "You're… incredible. You fought four wolves like it was nothing…" Tears stung his eyes—not from sadness, but from sheer gratitude.

All eyes turned to Edwin.

"No, we all fought them together"

He didn't bask in their praise, nor did he scold them further. He simply looked forward, eyes fixed on the mist-shrouded trees ahead.

Because Edwin knew this wasn't the end. And words of thanks meant little in a forest where death still waited.

Edwin thought, (though we faced difficulty to face those savage rank beast, it felt weak)

(did they just advance recently?)

Edwin's voice was steady despite the blood on his lips.

"While you rest, Alina—heal them quickly. As for me, don't waste your mana. I'll endure without it."

He glanced at the wolves' corpses, his grip still firm on his swords. "Collect all four cores. Leave the rest. We have more to hunt down, and carrying useless weight will only slow us."

The group stared at him, exhausted but listening. His tone carried no hesitation—only resolve.

Mira whispered, almost in awe, "Even after all this… he's still thinking ahead."

Talia nodded weakly, determination sparking in her pale eyes. "If he's not giving up… then neither will we."

Ronan smirked through the pain, forcing himself upright. "Tch… always barking orders. But damn it, he's right."

Fenn clenched his daggers, his breathing heavy. "Yeah. If Edwin can still stand, then so can we."

A ripple of resolve passed through the group. They were broken, bloodied, but the sight of

Edwin—unwavering even in exhaustion—lit a fire in their hearts.

For the first time since the battle began, they weren't just surviving.

They were determined to follow him.

The Shadow Descends

They had only just begun to rest. Some sat slumped against roots, some lay sprawled in exhaustion, and Alina's healing light flickered weakly over the wounded. For a fleeting moment, the forest was silent.

Then it came.

A low, wet sound echoed through the trees.

Ssschhh… slshhh…

Like something heavy and slimy being dragged across the earth.

The sound grew louder.

Thump.

Thump.

Each movement fell like a drumbeat in their ears.

Dung…

Dung…

Every breath in the group stilled. Nobody dared to speak. Even the forest itself seemed to shrink back, the birds and insects falling into an eerie silence.

From the western side—where Kael's group had scouted earlier—the trees bent unnaturally, shadows twisting between their trunks.

And then they saw it.

A mass of writhing blackness spilled into view, dragging itself forward like a living nightmare. Its body was not solid but a glistening mass of tendrils, liquid flesh that pulsed and twisted as though it were alive and breathing.

Dozens of glowing red eyes blinked open across its shifting surface, staring in every direction at once.

Then came its mouth—if it could be called that. A long, vertical slit split open across its front, lined with rows of needle-like teeth.

It opened wide in a soundless scream, the air vibrating with its unnatural presence.

Edwin's breath caught. His sword trembled in his hand.

"D-… Dread rank…" His voice cracked. "It's a Dread-rank beast!"

And then he saw it—a silver mark pulsing on its forehead. Proof of its rank, proof of their doom.

The air itself grew heavier and colder, pressing down on them like an invisible weight. Their lungs tightened, their hearts pounded in their ears.

No one spoke. Instead, one by one, the students swallowed hard, their throats dry. The sound of gulping saliva echoed unnaturally loud in the suffocating silence.

Edwin forced his battered legs to move, planting his blade into the earth for support.

"Move! Formation, now!" he shouted, trying to break them out of their terror.

But no one moved.


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