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

The light from the teleportation terminal faded, replaced by the damp, earthy air of the Blackroot Forest.

"It makes sense why the forest is called 'Blackroot.'"

The trees are huge and dark, and their roots are thick, twisted, and raised above the ground, spreading out like a messy, tangled web in all directions. 

The name Blackroot reflects the forest's dark, root-filled appearance, which makes it feel wild and eerie.

The tops of the trees known as canopy were so thick and full of leaves that only a little sunlight could pass through.

The few rays of sunlight that did make it down created long shadows on the plants and bushes below.

The air felt thick and damp, like in a humid jungle.

Far-off sounds like growling animals and leaves moving made the place feel scary and dangerous.

We stood in a small clearing as our group adjusted to the new surroundings.

Group 18:

1. Kael Ashford (me)

2. Veyla Morwyn

3. Kaelric Maxvel

4. Emberfell

5. Renhal

6. Zevir

7. Orion

Zevir stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

"I'll support you since I am a tank," he said firmly. 

"I'll draw attention and keep the beasts off you. Who's handling other?"

Emberfell agreed and explained that he uses fire magic and plans to stay at the back during battle to help by attacking from a distance.

"Same here," said Orion. "I wield wind and arcane magic. Emberfell and I will lend strength from the backline."

I remained quiet, observing.

So did Veyla, the healer. Her eyes scanned the team calmly, hands lightly resting on her staff.

Kaelric spoke next. "I'm a swordsman. I'll take frontline with Renhal."

"Same here," Renhal added. "Let's cut down whatever comes at us."

(So we have three swordsmen, two mages, one tank, and one healer).

(A balanced group. I was worried at first—after all, these were all background characters in the novel—but surprisingly, our composition was good.)

Emberfell stepped forward again, voice steady.

"I'll be the team captain. Agreed?"

There was a moment of silence, then a nod from everyone.

"Agreed," I said last.

With roles settled, someone asked, "Where to now?"

That was the problem.

Unlike the more well-known groups in the novel, I had little knowledge of where Group 18 would go or what they would encounter. 

There was no major plotline involving us—not that I could recall.

But I did know one thing:

The deeper we go, the more likely we'll find Feral or Savage-ranked beasts. Maybe even Dread-rank if we're unlucky or unlucky.

"Let's head northeast," Emberfell suggested. "There's less tree cover there—maybe we'll get a better view."

Everyone agreed, and we moved.

On the other hand, Group 1—

1. Elysia, 

2. Edwin, 

3. Jin, 

4. Seraphina, 

5. Ronan, 

6. Evander, 

7. Lucian

—was progressing through the western edge of the forest.

That group was powerful. Three swordsmen, two tanks, and two mages. A balanced and deadly combination.

They didn't need to worry about coordination—they already knew each other, trained with each other. 

They were among the top students.

Our group was different. Strangers, with little trust or rhythm.

But perhaps that was the challenge.

Let's see what we face.

As the group walked further into the forest, it became darker, the temperature dropped, and the only clear sound was the twigs breaking under their feet, which made the quiet forest feel even more eerie and tense.

We had entered its depths.

One hour had already passed. 

The deeper we ventured into Blackroot Forest, the quieter it became.

No birdsong. 

No rustling wind. 

Only the sound of walking—leaves crunching and twigs snapping—could be heard.

Everything else in the forest was strangely silent, like the entire forest was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen—tense and still, as if danger was near.

Suddenly, Orion raised a hand.

"Wait," he whispered.

We all stopped.

A faint rustle came from the bushes ahead.

Then it appeared.

A single beast stepped out from the shadows—its movements slow but deliberate. 

The creature was thin and muscular, about the size of a big dog.

It had smooth, strong limbs and light brown fur.

But the most noticeable thing about it was the bright green glowing spot on its forehead, which was a special identifying feature.

"The green marking…" Zevir muttered. "It's Feral Rank. Just a low-tier one."

I nodded. Professor Sylvia mentioned that each rank had a specific color.

The creature growled aggressively, showing its sharp teeth.

It lowered its body into a crouched position, ready to jump or attack.

Even though it wasn't very powerful, they knew they still had to stay alert and not let their guard down, because carelessness could still get them hurt.

For them, even the feral rank would be difficult to kill.

"I'll take the front!" Zevir said, slamming his shield into the ground.

Kaelric and Renhal flanked him on either side, drawing their swords with sharp metallic sword.

"Emberfell, Orion, cover us," Kaelric ordered calmly.

Orion nodded, already beginning a wind chant.

"I'll buff your speed," Emberfell called out, fire glowing between his palms.

I stayed slightly back with Veyla, who had already begun channeling a light aura in case someone got injured.

The beast lunged.

Zevir stepped forward, his shield raised.

CRACK!

It collided with him, bouncing off like it had hit a wall. Zevir barely moved.

"Now!" he shouted.

Kaelric and Renhal dashed in. Renhal slashed low, forcing the beast to jump back—right into Kaelric's upward swing.

A shallow cut across the beast's side.

It howled.

Emberfell moved his hand quickly, and a small flame shot out, passing by Zevir's shoulder and burning the back leg of the beast slightly.

Orion followed with a sharp gust of wind, knocking the creature off-balance.

The beast struggled to find its footing.

Kaelric spun, this time aiming for the neck—but the beast ducked, then snapped its jaws at his arm.

A near miss.

I stepped forward, seeing the opening.

Mana surged into my legs, and I shot forward, blade in hand.

SWOOSH—

I slashed clean across its back.

It shrieked and stumbled, disoriented.

Renhal didn't hesitate. He leapt, driving his sword straight through the beast's heart.

THUMP.

Silence.

The creature twitched once, then collapsed onto the ground, unmoving.

We all stood still for a moment, breathing a little heavily—not because we were tired, but because the sudden danger was over, and we felt relieved.

(If the feral rank was this strong, I wonder how we would face the savage rank beast?)

"Nice coordination," Orion said, brushing dirt off his robes.

Veyla walked up to Renhal, placing a light healing spell on his arm where a shallow scratch had formed.

"Thanks," he said with a nod.

Then he turned to us all, grinning. "Starting with this, we've earned five points."

Our first victory.

I looked at the creature's green-marked forehead as its body slowly faded into particles.

First blood from the group 18.

First points.

And more to find.

"Let's keep moving," Emberfell said. "That was just a small one. If we wait here, others might show up."

We regrouped, a bit more confident now. The initial awkwardness was fading. They weren't bad. 

Not professionals, but coordinated enough.

And surprisingly—functional.

We moved forward, deeper into the Blackroot's shadowed paths.