The Extra Who Shouldn't Exist novel Chapter 327

Chapter 327: Chapter 327 : The Forest Of Ragna (1)

The forest felt alive in all the wrong ways.

The ground was a dark, ashen brown, as if the soil itself had been burned and then forced to breathe again. Trees twisted toward the sky in unnatural angles, their bark veined with faint, sickly light.

Their leaves were black‑green and razor‑edged, rustling even when there was no wind, whispering like they were sharing secrets the living weren’t meant to hear.

Between those warped trunks, beasts roamed freely—monsters that looked like they’d lost both sanity and restraint.

Ogres lumbered through the undergrowth, but unlike normal ones, their bodies were covered in jagged bone plates that jutted out of their backs and shoulders like crude armor.

Their eyes glowed a dull crimson, and thick, black drool dripped from their tusked mouths as they crushed smaller monsters underfoot without even noticing.

Goblins skittered between roots and low branches, taller and leaner than usual, their limbs too long, fingers ending in hooked claws instead of nails.

Their green skin had turned mottled and dark, pulsing with black veins of corrupted mana. Each one moved with abnormal speed, twitching and jerking like a puppet with too many strings.

Trolls dragged themselves along the forest floor, their hulking bodies stitched together by tumor‑like growths of flesh. Their skin was a dull gray, patches of moss and fungi growing directly out of their backs.

Every wound they took regenerated too fast and too wrong, limbs regrowing twisted, giving them an even more grotesque appearance.

All of them hunted anything that moved, devouring it whole—beast, monster, or unfortunate wanderer. The forest wasn’t just dangerous. It was ravenous.

A thunderous explosion echoed through the trees.

The monsters snapped their heads toward the source, snarling, and began rushing in that direction—the ogres crashing through trunks, goblins leaping from branch to branch, trolls stomping forward with ground‑shaking steps.

At the center of the chaos, a brown‑haired young man moved like a storm.

Dark flames roared around Alden von Crestvale as he carved through the horde. Every swing of his blade left a trail of black fire, and whenever his sword touched a monster, the flames erupted, devouring flesh, bone, and even ash until nothing remained. Ogres disintegrated mid‑roar, goblins vanished before their screams finished, trolls dissolved faster than they could regenerate.

Yet Alden’s expression was grim.

"Damn it," he muttered between breaths, cutting down another charging ogre. "My mana’s not responding properly at all here. What’s happening?"

His swings were still precise, his killing efficiency high—but he could feel it. The mana in the air resisted him, slipping from his grasp like oil instead of flowing like water.

He cleaved through a troll’s neck, then tilted his head up toward the treetops.

"Hey!" Alden shouted. "Are you just gonna keep watching and not even try to help me?"

High above, perched casually atop a thick, twisted branch, a silver‑haired figure leaned against the trunk with his arms folded.

Alex looked down at the battlefield below and sighed.

"Hey, I am working," he replied lazily. "I’m trying to find those damned cultists. Our tracking devices aren’t working here, you know..."

Before he could finish, a sharp voice came from behind him.

A split second later, countless arrows whistled through the air.

They rained down over Alden and the remaining monsters like a deadly storm, each arrow wrapped in a faint glow.

In the blink of an eye, every monster that had survived Alden’s initial onslaught was skewered—ogres pinned through their skulls, goblins nailed to trees, trolls pierced so thoroughly their regeneration couldn’t keep up.

Silence swallowed the forest as the last of them collapsed.

"Human," a clear, controlled voice said, "are you sure we’re going the right way? You’re not leading us astray, are you?"

Alex turned.

Behind him stood a female elven general.

She had maroon hair tied in a high, practical ponytail that still somehow flowed elegantly down her back. Her dark eyes were sharp and deep, like polished obsidian, framed by long lashes that did nothing to soften their intensity. Her features were refined and symmetrical—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and lips that naturally held a faint, stern curve. She wore form‑fitting elven armor woven from reinforced leather and enchanted metals, decorated with vine‑like patterns that glowed faintly with mana. Despite the grime of travel, her beauty was striking, carrying both elegance and lethal authority.

This was Saria, one of the elven generals.

Behind her, rows of elves stood ready—archers with bows still half‑drawn, warriors with twin blades at their sides, mages gripping staffs, though their spells sputtered in the strange mana of the forest.

Hundreds of them, eyes cold and alert, watched the surroundings carefully.

Alex raised an eyebrow at Saria’s tone.

"And why do you think we’d do that?" he asked.

Saria met his gaze without flinching.

"Because even if His Majesty, the Elven King, trusts you," she said sharply, "I don’t."

She stepped closer, eyes hardening.

"You took our princess to your country. And she was kidnapped there. You couldn’t even do a single thing to save her."

Her aura flared with hostility, the elves behind her tensing in response.

"So tell me," Saria continued, voice cold, "why shouldn’t I suspect that you’re working with those damned cultists?"

---

"Well," Alex said, "you do have a fair point."

For a brief moment, his tone was light.

Then the air around him changed.

The lazy indifference vanished from his eyes, replaced by a sharp, chilling focus. The mana around him stirred despite the resistance of the forest, reacting to his presence alone.

"But tell me," Alex said quietly, his gaze boring into hers, "do you really think that if I wanted to lead you astray and kill you... I’d use underhanded tactics?"

His voice dropped lower, every word steady.

"If I wanted you all dead, I would’ve already done it."

Saria felt a chill run down her spine. The elves behind her stiffened, many of them instinctively gripping their weapons tighter.

Alex continued, not giving her a chance to reply.

"Besides, you’re the ones who need to save your queen and your princess. I’m just doing you all a favor by being here."

Saria held his gaze for a long moment.

Then, slowly, she lowered her eyes.

"...Fair point," she admitted. "I apologise for my behaviour. Please... help us find our queen and the princess."

Alex snorted softly.

"What do you think I’ve been doing up until now?" he said.

He hopped down from the tree branch, landing lightly near the charred corpses and arrow‑ridden monsters. His eyes swept over the mutated bodies.

’These monsters are all mutated, aren’t they?’ Alex thought. ’They’re way stronger than their race normally is.’

[ You are absolutely correct, host. ]

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