She had tried to move.
Even as the ceiling cracked above them, even as arcane fires roared through the chamber, Aurevia had fought against the pull of unconsciousness. But her body refused.
Her limbs were numb, heavy with the corruption that had once surged through her veins. Her vision blurred, her breath shallow. All she could do was lie there—watching—powerless.
She had seen him glowing.
She had seen his expression, calm and resolute as the divine surged through his body, as if he were shedding mortal skin to embrace something far greater.
Even through her dazed senses, she had known what was coming. Known… and feared it.
"Master…"
Then came the light.
A burst—no, an eruption—of radiance exploded outward from his chest, golden and crimson.
It filled the room like a second sun, vaporizing stone, magic, and darkness alike. There was no sound. No scream. No pain. Just… release.
And silence.
She did not feel the heat.
The barrier held, enclosing her, Serineth, and Cellione in divine safety. Warmth wrapped around her like a familiar embrace, purging the foul energy that had tainted her spirit.
The shadows that once crept along her heart were gone—melted by something gentle. Something… his.
When the chaos subsided, she forced herself to lift her head.
The grand chamber was gone.
Only broken pillars, molten stone, and drifting ash remained. In the center—where he had stood—was no body, no trace of flesh or blood. Just a sphere of light, suspended above the shattered earth, beating like a living star.
"Mas…ter…?"
She whispered, voice raw.
There was no answer.
But she felt it.
The Divine Heart Core pulsed within that cocoon of light. It was alive—whole. And around it spun The Eternal Arcane Core, etching sigils into the air like protective runes.
Restoration magic wove around the core, slow and careful, as if mending something precious.
Tears welled in her eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest, fingers trembling.
You're not gone. You didn't leave us.
Still… she couldn't reach him. Couldn't move. Could only watch as the miracle unfolded.
The light grew brighter, denser—then collapsed inward, as though drawn into itself.
From the glow emerged a new form.
It began with a heart. Not just any heart—a perfect one. The Divine Heart Core sank into the chest of an ethereal body, golden veins spiraling outward like constellations being written across a night sky.
Then muscle—long cords of lean strength, divine and precise—wrapped around growing bone. Sinew. Skin. Nerves.
His gullblä, the energy channel of divine essence, lit first. The Eternal Arcane Core nestled into it like a gem into a sacred vessel.
It was slow. Reverent. Like creation had paused just to honor this rebirth.
The man who emerged was not the same one who had walked into that dungeon.
This was something more.
Six feet and two inches tall, every inch of him sculpted with divine precision. Broad shoulders, strong chest, a lean waist leading into legs built for grace and power.
Not bulky—no, that would be too crude. He was elegant in the way gods are. Muscle carved like marble. Veins traced with faint gold.
But his face…
Aurevia's breath caught. It was him. The boy who had reached out his hand to her in chains.
Who had smiled gently when she flinched. But now his face was older, sharper. Wiser. A fallen deity reborn in mortal flesh.
His hair, still the same golden, flowed behind him like woven starlight. His eyes, when they opened, were gold and endless. They held weight. Memory. Divinity.
And then—he breathed.
The first inhale shook the room.
A ripple of power flowed from him, soft and tender, kissing her cheeks like the caress of spring. The light dimmed at last, leaving only the man—their master—standing in the heart of ruin, whole.
Alive.
Aurevia's tears spilled freely now.
She wanted to call out. To rush to him. But still she couldn't move. Her body was too weak. Her heart, too full.
Thank you, she mouthed, chest heaving. Thank you for coming back to us.
And when his eyes turned to her—saw her, truly saw her—she knew he remembered everything.
He took a single step forward, radiant and calm.
She smiled faintly, even as darkness pulled at her vision once more.
'Master... you came back.'
*****
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶
✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
*****
The storm had ended.
What remained was silence—profound, deafening, holy. Golden mist clung to the scorched air, glowing faintly with residual light.
The grand chamber, once a corrupted tomb, now stood hollowed and hollow, with molten stone bleeding warmth beneath fractured pillars.
At its heart stood a man.
His frame lengthened, broadening—taller than before, lean yet thick with sculpted strength. He stood 6'2", a man carved in the image of the heavens themselves. Each movement of muscle under skin was poetry—unreal, sublime.
His short golden hair shimmered with threads of living radiance.
His eyes opened—liquid gold, glowing from within, like twin suns peering out from a fallen deity's face.
He was no longer a boy.
He was a man—reborn by divine will.
And with it came knowledge.
You have granted the Blessing:
[Sanctum vessel - Elyssira's Grace]
The message etched itself into his mind, luminous and absolute. He staggered slightly, hand over heart as truth burned itself into his being.
His golden blood, refined by The Divine Heart Core, was the key. If he died while it still flowed golden, and his soul remained intact, his body would reconstruct itself through this blessing.
But only once every hundred years. The Divine Heart Core would slowly recharge the process until then.
A gift… no, a miracle from Elyssira.
Alaric exhaled deeply.
"To a goddess who rules over life itself… this must be trivial,"
He murmured, voice low and steady. His tone held neither arrogance nor disbelief—only reverent awe.
Then he froze.
"Aurevia."
His gaze snapped to the barrier.
Within its sanctuary, the girls lay motionless. Aurevia's pale form was closest, her breathing shallow. She had held on until the end, whispering his name even as his body turned to light.
Relief hit him like a hammer—only for dread to follow when he saw her eyes flutter shut.
She had fainted before he could speak.
Quietly, almost reverently, Alaric stepped forward. He knelt beside her and gently brushed the hair from her forehead.
The motion was tender—yet carried the command of a master inspecting what he owned and cherished.
"You did well, Aurevia,"
He whispered.
"You endured everything for me."
But there was no reply. Her soft breathing was all that answered.
He looked to the others—Serineth and Cellione—both unconscious as well. But alive. Unharmed. Whole.
He sighed, overwhelmed with quiet relief.
Then, golden runes bloomed across the altar behind him. The dungeon pulsed.
A reward.
From the wreckage, a pedestal rose—atop it, a single book bound in dark leather, glowing with arcane light.
Alaric stepped toward it, cautious but curious. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the book unraveled into a torrent of radiant runes and symbols. They surged forward, absorbing into his Divine Heart Core with divine speed.
Then—
A tidal wave of knowledge crashed into him.
He staggered again, clutching his temple. The information was overwhelming, far beyond anything he'd received before.
[Grade-9] Skill Book. Spatial Manipulation. Independent dimension. Pocket world. Linked to power progression.
It wasn't a simple spellbook. It was a Divine-level manual—a guide to comprehending and manipulating space itself.
The first function: access to a dimensional pocket, much like a spatial ring—but infinitely more potent, scalable with the user's strength.
Yet something had changed.
The manual had been consumed by The Divine Heart Core.
It was evolving.
Alaric focused inward—and gasped.
The once fluid sphere of divine essence now began to shift, raging like a sea in storm. At its center, a palace formed—white walls traced in gold, towers rising with mathematical precision.
Waves of energy surged around it, forming bridges and vaults, like a city built by the will of gods.
The Divine Heart Core trembled.
Minutes passed. Then, stillness.
The palace was complete.
He reached out with his consciousness—and entered.
What he saw took his breath away.
A treasury. No… a kingdom's treasury.
Gold. Jewels. Artifacts. Weapons. Armors. Tomes. Things with power that hummed against his very soul. It was wealth beyond anything he had imagined.
And he understood. The being who had sealed the demon here had left this inheritance for the one worthy enough to defeat it.
Him.
He could check it all later.
For now…
He manifested a set of clothes—simple, elegant, woven with high-quality thread. A light-gray shirt, black trousers, reinforced with divine thread.
They felt like cloth—but carried the weight of [Grade-3] armor.
He dressed quickly, then returned to the girls. One by one, he lifted them with care—laying them on a king-sized bed he summoned from the treasury. The mattress was softer than clouds, lined with celestial silk.
Once they were settled, he channeled divine energy through his palm—cleansing each of them a second time. Making sure. Ensuring no trace of the demon remained.
Then, at last, he sat.
A luxurious chair appeared beside the bed. Gold-trimmed, velvet-backed. He sank into it, eyes drifting to the ceiling above.
Quiet.
Finally quiet.
He replayed every moment—the battle, the pain, the explosion, the light, the rebirth. He gazed at his hand. Golden light pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
He was no longer the same.
The Divine Heart Core pulsed softly in his chest, the Palace within it now his. He checked the storage—thousands of items categorized in floating shelves of thought.
Weapons of divine make, armor of lost empires, scrolls, manuals, alchemical reagents, coins by the tens of millions.
***
A low hum echoed through the ruined chamber, the remnants of Divine Energy still lingering in the air like the breath of a sleeping god.
The bed of stone beneath them had long since melted into a smooth, radiant platform, warm to the touch. It was not the world they had known before. Not entirely.
Aurevia stirred first.
Her eyelashes fluttered as her breathing deepened—slow, steady, touched by the lingering warmth of divinity. She shifted beneath the silken cover Alaric had draped over her, her senses sluggish but returning.
Her mind was adrift in fragments: the pain, the helplessness, the brilliance of his light devouring the dark.
And then—him.
Her eyes snapped open.
She sat up with a start, then froze.
There, sitting near the edge of the wide platform, framed by soft threads of light still lazily spiraling in the air, was a man she did not recognize. Not at first.
He sat in a regal chair, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed yet noble. His golden hair cascaded down his shoulders like spun sunlight, and his eyes—those same eyes, deeper than gold, deeper than memory—regarded her with quiet calm.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, sculpted like the marble statues of forgotten kings. Not beautiful. Divine.
Her lips parted, a tremble catching in her throat.
"M-Master…?"
His gaze softened, and he smiled.
"You're awake, Aurevia."
At his voice, something in her chest tightened and released all at once. Tears welled up in her eyes, unbidden, shimmering like crystal in the dim light.
But before she could speak again, her strength gave out. She fell forward—faint, overwhelmed, yet safe.
Alaric caught her before she could touch the ground.
Cradling her gently in his arms, he lowered her back onto the bed. A quiet sigh left his lips as he brushed a hand across her hair, then checked on Serineth and Cellione, both beginning to stir.
One by one, they awoke. Serineth's sharp gaze flicked open next, her body tense for battle—but the moment her eyes locked with his, she stilled completely.
She gasped.
"M-Master…?"
Her tone, usually aloof and proud, cracked in wonder. She blinked once, twice, as if the vision before her couldn't be real.
She reached out slowly, reverently, and her fingers brushed against his forearm.
Warm.
Real.
"By the gods…"
She whispered.
Cellione sat up with a yawn, then followed Serineth's gaze—and immediately flushed, her whole face turning crimson.
She scrambled up onto her knees, staring at Alaric like she was witnessing an apparition.
They could barely recognize the boy who had shielded them with his light, sacrificed everything in a blaze of purity.
Now he stood before them as something else. Still Alaric—still their Master—but transformed.
He was not a man who had grown into power.
He was power.
***
When they stepped out of the chamber, the dungeon groaned beneath their feet. The ground trembled, the walls pulsed with unstable energy.
At the entrance, the space distorted violently.
Above them, the ceiling fractured like a shattered mirror, and in a breathless instant, the dungeon collapsed inward. No explosion. No thunder.
Only silence.
A black spiral appeared at the dungeon's heart—void manifest—and began to consume it.
The walls, the traps, the rooms and corridors they had struggled through—all folded into that single point. Even the air seemed to resist, screaming without sound.
And then—
Gone.
The void closed as quickly as it had opened, stitched shut by the unseen laws of the world, like a scar across reality vanishing without trace.
Alaric stood still, his cape catching a soft breeze that wasn't there. The girls huddled close behind him, eyes wide with awe and fear. And yet, with him there, they did not tremble.
He turned his head slightly.
"Let's go home."
***
Their emergence from the dungeon was unceremonious—no fanfare, no announcement—just a shimmer of light on the forest floor outside Veldroth. The sun was already rising, casting pale gold across the dew-laced trees.
Birdsong broke the silence.
The return gate they'd created pulsed once before vanishing into mist.
They stepped onto the dirt path, breath catching at the sheer normalcy of it all. After all that had happened—after life, death, divinity—it felt surreal to see the winding roads and the worn fences of their territory once more.
The girls clung to Alaric instinctively. They didn't say much. They didn't need to.
They walked quietly, the sound of footsteps and morning wind their only companion.
The house came into view—a modest but refined manor nestled among the trees. Familiar. Comforting.
Home.
Alaric exhaled slowly, then opened the gate.
He guided them inside, helped them into their rooms, laid them gently on their beds.
Only then—when they were safely sleeping once more—did he sit again, hand resting over his chest where The Divine Heart Core pulsed quietly, like a second heartbeat.
[Sanctum Vessel:Elyssira's Grace], the name whispered across his mind again.
A blessing, yes.
A reminder.
He had returned from death.
But at what cost?
And what future awaited him now, in a world that would no longer see him as just a boy?
-To Be Continued