The moon had long risen over Veldroth, casting silver light through the tall windows of the quiet manor.
Inside, behind the reinforced doors of his private chamber, Alaric sat alone—eyes closed, hand resting loosely over his heart.
The Divine Heart Core pulsed in silent rhythm within him, a gentle warmth ebbing and flowing through his being like the breath of life itself. It had become a part of him now. No longer just a vessel—it was a palace of power, a realm of potential, a sanctum born from death and rebirth.
And within that sanctum, a treasure trove awaited.
Alaric closed his eyes, and his consciousness descended.
The moment his awareness touched the heart of the core, the golden gates of the palace parted.
Awe greeted him.
The treasury was vast—cathedral-like in scale—its white stone floors reflecting light from no visible source, its gold-veined walls lined with ancient murals, seals, and wards. It felt untouched by time. Sacred.
He walked slowly, steps echoing in the stillness.
Piles of gold gleamed in the corners, armor and weapons of rare craftsmanship lay upon marble pedestals, and scrolls radiating ancient power hovered in containment sigils.
Yet none of that drew his full attention.
It was the hill.
No—a mountain.
A shimmering cascade of crystals towered before him, like a frozen waterfall of condensed magic. Each stone glowed faintly, some soft and blue, others deep violet or emerald green.
The air around them thrummed with raw energy, thick enough to taste.
Mana Crystals.
He approached slowly, reverently, and knelt beside one of the smaller pieces near the base. The mana within it pulsed faintly, smooth and refined.
He could sense it—not just the mana, but its structure. Ordered. Harmonious. Rich with depth.
And there were millions of them.
Ten million—at least. Enough to fill a valley. And not just low-grade stones either.
Alaric had never held a Mana Crystal in his life, and yet instinct and Divine Intuition whispered their worth to him. These were not common. Even the weakest here surpassed anything sold in the Veldroth markets.
[5th-Grade]—maybe higher. The topmost ones at the peak of the crystal hill shimmered like captured starlight, their density and purity unlike anything he had ever seen.
[8th-Grade], perhaps.
Maybe even higher.
He could barely fathom it.
He turned his gaze to a chest filled with gold coins beside the crystal pile—tens of millions, maybe more. A fortune by every mortal standard.
But now… it felt small. Petty, almost.
He stood in silence for a long time, surrounded by a fortune so vast it defied reason.
Yet a quiet calm settled over him, not excitement or greed. Just… responsibility. The knowledge that this was no longer just about wealth.
It was about preparation.
Survival.
Destiny.
He lingered for a few moments more, then drew in a slow breath and withdrew his consciousness from the core. The white-gold palace vanished behind his mind's eye.
Back in his room, the silence of night greeted him.
Without a word, Alaric rose and moved to the side of his chamber, pulling back a heavy curtain to reveal a modest bed he'd conjured earlier—clean, king-sized, draped in silver and indigo linen, impossibly soft. A remnant of the inheritance.
He sat down slowly, the weight of everything finally beginning to press down—not on his shoulders, but on his soul.
Tomorrow, he would need to speak with the girls. Decide how much to tell them. Begin setting foundations for what came next.
He didn't yet know what that would be.
But as he lay back against the cool sheets, staring up at the carved ceiling, his thoughts wandered—tracing the memory of light, of death, of transcendence.
His body was whole.
His mind, sharp.
But his soul… was tired.
Unseen wounds had opened during his resurrection—fractures left behind by death itself. The strain, though healed, had left a weight behind.
A pull.
He exhaled slowly.
"Just for a moment,"
He murmured aloud.
Sleep took him before the words finished leaving his lips.
*****
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶
✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
*****
The first rays of dawn filtered through the humble house's high windows, casting golden threads across the polished floor.
Morning light touched the soft folds of the large bed, where three sleeping forms slowly stirred, their breathing gentle and even.
The first thing Alaric did after waking up was check up on the girls. Although he healed them, he was still worried that some remnant demonic energy might have been left in their soul which he hadn't noticed.
Up until now, Alaric was a five year old child. Bearly reaching Aurevia's waist on hight. But now All of a sudden he is way taller then them. It felt weird and not at the same time.
Weird because of his sudden growth. And not, because of his past life memory were he was a grow man of the same hight.
Alaric once again used Divine Energy on the girls. Just to be Sure. And then sat on a chair nearby to enjoy the peaceful morning.
Aurevia was the first to rise.
Her eyes fluttered open, still clouded with the remnants of sleep. She blinked slowly, confusion flickering across her face… then realization. Her gaze snapped toward the chair nearby.
He sat there, still and calm, as if carved from living marble.
Alaric.
Or rather… the man who had once been a boy.
She couldn't look away.
Golden hair, soft and radiant like sunlight through amber, fell slightly past his shoulders, tousled yet regal.
His eyes, molten gold, shimmered with divine light and a depth that spoke of death endured and life transcended.
The once-fragile boy was gone. What sat before her was tall—towering, even—muscle-lined, broad-shouldered, his presence quiet but inescapable.
A man shaped by miracle.
Aurevia's breath caught. Her chest tightened—not in fear, not in awe alone, but in something warmer, softer… more complex.
She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice cracked.
"M-Master…?"
His eyes turned toward her, slow and steady.
"…You're awake,"
He said gently, as if unsure whether to smile or not.
The moment she heard his voice—calm, familiar, reassuring—tears welled in her eyes. She sat up slowly, reaching for the covers as if unsure whether she could still touch him.
Serineth stirred next, her brows furrowing at the strange tension in the room. When her gaze settled on him, her confusion shifted immediately into stunned silence. Her blue eyes widened.
"…Who…?"
"Serineth,"
He said softly.
"It's me."
Then Cellione awoke, her golden curls spilling across the pillow as she sat upright, bleary-eyed and blinking at the unfamiliar man.
All three stared at him—too shocked to speak, too overwhelmed to process.
He let them.
He rose from the chair slowly, the morning light catching the lines of his new form. Despite his sheer physical beauty—godlike in symmetry, glowing with quiet strength—there was nothing boastful in his presence. No vanity.
Only serenity.
"It's… me,"
He repeated.
"Alaric."
For a moment, none of them moved.
Then Aurevia broke.
She stood shakily and fell into a bow so low her forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Master… please forgive me. I… I didn't protect you… I couldn't—"
"You did more than enough,"
He interrupted, his voice firm but warm.
Serineth, too, bowed her head. Her usual cold grace had softened, and even she couldn't meet his eyes for a moment.
"You… died, didn't you?"
Alaric nodded faintly.
"I did. But the Goddess brought me back."
Cellione sniffled softly. "You look… different. But you still feel the same, Master."
He smiled at that—just barely—and gently guided them each into a seated position.
"There's much to explain, but it can wait. For now, we're safe. That's what matters."
They dressed quietly and ate a small breakfast. Alaric said little, but his presence alone kept them anchored.
They watched him with reverence, awe, and something deeper—something personal. Something only they could feel.
***
By midmorning, the four of them arrived at the heart of Veldroth—the Adventurer's Association, its marble arches and iron-bound doors gleaming beneath the sun.
And the moment Alaric stepped through those doors, silence fell.
Every gaze in the hall snapped toward him.
Men paused mid-conversation, hands frozen above tankards. Women turned fully to stare, brows furrowed in confusion, breath held. There was a pause in the very air—a hush that followed him like a tide.
It wasn't just his looks, though they were arresting—divine, even.
It was the presence.
He exuded something holy. Not oppressive, but vast. An aura that stirred something ancient in the soul. Those near him felt both comforted and exposed. Like standing in the sun after a long, cold night.
He walked calmly to the counter, the girls following close behind.
Lirael, the receptionist, blinked hard when she saw them.
"Uh… can I help—?"
She cut off mid-sentence as recognition sparked in her eyes.
"…Wait. No. That's impossible."
Alaric stopped before her desk.
"It's me,"
He said calmly.
"Alaric Aurelian."
She stared at him for a long time.
"You're not… him. That boy was maybe fifteen, had softer features, smaller—"
"Some… circumstances led to this,"
He said simply, with a wry smile.
She looked to the girls for confirmation. Each nodded, serious and quiet.
Lirael folded her arms.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Would I lie?"
He asked. His tone was still calm—but something deeper stirred behind it. Not threat. Not challenge. Just… truth.
She faltered.
"No. I suppose you wouldn't."
A moment passed.
Then she blinked quickly, clearing her throat.
"Alright, alright. Follow me."
***
Inside the quiet office, Lirael leaned on her desk and listened closely as Alaric gave a concise—but careful—summary of what had happened in the dungeon.
He mentioned the demon. The collapse. The divine surge. The disappearance of the dungeon into the void.
She paled.
"You're saying the dungeon's gone?"
He nodded.
"Completely. The corruption within was eradicated."
"…We'll have to send investigators. Confirm it."
"Of course."
"If what you say is true… the Association will be required to grant you a reward."
She paused.
"A great reward."
Alaric didn't respond to that. He merely gave a polite nod.
"Thank you for your efforts."
She stared at him, then gave a small sigh and looked down.
"You've changed,"
She said quietly.
"But I can see it now. You're still… you."
He turned and left the room without another word.
***
Outside, the girls waited, and when he rejoined them, the group left together. The people in the Association continued to stare—even as the doors closed behind him, whispers followed.
Who was he?
What had he become?
To many, he was a mystery.
To others… perhaps a glimpse of something divine.
Back at the manor, Alaric stepped through the doors and paused—breathing in the quiet air of home. The girls followed in silence.
It was not the end.
But it was a beginning.
***
The sun had begun its descent, casting a golden hue over the skies of Veldroth. Within the simple, candle-lit room where Alaric and the girls had taken refuge, laughter echoed like soft bells in a temple—gentle, warm, fleeting.
The girls lay strewn across cushions and silken rugs, telling tales from their past, recounting memories of wonder and woe, their voices rising and falling like the tides.
Sometimes, in quiet moments between their laughter, the girls would steal a glance at Alaric—at his profile, bathed in the amber light of dusk.
His golden hair caught the fire of the setting sun, and his eyes, though relaxed and half-lidded, shimmered with a depth no mortal sea could match.
In those glances, they held awe. Reverence. And something more tender—more fragile. The blooming of affection that they dared not voice, as if doing so would shatter the sacred stillness between them.
Alaric felt it. He didn't need to see their gazes to know what stirred in their hearts. Their emotions moved through the bond they shared, like whispers through silk.
And yet, he told himself gently: Not yet. Two or three years more. Let them bloom without burden.
It was then, amid the soft hush of twilight, that he sensed it. A ripple in the ether. A presence. Unfamiliar, yet not hostile—cautious, perhaps even reverent.
Aurevia's brow furrowed as she tensed beside him, eyes narrowing toward the door. The other two girls fell silent, their instincts honed by battle and suffering.
But Alaric had felt it long before any of them. His senses—amplified by Divine Energy—stretched across the entirety of Veldroth like an invisible net. Close to Spatial Perception. But still not their yet. But after he got the skill book with pocket dimension, which he didn't even know name of. He found it odd. Normally every information would appear inside the head like it was always there. Even name.
But it didn't matter to him as long as it was useful and not harmful. Which the skill book wasn't.
When empowered, his awareness could envelop cities, though not forever. It was a gift meant to be used with care.
Now, he narrowed his vision like a divine spear aimed at the one who approached.
As the visitor reached out to knock, Alaric gave a subtle nod. Aurevia rose in one fluid motion and opened the door just before the man's knuckles could make contact.
The figure stiffened, startled for only a breath, before composing himself with trained grace.
Alaric didn't allow him to speak. His voice, calm yet imperious, carried across the room like a decree from on high.
"Come in."
The man obeyed, uncertain but respectful. As he stepped into the room, his eyes fell upon Alaric—lounging with ease, and yet exuding a presence that was anything but casual. His posture was regal. His golden gaze, patient.
And above all… he radiated power. Not the wild, boastful kind, but the crushing certainty of a mountain that has stood for millennia.
Alaric had subtly channeled his oppressive will into Divine Energy, crafting an atmosphere so heavy it gnawed at the bones.
It was intentional. A test. A message.
Yes, what you suspect is true, it said.
Yes, I am stronger than you could ever imagine.
The man swallowed hard but introduced himself with practiced poise.
"My name is Ruvan Thorne, Guide-Master of the guild Obsidian Verge. We are one of the most dominant forces in this region."
Alaric inclined his head slightly.
"I know you do not have time to waste,"
Ruvan began.
"So I will get straight to the poin—"
But again, Alaric interrupted.
"You wish to recruit me into your guild, don't you?"
Ruvan blinked. His lips parted, and after a pause, he gave a silent nod.
Alaric's expression softened, warm and even benevolent. A smile played on his lips—not mocking, but almost… amused.
"Very well,"
Alaric said, his voice low, melodic.
"But only on one condition. Would you care to hear it?"
Ruvan straightened, hope flickering in his eyes.
"Yes, of course."
Alaric's smile deepened, like sunlight parting the clouds.
"Good. Here it is: if you can take a single step from where you now stand, I will join your guild. If you cannot… then you must leave and never approach me again.
Keep others from bothering me as well. I do not appreciate interruptions when I am enjoying myself."
Ruvan blinked. It sounded simple—child's play.
But then it hit him.
A weight unlike anything he'd known descended upon him like a divine yoke. He gasped as his knees trembled. The air itself thickened, becoming a syrup of molten lead.
His every muscle screamed under the pressure. His heart pounded as if trying to leap from his chest. He had faced Half step Rank 5s, braved arcane dungeons, but this... this was different.
It wasn't just power—it was divinity. Tyrannical and ancient. A pressure that crushed not just his body, but his spirit. If he moved even an inch, it felt as though—
His spine would snap, his lungs would collapse, and his soul would be flayed bare before a god.
He tried. He truly did. Sweat poured from his brow. His vision blurred. The desire to prove himself warred against the primal terror gripping his heart. But it was in vain.
Eventually, he gave up.
Ruvan dropped to one knee, head bowed, shame burning in his chest. Then, slowly, he stood, bowed deeply, and murmured with broken pride,
"Forgive me… I overestimated myself."
Without another word, he turned and left.
Silence reigned for a moment after the door closed.
Then Cellione tilted her head, blinking.
"He looked like he had a stomachache or something."
Alaric chuckled, the sound rich and bright.
"I pressed him with divine energy."
The girls stared.
"But Master, Why did you do that? Scaring him like that I mean."
"This is what I like to call pest control. Humans are a greedy bunch. Even though he knew the rumours about me being some kind of old Monster on play.
He didn't give up the hope or more like the greed that if he played his cards well I might just agree to play along.
By doing what I did it will keep the troubles at by. And it will also serve as a warning to the guys that thought of approaching me."
The girls nodded. Understood the benefits of getting Alaric on his side, who is rumoured to be a powerful being.
He could practically rule the whole Veldroth. That was a reason good enough to put their life on the line.
If Alaric truly had been some kind of old monster, Ruvan could have lost his life with the slidest offence.
"As for why you didn't feel anything…"
Alaric looked at them, his golden gaze tender.
"It's because you three are my vessels. My loyal slaves. My beloved ones. My divine energy won't affect you unless I will it."
He ended with a teasing smirk, and their cheeks flushed.
Their hearts stirred with something tender and unknown. A strange warmth. A flutter in the chest that no words could capture.
Later, they went about their evening with quiet smiles, doing this and that in their little world of laughter and gentle magic. When night fell, they curled up in their bed. Still thinking about Alaric.
And as they drifted to sleep, their hearts beat with emotions they dared not name. Not yet.
But soon.
Soon.
-To Be Continued