Extra's Mob Farm and Heroic Poses
"What else? I'm just an extra here to farm some mob EXP from you bastards."
After spitting that out, regret hit Abel like a freight train. Whoa. Holy shit. Why the hell did I say that?
The reaction wasn't great—and the Ability Supremacists who'd heard it right to their faces were just as stunned.
"What the fuck did this guy just say?!"
"Wipe him out! If he knows our position, he must be a filthy traitor’s lackey!"
At one man's shout, the remaining foes charged Abel all at once.
They were injured, stuck in what was basically enemy territory, and no matter how you sliced it, these seemed to be the dregs of the Ability Supremacists—the ones nobody wanted. If they were promising talents with a future, the ones who'd bailed first would've fought tooth and nail to drag them along.
Judging by that, Abel didn't need to worry too much about their caliber. Hell, they might've even been left behind on purpose—as a delaying tactic.
He considered it, but from his perspective, it didn't matter either way. No downside. If they were weak, it helped him gauge their abilities. If they had some skill, it'd push him to level up his own.
"Where the hell are you looking?!"
"Oh."
To avoid the hassle of them bolting, he'd deliberately shown an opening to bait their attack. And sure enough, these second-raters—or worse—bit hard.
With a rough read on the enemy done, Abel intentionally backpedaled a few big steps.
Boom!
He crashed right through the door, and the five Supremacists barreled out after him.
They figured since he kept retreating, it was worth a shot. Big mistake.
Whoosh!
Flame butterflies, cloaked in roaring fire, swarmed to encircle them. They could probably break through, but not without serious burns from the intense heat.
Seria had walled them off to keep them from reaching the villagers. Plenty of room to cover six people easy.
"Damn it. They snuck the meat shields away."
Meat shields. Abel knew exactly what that meant in their twisted lingo.
Too ridiculous to ignore, he unleashed a heavy-hitting truth bomb.
"All that talk about abilities being gifts from the gods, non-ability users being obsolete trash... but when shit gets tough, you wanna use 'em as shields?"
"Exactly why we call 'em meat shields, you idiot!"
"So without your 'obsolete trash,' you're just useless fucks who can't do shit?"
Didn't their logic contradict itself? If you saw them as worthless, why bother using them at all? Using something implies it has value. For these supremacy-choked clowns to brag about it? Straight-up admitting they were the real losers.
Definitely just low-level EXP fodder—nothing more, nothing less.
The academy raid and that Jureung guy had felt like growth events, but these rejects didn't fit anywhere.
Abel drew his sword and charged the nearest foe.
Closing the gap in a flash, the enemy flinched but hurriedly clenched his fist into a fighting stance. Physical enhancement, probably with something like Rel's body mutation ability. Otherwise, no way he'd square up to a blade like that.
"Miss Seria!"
No need to clash head-on, then. Alone, maybe—but with backup, why not use it? Bonus: let her rack up some combat EXP too.
She'd come along for real battle practice anyway; no way she'd pass.
Fwoosh!
The butterflies that had been idling by Abel, minimizing embers, ignited all at once. They surged ahead of him, spewing flames at the Supremacist mid-swing.
"Gaaahhh!"
Body mutations varied. Could be steel like Rel's, or thick hide. Might block a blade, but scorching heat? Not so much.
The cocky charger who'd rushed in screaming now had his skin melting off, frantically peeling it away as his fight drained out.
Not a pretty sight. Burns were the worst, they said—worse than straight-up burning to death. Good thing Seria was ranged; her innate kindness balked at direct harm, but the butterflies handled it. Big difference for someone pure-hearted.
Slash!
'Not that it bothers me.'
Abel swept his sword in an arc. The enemy, trusting his buddy and prepping a lightning technique, sprayed blood from his chest.
"Guhk!"
Not a pleasant feel. Killing wasn't fun. He wasn't that far gone.
But they were the enemy. Hesitate, and it'd be him, his family, or his allies hitting the dirt. Pity came after victory.
Even in a romance fantasy, people died the same. Abel never forgot that, methodically cutting them down.
"This won't work! Deal with those butterflies first!"
"The controller's nearby! Find 'em!"
Frontal push too tough? Flank instead. Smart play with their numbers.
Abel ramped up his speed. One hand swung the sword while the other snagged a fleeing foe's collar, slamming him down and stomping his face.
But the Supremacists had plans too. Sneaking out post-academy raid wasn't luck.
They finally slipped past Abel, punching through the flame wall to target nearby Seria. Convinced taking her out meant escape.
Abel clicked his tongue at the sight. Genuinely pitied their choice.
'Poor bastards. Digging their own graves.'
If they knew this world's genre, they'd never pick that option.
Aiming for the romance FL? Meant becoming the ML's enemy.
Crunch!!
Bones shattered as one targeting Seria tumbled across the ground, face caved in. Barely breathing—good as dead.
"How dare you! Who the hell do you think you're touching?!"
Rel roared, swinging steel fists wildly.
He was supposed to circle the building with Abel, hitting from outside. But he'd vanished, and Abel had clocked his thinking right then.
The classic "cool knight guarding the lady" spot. Any romance ML would sell his soul for it.
Rel had claimed it.
'Enemies'll try fleeing outside anyway, and I can handle myself after testing 'em, right? Goddamn ML types. What if the plan goes tits up?'
If it was pure trust in him, fine. But Rel looked uneasy. Probably worrying Abel might crack... nah.
"You traitor!"
"I can't take this anymore!"
"Miss Seria! You alright?!"
Three more guys barreled in from the opposite side, forming up around her protectively. Then they unleashed a barrage at the Supremacists gunning for her—flashier, stronger blasts, emphasizing their rivalry.
Abel paused mid-swing, watching the cringey display. Even the Supremacist fighting him looked baffled, like What the fuck?
'...No way. Rel, was your anxiety not about me, but those guys stealing your thunder?'
Incredible. Romance MLs were something else.
Clapping internally, Abel refocused.
But then a wildcard he hadn't foreseen popped up.
"Ngh! This ain't working! Nie! Go! We need at least one to escape!"
"B-but!"
"Go now! We can't hold much longer!"
At his comrades' yells, the Supremacist named Nie spun and bolted, turning his back.
Expected that much. The real issue came next.
"Huh?!"
The deserter's body lifted off—then rocketed skyward.
Abel, fresh off dropping a foe, bit his lip. Shit!
Flight ability user. How'd he forget?
Should've kept him in check. Lately, all fights grounded; slipped his mind such powers existed.
Even the sky was ability users' turf!
'Bigger problem! Those damn guys!'
Rel was solo on the front. Flam, Portus, Kalligo were reserves on standby.
If they'd held position, they could've sniped this flyer easy.
But nope—Rel's "knight routine" hooked 'em all. No reserves left, and they'd gone all-out showboating, hitting wise-man cooldown.
Fine. He'd handle it solo.
Abel grabbed the scabbard at his waist. Might miss, but worth a shot. Lucky hit could down him...
Boom!
"Kyaaak!"
A massive ice chunk smashed the fleeing foe dead-on from somewhere. Abel watched him crater the ground, then thumbs-upped the twin sisters waiting in the distant woods.