Path of the Extra

“The first moment I laid eyes on you, I thought we were similar… and now, we even complete the look.”

Sweat rolled down Azriel’s entire body. He couldn’t move—only grunt, tremble, and gasp for air with the knife still lodged deep in his right eye socket.

“Khk…!”

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

[Soul’s Crucible] was in overdrive, and still, the agony clawed through every nerve like wildfire.

Pierre’s words barely registered through the haze of pain.

“But I have to praise you, boy. You’re really something. You still haven’t passed out, and you’re even holding back your tears. Honestly… if the royal family ever got their hands on someone like you, I fear the revolutionary army would crumble.”

Then Pierre let out a long, casual sigh.

“You said something else, didn’t you? What was it again? Ah, right… ‘You use that sword—I’ll crush it like I crushed your axe. You use your hands—I’ll break them. Then your legs. After that, your mouth. And then… your remaining eye. And just to spite you, I’ll keep you alive. I’ll let you rot. And when I join the royal family, I’ll make you listen as your Supreme Leader and everything you cared about burns.’ That’s what you said.”

Pierre’s single eye darkened. Colder. Emptier. Hollow, like something dead staring through a mask.

“I believe in fairness. Justice. Equality. Liberty. So as a firm advocate of those beliefs… I’ll give you the same treatment you planned to give me.”

He reached for Atropos’ Elegy, still in Azriel’s left gauntlet.

But when he reached for the Desert Eagle, his hand froze.

Pierre’s expression twisted as he looked down at Azriel.

The boy’s blood-smeared face twitched. His remaining eye trembled violently. Blood foamed between his gritted teeth.

Pierre took a step back. Then another. His face went pale.

“Impossible…! Impossible! How is this possible!? How can you regenerate so much mana so quickly!? Are you even human!?”

And as he screamed, Azriel’s aura exploded.

Neither of them could see it—but they felt it.

The very air seemed to warp, mana distorting reality like heatwaves off steel. The storm of it lashed against Pierre’s skin like ocean wind, making his heart lurch.

The spell he’d cast—the one that bound Azriel’s body—shattered.

Azriel’s arms dropped to his sides, limp. His body swayed.

Then, slowly… he took a step forward.

His one eye glared at Pierre with silent, burning hatred.

“You… you’re a monster,” Pierre breathed, his voice cracking.

“Why isn’t your mind broken yet!? This… this is unfair! Cheater! Cheater! I even lost consciousness when it happened to me!”

“I’m… a monster? A cheater? This is unfair?” Azriel’s voice was hoarse—dry, cracked, barely more than a whisper.

“Yes! That’s exactly right! You should be ashamed of yourself!” Pierre shrieked.

“Look at what’s happened—all the damage, all the death—because of you! I was just on a mission! I was supposed to turn this village into another base for the revolutionary army! But you showed up! If not for you, I would’ve fought Margrave Alaric Breval like usual—neither of us able to kill the other, like always. He would’ve retreated! But because of you, I got my chance! He dropped his guard! I finally killed him! I only came here to help these poor souls! I’m perfect—I must help! I must spread equality and liberty! And yet—because of you!—so many have died! This village is doomed because of you!”

Azriel stopped walking.

“Just look around you!” Pierre screamed.

“This is all your fault! If only you’d retreated… given up… or simply died, everything would’ve turned out better! Curse your gold-blooded pride! How could those two knights have evacuated an entire village so fast!? Look at all the blood around you! It’s only natural for someone like me to punish an unfair, cheating monster like you! Isn’t it!?”

Azriel said nothing.

He just looked around.

And then… his breath caught.

His eye froze on the truth.

…Destruction.

Chaos.

Dozens of humble homes—clay, wood, stone—all reduced to rubble.

The muddy, worn roads of the village torn apart.

Cratered earth everywhere.

And then…

Bodies.

Bodies everywhere.

Blood—everywhere.

Death—everywhere.

Azriel’s eye trembled again.

‘…How… how did I not notice…?’

With a pained expression, Azriel gritted his teeth and raised his trembling hands toward the handle of the small pocket knife embedded in his eyesocket.

And then…

he pulled.

“Ah… arghh!”

A violent spray of blood burst forth as the blade came free. Azriel staggered, breath heaving in short, raspy bursts. His vision blurred as pain thundered through his skull.

He looked down at his left hand—still encased in the cracked remnants of his gauntlet. Only his thumb was missing.

Lips pursed, he clenched his jaw and froze the wound shut with his ice affinity, gritting through the agony. Then, without hesitation, he did the same to his eye.

His remaining eye—cold, silent, merciless—locked onto Pierre.

The enemy’s expression twisted once.

Twice.

A third time.

Until all that remained was raw fear.

Pierre took a step back—then another—before he stumbled over the edge of the roof and fell.

He hit the muddy ground with a dull explosion, dirt and debris flaring outward. The dust hadn’t even settled before Pierre scrambled to his feet, turned, and bolted—only to collapse a few meters away, crouching and curling into himself like a wounded animal.

“I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared!”

Over and over again.

Azriel watched from the roof, standing still like a ghost, his boots rooted to the battered stone.

He was barely conscious.

His body felt like it was burning from the inside out—like his blood had turned to molten metal. Maybe it was because he was Blessed that his mana regeneration outpaced the drain. But even so… his core was hurting. Overstrained. Every flicker of aura felt like it tore him apart.

Azriel didn’t know if he was awake anymore. Or dreaming.

Fumbling with numb fingers, he pulled out the most expensive health potion he had from his storage ring and downed it in one gulp.

He exhaled slowly. Tossed the empty vial.

Pierre was still mumbling.

“I’m scared… I’m scared…”

‘As I thought… he’s—huh?’

Azriel’s thoughts suddenly stalled.

Something was wrong.

The potion… hadn’t worked.

His brows furrowed. He pulled out another.

Drank it.

Nothing.

A third.

No change.

A fourth.

Fifth.

No effect.

A chill rippled across his skin like fingers of ice.

‘Health potions aren’t working… in this scenario!?’

His expression hardened.

He was already critically injured. He knew nothing about the battlefield. He had no clue how to break Pierre’s strange invincibility. Everything hurt. His mana kept draining as his aura remained active—while his regeneration slowed more and more.

He was running out of time.

And yet…

Azriel’s face contorted in frustration.

‘If I retreat now… I’ve already lost.’

Unforgivable. Impossible. Unacceptable.

Azriel had to win.

He had to kill him.

Then, at the corner of his vision, something flickered.

Turning his head—each movement heavy, like lifting stone—Azriel spotted rubble scattered across the bloodstained ground.

Perched atop it…

A crow. Watching them.

His lone eye narrowed.

His voice rang out like a blade drawn from a sheath.

“Either show your face… or begone.”

Pierre froze mid-mumble, glancing at the crow as well.

Then—

A spike of jagged ice erupted from the ground and impaled the bird, shattering it in a spray of black blood and feathers.

Azriel’s heart skipped a beat.

‘…A Soul Echo!?’

His expression darkened with alarm.

Because that meant—

An expert or higher was watching.