Path of the Extra

“Sir Eryk, you look exhausted. Seems those revolutionaries aren’t letting you rest at all, hmm?”

A handsome young man with gentle brown curls and bright blue eyes spoke lightly, a small, calm smile on his lips as he sat comfortably behind a large desk.

Sir Eryk sighed deeply, removing his golden helmet to reveal short, bright-orange hair and weary eyes.

“The southern and western sectors of the Black Circle have practically fallen into their hands. The royal army is stretched to its limits, our captain is still missing, and four of the five dukes—despite their households being here—have retreated to their own territories. Duke Armand Valerien, who governs the south, and Duke Ronan Halvar in the west have requested aid from the royal army, yet they refuse to lend their own forces, citing concerns over rising revolutionary activity near their domains. Duchess Selene Corvaris is the only exception—she remains in the capital and has generously offered some of her own troops. The other two dukes retreated to their northern and eastern strongholds, conveniently providing excuses as to why they cannot spare any troops.”

House Halvar and House Valerien controlled territories that stretched deep into the Black Circle, an area rapidly descending into chaos with revolutionary uprisings now even beginning to appear in the White Circle. Duchess Selene Corvaris, however, possessed no lands of her own within the kingdom and had never expressed a desire for them. Yet, among the dukes, she remained the strongest, loyal defender of the royal capital, and by extension, the royal family.

House Aureliath.

At this thought, Crown Prince Dorian Aureliath’s smile faded, his expression darkening considerably.

“In the end, everyone only cares for themselves once death draws close,” he muttered bitterly. “Then we have no choice but to initiate our own operation immediately.”

“Operation?” Sir Eryk tilted his head, confusion apparent. He had no idea why the crown prince had summoned him today.

Dorian nodded slowly.

“Yes. We can’t afford to wait any longer for the captain—gods only know where he’s vanished. Unfortunately, we’ll have to begin striking back against those traitors without him. And after we’ve dealt with this rebellion, Duke Armand Valerien and Duke Ronan Halvar will certainly face consequences for their cowardice.”

Sir Eryk fell silent as Dorian turned slightly toward the closed door and spoke in a clear voice:

“You may enter.”

The door swung open quietly, and Sir Eryk turned, his eyes widening slightly as he saw who stepped inside.

A woman dressed in black robes entered gracefully. Her youthful face, framed by long black hair that cascaded gently down her back, held an unreadable calm. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, revealing deep, dark eyes that seemed to absorb the very light around her.

“Lady Maeryn, it has been quite a while,” Sir Eryk said respectfully, bowing his head slightly.

Maeryn paused before him, a small, enigmatic smile touching her lips.

“Indeed, it has, Sir Eryk. I sincerely hope your health hasn’t suffered too greatly from the burdens placed upon you lately.”

“…It is manageable.”

Dorian cleared his throat deliberately, reclaiming their attention.

“There’s no better moment than now to strike back against these revolutionaries. They’re careless after their string of recent victories, overly confident after one of the nine High Commanders, Pierre, fought that mysterious red-eyed ghost, followed immediately by your own encounter with him, Sir Eryk. Even though your battle ended in a stalemate, the village was utterly destroyed. I must assume that red-eyed ghost has bled out somewhere after facing off against Pierre. It’s been more than two months without any sightings; we can confidently assume there won’t be any more hidden threats.”

His eyes narrowed, his gaze turning cold, his voice dropping lower in intensity.

“We’re going to annihilate all revolutionary strongholds, starting from the west and moving southward—beginning tomorrow.”

Sir Eryk’s eyes widened in shock.

“Your Highness! That’s far too little time for my men to prepare! They’re already exhausted, and our dwindling food supplies only further diminish their strength. Moreover, a large portion of our army is currently engaged in battles against the Kingdom of Silvergrove!”

But Dorian’s expression remained unyielding.

“Precisely. No one would expect us to launch a counterattack now, when our kingdom is at its weakest in every conceivable aspect—strained resources, troops fighting on foreign fronts, and internal strife consuming us from within. The revolutionaries will lower their guard, convinced we lack the strength or courage to retaliate. By the time they realize their error, their heads will already be rolling.”

Seeing Dorian’s cold and unyielding stare, Sir Eryk clenched his jaw, forced into reluctant silence.

Dorian continued, unbothered.

“Lady Maeryn, please use your [Unique Skill].”

Maeryn hesitated briefly, giving Dorian an unreadable glance. The prince ignored her reluctance and unfurled a large scroll, revealing a detailed map that covered his desk—the map of Isymr.

“Step forward, Lady Maeryn.”

His voice grew colder, exuding an authority befitting the royal crown prince. Sir Eryk and Lady Maeryn involuntarily shuddered under his gaze.

No one ever knew what truly went on in the crown prince’s mind—his thoughts, his plans, his ambitions.

He was simply terrifying.

Biting her lip nervously, Maeryn approached the table.

Her [Unique Skill], [Murder Mystery], allowed her to pinpoint the location of killers—those with high kill counts—by marking them in blood on a map. The skill required her to cut her finger and use her own blood as a catalyst. The color of the blood indicated the extent of the target’s killings: bright red for around a hundred kills, dark red for roughly five hundred, and pitch-black for those with kill counts of a thousand or more. The drawbacks were severe mana consumption and excruciating headaches, growing worse as the kill counts increased. Because of this, she rarely used the skill—but today, she had no choice.

She silently drew a dagger from her storage bracelet and sliced deeply into her fingertip, letting droplets of blood fall onto the map.

Dorian spoke quietly:

“Focus on the southern and western regions only. We already expect high kill counts for the two dukes.”

Maeryn lifted her hand, and immediately, her blood flowed across the map, forming two large, distinct pools—dark red in hue—indicating individuals who had each taken nearly five hundred lives: Duke Valerien and Duke Halvar.

Once more, Maeryn pressed her bleeding finger onto the map, allowing more blood to seep out. This time, multiple smaller, brighter-red pools appeared throughout the southern and western sectors.

“They’re scattered—not too far, yet not too close to the dukes’ territories. Likely revolutionary bases,” Dorian observed coldly.

Again, Maeryn allowed more blood to spill onto the map. The blood shifted, suddenly flowing toward one spot in particular in the south, near other smaller bright-red pools. All the blood merged, turning significantly darker.

“…So their true target is Duke Armand Valerien. Someone capable of killing him is there—one of the Nine High Commanders openly displaying his presence. Just as I thought: the traitors are preparing their move as well.”

Naturally, there were methods to conceal oneself from Maeryn’s [Murder Mystery]. Her [Unique Skill] wasn’t flawless—nor did she fully understand it herself—but for some reason, Dorian highly valued it. She grit her teeth as her complexion paled, suffering from the fierce headache pounding inside her skull.

“Again,” Dorian commanded coldly.

“Don’t hold back this time.”

Sir Eryk glanced anxiously at Maeryn but remained silent. Obediently, Maeryn forced more blood from the deep cut. The crimson liquid dripped heavily onto the map—but then, suddenly, it didn’t stop.

It just kept flowing, uncontrollably—

Dripping,

dripping,

dripping.

Maeryn’s face twisted in panic as her blood poured endlessly, drawn forth by her now uncontrollable skill.

“—!!”

Lady Maeryn screamed and stumbled backward. Sir Eryk quickly caught her, panic gripping his heart.

But Dorian merely narrowed his eyes at the map.

“…How troublesome.”

Following his gaze, Sir Eryk’s eyes widened in shock.

“Just when I assured you there were no more hidden threats…” Dorian whispered bitterly, despite his calm expression. His eyes were devoid of any warmth.

Two massive pools of pitch-black blood stained the map.

One was south, in the Forest of Eternity—black, darker than the abyss itself.

That was not unusual. It had remained unchanged for years, a horror they knew and feared, trapped within that forest. Something they prayed would never escape.

No—what truly unsettled them was the other pool of blood, identical in hue.

It lay directly in the Golden Circle, at the royal capital itself… exactly where they stood.

“That… does it belong to Duchess Selene Corvaris… or…”

Sir Eryk couldn’t bring himself to finish, though the implication was clear. Was it from House Aureliath itself—the royal family? Was it the crown prince standing before them? Or even worse?

Dorian shook his head slowly.

“Neither. It appears something even worse lurks among us. The question is, how long has it been here? Lady Maeryn used her [Unique Skill] only four months ago, and nothing like this appeared. It must have happened recently…”

Maeryn, barely conscious and struggling to stay upright, trembled weakly as blood trickled from her nose.

Dorian fixed his cold eyes upon her again.

“Again.”

“Your Highness, she clearly can’t—!” Sir Eryk began.

“I said again.”

Silently, Maeryn stepped forward once more, forcing her bleeding finger onto the map. Blood poured forth uncontrollably.

Flowing, flowing, flowing—endlessly flowing.

Then Lady Maeryn screamed again, her voice piercing the room, and collapsed heavily onto the floor.

All the blood exploded from the map, drenching them in warmth, its pungent stench filling the chamber.

“Lady… Maeryn…?”

Sir Eryk stared down, horrified. Maeryn lay motionless at his feet, her eyes wide open, fixed in terror and disbelief. Blood tears streamed continuously down her pale cheeks. Her eyes saw something they should never have seen.

Dorian calmly pulled a cloth from somewhere and wiped his face, looking coldly at the now useless, blood-soaked map.

“For a moment, I glimpsed another five pools of black blood scattered across all three circles of the kingdom. Then, they all moved toward a single location.”

“Your Highness, we need a medic! She’s not breathing anymore!”

“…The Forest of Eternity.”

“Your Highness!?” Sir Eryk shouted desperately.

At last, Dorian glanced impassively at Sir Eryk and down at Lady Maeryn’s corpse, sighing softly. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

“Leave it, Sir Eryk. She’s already dead.”

“What…?”

“Something new and unimaginable lurks in that forest,” Dorian continued coldly, “something horrific enough to cause her brain to destroy itself.”