Path of the Extra

Inside the war tent, seated behind a map-covered desk, Crown Prince Dorian Aureliath exhaled deeply, his face shadowed by fatigue and quiet fury.

Across from him sat Duke Ronan Halvar, mirroring his expression. Both men stared down at the opened letter laid between them—its contents as heavy as the silence in the room.

Captain Oscar of the Royal Knights was dead.

The cause: assassination.

The suspected perpetrators: The Inverse Creed.

That was the name coined by the high powers of all three major kingdoms to describe a rogue faction of mysterious humans. Individuals who appeared from nowhere, disrupting the delicate balance between nations. Of these unknown powerhouses, the one known as the Red-Eyed Ghost was believed to be a confirmed member. Though no concrete evidence supported the Creed’s existence, enough powerful figures—Dorian now included—believed it was real.

So far, only eight faces had been vaguely identified, and all had ties to devastating events like the massacre at Keft Village. No patterns. No traceable goals. Just carnage and disappearance.

Now Captain Oscar, a Grade 1 Master—one of the kingdom’s pillars—was gone.

Dorian’s fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

Why now again? What do they want? And how, if ever, could he contact them?

But there was one truth that lingered in his heart like a weight:

They only began to move after the Red-Eyed Ghost vanished.

’Was the Red-Eyed Ghost their foot soldier?’

If so… it terrified Dorian to imagine what the higher-ranked members of that organization were like.

“Damn it!” Ronan slammed his fist onto the table, the veins in his forehead pulsing with rage.

“Just when the Kingdom of Knowledge was beginning to gain the upper hand, this damned organization decides to crawl out from the shadows?!”

He stood, pacing furiously.

“May the sun keep shining on me—but how is this even possible!? Captain Oscar was a Grade 1 Master! A Master! For him to fall like this…!”

“Calm down,” Dorian said, his voice low but firm—carrying enough weight that Ronan bit his lip and returned to his seat.

“There’s no undoing it now. Sir Eryk will assume command of the Royal Knights. As for us… we need to devise a way to push the Revolutionary Army back.”

Dorian didn’t voice it aloud, but the thought still struck him cold:

’Oscar’s son… What will he do once he hears his father has died?’

Ronan’s expression darkened further.

“The odds are against us, Your Highness. The revolutionaries aren’t pulling any punches. We may have myself, my right hand, Sir Eryk… and you. But they’ve sent five high commanders to this battlefield. And frankly, it’s far too great a risk to have you personally engage.”

Then, almost under his breath, Ronan muttered bitterly,

“…If only the king were here.”

Dorian’s glare was sharp and immediate, but the duke pretended not to notice.

’After this war is over… I’ll kill him,’ Dorian thought coldly.

’And that conniving wife of his. I’ll replace them both with someone useful.’

Suddenly, a bell rang out in sharp bursts—an emergency signal.

Outside the tent, the soldiers were shouting, running, weapons drawn in chaos. The earth itself trembled beneath their feet.

Dorian rose to his feet, his expression turning grim.

“It seems the next assault has begun.”

“We need a proper strategy,” Ronan muttered.

“If this continues, it won’t be long before they reach the gates.”

The gates of Deepwell. A fortified town within Duke Halvar’s territory, now turned into a battlefield. Their war camp was one of many tents lining the roads leading to the duke’s estate—the same road the Revolutionary Army had chosen as its advance point.

And with the way things were going…

’It wouldn’t be long until Deepwell fell.’

Then the rest of Halvar’s lands would follow.

But what unsettled Dorian most wasn’t the sheer scale of the enemy’s force. It was the fact that he

hadn’t appeared yet. “The Immortal Eyepatch… still hasn’t shown himself,” Dorian muttered, eyes narrowing.

Why? In a battle this crucial—where was the revolution’s wildest card?

Neither he nor the other monster had appeared. Not yet.

That, more than anything, gnawed at Dorian’s nerves.

’The duchess remains in the capital, and can contact me the moment anything occurs. The other noble territories are similarly prepared… So what are they waiting for?’

“I should prepare to assist Sir Eryk—Captain Eryk,” Ronan said with a loud sigh, rising to his feet.

Dorian remained seated, watching the man with an unreadable expression.

But before he could stand as well, the ground shook again—stronger this time. Furniture rattled violently. A deep rumble tore through the air.

“An earthquake?” Dorian frowned, stepping outside just as chaos broke loose.

Knights were panicking, shouting. Tents collapsed. Swords clattered to the dirt.

Then abruptly, the earthquake stopped as if it had never happened.

Then suddenly, a portal bloomed open—a swirling blue oval of light—just meters from them. The noise died as the soldiers froze, staring.

From the portal stepped a knight clad in shining golden armor, who knelt respectfully before the prince.

“I greet the future Sun of Ismyr, His Highness, Crown Prince Dorian Aureliath.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you want?”

“His Majesty, the King, orders your immediate presence in his chambers.”

Dorian’s face turned cold—dark as storm clouds rolling over mountains.

Around them, murmurs rose among the knights.

“The king? Is His Majesty finally stepping in?”

“Thank the gods! I was beginning to think we’d die out here. We’ve been fighting for three weeks straight…”

“At last! With our hero returning, the revolution won’t stand a chance!”

Dorian ground his teeth together, ignoring the whispers. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and sharp as ice.

“Then let us not waste His Majesty’s precious time.”

Dorian stepped into the portal.

The knight followed, and it closed behind them.

At once, the prince found himself before a pair of tall wooden doors. Behind him stretched a long hallway veiled in silence—a red carpet beneath his feet, flanked by statues of forgotten kings and beasts.

In front of him…

The King’s Chamber.

Before Dorian could reach out or even gather his thoughts, a deep voice resonated from within the chamber.

“Enter.”

He opened the door.

The knight remained outside.

Dorian stepped into the room. Lavish tapestries and silk curtains adorned the walls—at least, they once did. Now, the room was a mess. Books lay scattered across the floor, a toppled chair bled splinters into the carpet, and shattered porcelain from broken vases sparkled like spilled stars.

He stepped over it all without pause.

His eyes did not stray from the bed where a gauzy veil hung down, obscuring all but the shadowy silhouette of the man lying there.

Dorian dropped to one knee.

“I greet the Sun of Ismyr. May your light continue to shine upon our path.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then the king spoke, coldly.

“Fix her.”

For a moment, only a cold, awkward, and suffocating silence filled the king’s chamber. There was no wind, no breath—nothing but stillness.

Then, finally, Dorian bit his lip until blood welled. The taste of iron grazed his tongue as it trickled down his chin.

“…As you wish.”

He rose and approached the side of the bed where the veil was parted.

He didn’t look at the king.

His eyes settled only on her.

She lay there in a white gown, rumpled and torn like wilted silk in a storm. Her skin was a canvas of bruises and dried blood. Faint handprints, clung to her limbs—ghosts of where she’d been gripped too tightly. Her hair, black as a winter’s night, spilled across her face in tangled strands. And her eyes—stared blankly, empty of light.

They held nothing.

Not anger.

Not pain.

Not even life.

Her skin was pale—too pale. So much so that Dorian found himself thinking,

’she looks like a mannequin.’

He almost smiled.

And then—

A fist.

Too fast to see.

It crashed against his face.

Dorian was launched across the chamber like a ragdoll, slamming into the far wall. Stone cracked and splintered. Blood sprayed from his mouth, his head.

He collapsed to the floor, twitching.

Coughing. Wheezing.

Then slowly, mechanically, he stood again.

His eyes were void of feeling.

“Hurry up,” the king said.

“…As you wish.”

Dorian dragged his feet, limping toward the bedside as if nothing were wrong—as if nothing had happened at all.

He pulled the woman’s body onto her side, revealing her bare back. There—embedded into her flesh—was a small, circular device made of interlocking wheels.

He pressed his hand to it, channeled his mana, and activated his [Unique Skill]. He twisted the wheels.

The woman’s body convulsed violently. She jerked, spasmed—

And then stilled.

Dorian stepped back.

Moments passed.

Her fingers twitched. Then her arms moved. Then she sat up, slowly—mechanically—like a puppet finding motion.

She didn’t look at Dorian.

She couldn’t.

Her eyes could only see him—the king.

“Ah…” the king murmured, his voice thick with something that could almost be joy.

“You’re back.”

She didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

There were no lips.

No teeth.

No tongue.

No voice in her body.

Just a hollow vessel.

The veil closed again, obscuring them both.

Dorian stared at the shadows behind the curtain as the king’s silhouette leaned over hers.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered.

“You’re mine. Everything that was once his… belongs to me now.”

His voice trembled.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rough. I didn’t… I just…”

“I only ever wanted the throne… because of you. I did everything—everything—to make you hated, to make you alone. So I could be the only one left for you to run to. So I could have you.”

The bed creaked.

The king’s shadow moved, hands gripping her throat.

But she didn’t resist.

She didn’t understand what resisting was.

She didn’t know what pain was.

Blood from Dorian’s head trickled down his neck.

Still, he stood in silence.

The king’s voice broke.

“Then why… why did you leave me? Because he came back? Or that devil who pretended to be him? Or that wolf creature who took you into the forest? Is that it?!”

Mana surged in the air.

The room vibrated with power.

Dorian collapsed to his knees, gasping—his lungs strangled by pressure.

The man suffocating him with magic…

Was his grandfather.

King Casper Aureliath.

And he was screaming:

“Why did you take his hand!? Why did you leave me?!“

The king suddenly quieted, his voice low and tired now—like a broken man.

He lay over her, his long hair draping over her shoulder, a soft sob trembling in his chest.

“…Have you lost your mind?” he whispered. “Why are you still doing this to me?”

“I know you’re tired… So am I.”

“They call me a hero now. The Devil Slayer. The man who killed the Skinwalker. I did it all for you. So why? Why is it still so hard?”

“I show up. I hold on. I try to keep us together. But you… you keep slipping through my fingers. I keep waiting—like a fool—hoping one day you’ll look at me. Not my brother. Not that devil. Just… me.“

“…I’m breaking too.”

The woman—her shape, her presence, her face—

The mannequin that looked like Mio Rossweth… did not answer.

Because she could not.

“…Are you still here?” the king asked softly.

“Did I not dismiss you?”

“You didn’t, Your Majesty,” Dorian said, his head bowed low.

“…So you stayed because you listened.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“…At least you didn’t inherit your parents’ defiance. If only they had listened. I wouldn’t have needed to kill them.”

The king chuckled lightly. Then solemnly:

“You’re smart, Dorian. The God of Sun will surely bless you. You’ll slay that devil. You’ll free your queen from that cursed forest.”

The veil shifted. The king’s shadow turned to face him.

“You will be the next king.”

“I will do my best, Your Majesty.”

“Yes… your best. Go now.”

Dorian rose to his feet.

He walked through the wreckage of the room toward the double doors. Just before he pushed them open, he muttered:

“Hail the Sun.”

Behind him, there was no response.

Only the sound of something wet… and ragged breathing.

He stepped outside and quietly closed the doors behind him.

The knight was still waiting. At the sight of him, he bowed low without lifting his head.

He was one of the few knights gifted with a space affinity.

“Take me back to the camp,” Dorian commanded.

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

The knight bowed once more and opened a portal.

Dorian stared into it, his eyes dull.

’Perhaps I should join today’s battle after all.’