Path of the Extra

Mirius turned to the village chief writhing on the floor and addressed him calmly.

“I have no real use for you anymore. Honestly, get that treated and run away if you wish.”

His words must have sunk in, because without even looking at Mirius, the chief—shaking violently—forced himself upright, pressing all his weight onto his remaining arm. Limping, he staggered slowly out, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Mirius’s gaze shifted to Veronica. His voice dropped into a murmur.

“Well… hands or no hands, it makes little difference to me. Especially after you lost so pathetically. Showing such arrogance… I suppose this is just another misfortune that comes with being weak.”

Then he looked at Azriel.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Azriel gave a curt nod and followed him. A side door from the cabin led into another room. When Azriel closed it behind them, he found himself in a modest bedroom: a single bed, a table, and a chair.

Without ceremony, Mirius collapsed onto the bed with an exhale of relief, as though shaking off a burden.

“I’ve been waiting for the final night of this scenario for months, you know? But I didn’t leave. After all, a hidden village no one can enter? A village mysteriously visited by powerful figures again and again? I could have slipped out through the underground tunnels at any time. But if this were a game…” He chuckled.

“…this has event written all over it. Something that has to be cleared. And as long as this village remains under my rule, all the cards are in my hand. You’ll be forced to fight me. And what I suspected turned out true: the spell stopped putting everyone who leaves the village into a forced sleep.”

Azriel frowned inwardly.

’He must have tested it… with real people.’

“And now,” Mirius continued, “there’s a clear path for anyone to find this village. Which must mean you’re here because there’s something important hidden here. Something that will decide whether the nobles or the revolutionaries win.”

Azriel tilted his head, watching Mirius recline with his eyes hidden beneath that blindfold. Then, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“You don’t know what it is, though, do you?”

Mirius smiled faintly in return.

“…Do you?”

“Maybe.”

“Is that why you came here?”

Azriel shook his head, leaning casually against the table.

“No. I came here to trade with you.”

“To trade?”

Mirius sat up slightly, tilting his head in intrigue. But before he could ask further, Azriel abruptly changed the subject.

“You know, I’ve been your neighbor this whole time.”

Mirius blinked.

“…Excuse me?”

Azriel’s smile widened.

“I wasn’t in Ismyr. Not in some other kingdom. Not hiding in some forgotten village. I was in the Forest of Eternity the entire time—sleeping. Dying.”

“Oh?” Genuine curiosity lit Mirius’s voice. Then his smile froze, realization dawning.

“Wait… if you’re telling me this, then that means—”

“I broke the spell,” Azriel finished for him.

“Oooh?” Mirius leaned back, clearly more intrigued now.

“So that’s why you’re completely insane. You’ve died so many times. Wait—so the secret to destroying the spell was… simply losing your sanity?”

Azriel tilted his head, as if considering.

“I suppose. As a consequence of dying over and over, I’ve lost a bit of touch with reality. With my emotions. For you, it’s been—what? Three months? Almost four? For me… it was much, much longer than that.”

“Wow.” Mirius smirked.

“That sucks.”

Azriel nodded once, calmly. Then the smile vanished from his lips.

“Well, that’s not the point I’m making. What I am saying is this: probably not many participants will ever come here. They won’t even know this place exists unless they pay very close attention to rumors. If you compared it to a game…” He smirked crookedly now.

“…this isn’t some mandatory main quest. This is a hidden event. One you’d only unlock by trying your absolute best.”

Azriel’s smile twisted further, almost cruel.

“So in other words—you’ve been wasting your time in this village.”

But enough of that,” Azriel said suddenly.

“You wanted to know what I came to trade, didn’t you? Well… here it is.”

Mirius tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face, as Azriel reached into his storage ring.

“Back when I dealt with Neo Genesis in CASC, my father let me choose a reward from the Crimson Vault. I chose this. He thought I was mad—taking something so… worthless.”

Gradually, shock morphed across his features as his eyes locked onto what Azriel held.

“But we both know this is far from worthless,” Azriel murmured,

“at least… not to FreeWings.”

In his hand lay a feather. Not the Annoying Feather—but a different one.

It was massive, nearly the length of Azriel’s arm, shimmering in fiery vermilion hues. The barbs glowed faintly, each strand delicate yet fierce, as if woven from flame itself. Soft. Beautiful. Divine.

“Before the Great Reversal, it belonged to a creature known by many names across many cultures,” Azriel said, trailing his other hand softly along the vane.

“Its symbols varied, but certain truths remained the same. A creature immortal. A creature reborn from its ashes. A creature of life after death.”

He smiled faintly.

“A phoenix.”

The feather of a phoenix.

Azriel had always known he would have to confront FreeWings. He just hadn’t expected such a dangerous group to get involved so early. But after the incident with the mana collar, Azriel, though initially furious, saw this as an opportunity: a chance to begin slowly eliminating the group’s future threat while also obtaining something extremely vital, something he had believed he could only acquire much later.

Mirius’s lips curled, and then—he laughed. Loudly.

“You really are something, Prince Azriel!”

Instead of anger, his face was painted with amusement.

“If you’re willing to trade the feather of a phoenix, then you must know quite a lot about us…”

His smile turned mysterious.

“Very well. I’ll bite. What do you want in return?”

He didn’t doubt the feather’s authenticity—fake or not, Azriel wouldn’t be holding it so confidently otherwise. Check latest chapters at novel-fire.net

“The Tear,” Azriel said simply.

Mirius’s smile only widened.

“So… the Tear of a Phoenix in exchange for the Feather of a Phoenix. That’s… highly inconvenient for me, isn’t it?”

“Each of you in FreeWings possesses a Tear of a Phoenix. This feather was somehow retrieved by the former Crimson King before his death. Just as your Tears were given to you by your leader. I don’t know if a phoenix truly exists—and I don’t particularly care. Of course, I wouldn’t mind seeing one, but all I want is a single Tear. I think that’s more than fair, don’t you? Give up your little cheap medal—the proof you’re a FreeWings member—and take the golden trophy I’m offering.”

Silence stretched between them as Mirius considered. Finally, he asked carefully:

“Why? What possible value does a Tear have over a Feather?”

Azriel shrugged lightly.

“That’s none of your business, is it?”

Mirius chuckled at that.

“I suppose not.”

He stood, staring at Azriel for a long moment. Then, out of nowhere, a dark, twisted smile curved his lips.

“But tell me… what’s stopping me from taking that feather off your cold, rotting corpse? This scenario is the perfect place to kill someone. I could have both. You’re just a mere Expert, while I am a Master. And if I recall correctly, there’s a rather delicious bounty on your head. One set by the Supreme Archon of Neo Genesis himself. Many believe it’s fake, but… our boss was never so serious as when he spoke of the Supreme Archon. Never dared to mock him. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s looked that scared, that serious. So if I kill you here… take the feather, claim the bounty… wouldn’t I be making both the boss and the Supreme Archon very happy?”

Slowly, Mirius began to walk toward Azriel. But Azriel only smiled, not faltering in the slightest.

“You’re right,” Azriel said evenly.

“There is a bounty on my head from Neo Genesis. But…”

His eyes narrowed.

“…by collecting it, you’d be going against the will of your boss, wouldn’t you? You’d be standing in the way of Neo Genesis itself.”

Mirius froze mid-step, tilting his head in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

Azriel slipped another item from his storage ring.

Golden chains wrapped around his left arm, glinting faintly, and from them dangled a golden pocket watch, clasped firmly in his hand. He twirled it casually, though his heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might burst through his chest.

’I really should stop gambling in moments like this…’

Outwardly, he smirked, exuding calm confidence. Inwardly, he prayed—no, begged—that something about this damned watch would prove what he needed it to. After all, it was the very watch Xian Feng had handed him.

’The sun should be setting soon… dammit. Everything’s still on track, but… for how long?’

And then—slowly—his hope paid off.

Mirius’s face paled. He staggered back a step, eyes wide.

“T-that… that symbol…”

’Symbol?’

Azriel frowned inwardly and glanced at the pocket watch. His eyes narrowed when he noticed it—how had he missed it before?

On the back of the watch… a mark.

An apple.

A half-eaten apple, its silhouette etched in gleaming gold.

Mirius’s voice shook.

“Boss told us… if we ever encountered someone with a golden pocket watch bearing that symbol, it meant…”

He raised a trembling finger at Azriel.

“…that person is… the Supreme Archon.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…Huh?”

Azriel blinked.

’What the hell did he just say?’

Supreme Archon?

Him?

Azriel?

He looked at Mirius, then down at the watch.

’Xian Feng..!’

Azriel’s teeth ground together. The realization struck like a hammer.

That bastard.

No wonder he’d agreed to Azriel’s demands so easily.

He hadn’t given Azriel the rank of a Heptarch at all.

The pocket watch wasn’t meant to be recognized as him being a Heptarch…

It was the mark of the Supreme Archon.

’That conniving bastard made me into a fake Supreme Archon!’

“Huh? But that doesn’t make sense…”

Mirius clutched his head with both hands, his composure cracking.

“Why would you kill one of your own if you’re the Supreme Archon? You’re weak… but you’re also a prince… and those rumors… you—you placed a bounty on your own head? What the hell is going on!?”

Before he could spiral further, Azriel cut him off coldly.

“So. Will you trade with me, or not?”

’This is bad…’ Azriel thought, his smirk never faltering.

’He’s starting to hesitate. I didn’t expect the FreeWings’ leader to drill such fear of the Supreme Archon into them—especially now. I can’t have him afraid of me. But I need him to take me seriously. Deadly serious.’

Or else everything would be for nothing.

“Fine,” Mirius relented.

Azriel didn’t like that.

He didn’t want him to be fine with it.

But Mirius’s next words caught Azriel off guard, freezing him mid-thought.

“Under one condition. Tell me this, and I’ll give you the Tear.”

Azriel’s voice stayed calm.

“What is it?”

“You died,” Mirius said, tilting his head.

“If what you claim is true, you died a few dozen times escaping the Forest of Eternity. Tell me what you saw each time you died.”

Azriel’s expression turned indecipherable.

“And why,” he asked, “do you want to know something like that?”

Mirius sighed, leaning back on the bed. His blindfold tilted toward the ceiling, his voice strangely wistful.

“They say those who’ve died and come back always see something. And what they see reflects the kind of person they truly are.”

“…Is that so.” Azriel’s eyes narrowed.

Mirius nodded.

“I’m curious what you are, Prince. Leader of Neo Genesis. I want to know the kind of person I’m about to make a deal with.”

Azriel said nothing, watching silently as Mirius exhaled once more.

“I suppose it’s only fair I share mine,” Mirius continued, “what I saw when I brushed the door of death.”

Azriel already knew the story, but he kept quiet, listening.

“I saw… a vast, endless field of grass. The sky was a perfect blue, not a single cloud. No trees, no mountains—nothing but green stretching forever. And there, far away, was a woman. My wife. Sitting in the grass, waiting for me, as though we were about to share a picnic like we used to. I could only see her back, never her face. But I knew it was her. I knew she was there. Even now… I feel she’s still waiting. Sitting in that endless field. Waiting for me.”

When he finished, Mirius tilted his head slightly toward Azriel through the blindfold.

Azriel raised a brow.

“It’s almost as if I’m supposed to feel sad for you. But… that’s it? And what’s that supposed to reflect, exactly?”

“That I love my wife dearly,” Mirius answered without hesitation.

Azriel fell silent.

The quiet stretched.

’What is this? Some bizarre ’bonding session with the villain’ event I’ve accidentally started?’

Azriel sighed inwardly at the ridiculousness of it all. Still—if it brought him closer to success, he’d play along.

He opened his mouth, prepared to lie… then closed it again. His lips pressed into a thin line.

…Was there really a need to lie?

“…I saw nothing,” Azriel said at last, evenly, with a faint smirk.

“No life. No trees. No grass. No people. Nothing. Just a darkness so black it devoured everything.”

The smirk faltered as he went on.

“I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. My mouth wouldn’t open, as if I had no tongue. No limbs. Nothing left of me at all. It felt like I was sinking in a bottomless ocean—drowning in silence, dragged deeper by roots that belonged to the sea itself.”

Azriel’s eyes grew distant, the last trace of his smirk gone.

“And yet… there was no end. No light waiting at the bottom. Just the weight of emptiness pressing against me until I couldn’t tell if I even existed anymore. I tried to scream—but there was no breath. I tried to move—but there was no body. Only silence. I felt erased from the universe. Forgotten by everyone. Something less than insignificant.”

A long silence followed. Azriel’s face was unreadable. Mirius’s, hidden behind the blindfold, betrayed nothing.

Finally, after what felt like a full minute, Mirius spoke.

“…You must believe you’re truly awful if that’s what you saw.”

Azriel’s expression hardened. His voice turned cold.

“Are you going to take the deal or not?”

Mirius hesitated… then shook his head.

“I’m afraid I won’t. Pleasant as this conversation was, I must decline your generous offer.”

That reaction.

Azriel almost saw stars in his own eyes.

’Perfect..!’

That was exactly what he wanted.

His entire plan hinged on this—on Mirius, the suicidal battle-maniac of FreeWings, deciding Azriel was worthy of being his final opponent. On Mirius believing this fight might finally be the one to reunite him with his dead wife.

Azriel needed him to use his [Unique Skill].

“But considering how unusual this is,” Mirius mused, “I’m in doubt. Should I capture you? Or kill you?”

Azriel had already slipped the feather and pocket watch back into his storage ring.

Then, suddenly, Mirius brightened. He clapped his hands together like a man struck by inspiration.

“I know! Let’s toss a coin to decide!”