Path of the Extra

Seeing the axe inch closer and closer to his face, Azriel released a disappointed sigh.

Then, relaxing his body, he did something unexpected.

He dismissed Void Eater.

The weapon vanished from his grasp in an instant. Azriel guided the mana inside his body toward his right hand, then wrapping the gauntlet with his aura like a sheath of invisible energy. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

What happened next made the two knights — and everyone witnessing — freeze in place.

With just his fingertips, Azriel caught the axe mid-air, stopping it dead in its tracks. His fingers dug into the silver blade, applying pressure until thin cracks spiderwebbed across the metal.

Then, with a final squeeze, the blade crumbled to pieces.

Only the wooden handle remained. It dropped to the mud with a hollow thud.

The eyepatched man stared at Azriel, then at the broken handle. His gaze grew colder, more composed.

In a tone like falling ice, he spoke to the knight with the crossed phoenix crest.

“Give me your sword.”

“Y-yes, Commander.”

The knight obeyed, handing over his blade. The eyepatched man accepted it without a glance, then sighed long and slow.

“Now, the two of you — retreat. Get as many people out of this village as you can. He and I are both Advanced. The moment we engage seriously, this village will perish. And that boy…” His voice dropped.

“He’s no spoiled brat.”

He looked at Azriel again.

“He has mana sensitivity like I do. But more than that, he’s using mana will. And he’s been toying with me — purposefully luring me in, drawing out my aggression so I’d throw away my weapon. He’s calculated. Make sure to warn the Supreme Leader about him… if I fall.”

“C-Commander! We can’t just leave you al—”

“The two of you will be nothing more than a burden.”

Silence followed. The knights stood frozen by his tone, unable to defy him.

Azriel narrowed his eyes as he studied them.

‘Commander, huh… so he’s a high-ranking figure in the Revolutionary Army. Looks like I’m facing someone important already.’

Then Azriel spoke — and this time, his voice was colder than the winds that howled. The knights visibly trembled, goosebumps rising on their skin.

“You use that sword,” he said, “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.”

His eyes sharpened.

“And just to spite you, I’ll keep you alive. I’ll let you rot. And when I join the side of the royal family, I’ll make you listen as your Supreme Leader and everything you’ve cared for burns.”

The eyepatched man stared silently, his gaze intense — cold, searching Azriel’s face for something, anything.

Finally, the man opened his mouth.

“How can you use mana will?” he asked.

“That’s only possible when a mana core reaches Level 5. Is it because you’re more sensitive to mana than others?”

Azriel’s expression darkened. The knights still hesitated, unsure whether to retreat or stay.

“Mana will?” he repeated.

“Well, in a way, yes. That’s part of what it takes to wield aura.”

“Aura, huh…” the man muttered.

“Am I overestimating you, or underestimating you?”

He tilted his head slightly, eye still locked onto Azriel.

“I’ve never met a Gold Blood like you. And I don’t know of anyone with red eyes. Someone this trained… someone this talented — they would’ve made waves. Unless your existence was kept hidden on purpose. But then there’s your weapon. Your talk of the royal family. The term ‘aura’ for mana will…”

A pause.

“Either you’re the best actor I’ve ever seen, or… you’re telling the truth. You’re not from this kingdom, are you?”

Azriel blinked at his words.

‘…I can’t tell if he’s cool-headed or hot-headed.’

He gave a slow nod.

“You’re right,” Azriel said.

“I’m not from this kingdom. I come from a fallen one — somewhere far away. I’m its only survivor.”

Azriel looked down for a moment, then met the commander’s eye.

“I don’t know anything about this place. I don’t know your revolution. I don’t know the people, or the history, or even the laws. You’re the first person I’ve had a real conversation with since I got here. But…”

His tone sharpened.

“You were right about one more thing. I was a noble. But not anymore.”

By the time Azriel finished speaking, he noticed the faint smirk on the one-eyed man’s face. His own eyes grew colder.

‘Why is he smiling…?’

“You’ve finally decided to speak the truth,” the eyepatched man said.

“I hate liars.”

Azriel blinked.

Then his eyes opened slightly, stunned.

‘Did I just get… played?’

The man’s next words confirmed it.

“While you carry yourself like a noble, and clearly possess a mana core… there’s one thing no proud noble of Ismyr would ever do.”

He pointed at Azriel.

“Wear such peasant clothes beneath their armor.”

Azriel clenched his jaw shut to stop it from falling open. Slowly, his gaze shifted to something colder—something amused.

‘Unbelievable… Hah. He really fooled me. That’s why he wasn’t fighting seriously.’

Watching the smirk remain on the man’s face, Azriel couldn’t help but smirk back—not just because he’d been played, but because…

The man still held the sword.

“You don’t seem to care much… even though I told the truth.”

The eyepatched man scoffed, the smile vanishing from his face like mist burned away by fire.

“I simply wanted the truth. But you gold-bloods are all the same—no matter what corner of the sun you crawled from. Lying tyrants, each and every one of you. And you’re no different. The moment I peel off that skin of yours, I’ll show the world the devil hiding beneath it!”

Azriel clicked his tongue in irritation.

‘As I thought… these revolutionaries are all mad.’

Bending his knees, Azriel prepared to move first—just before the other could—while the two knights retreated slowly, step by cautious step…

…until a massive ripple of mana surged behind him.

Azriel leapt aside.

All eyes turned to the source.

A calm, cold, and emotionless voice followed:

“I came here personally to assist Baron Adrienne de Castagne. He warned in a letter that the Revolutionary Army might target him. It seems… I’ve arrived late.”

A tall figure stepped forward through the mist and mud, each stride deliberate. His long black coat fluttered slightly with the wind, his boots leaving dark prints in the wet soil. Beneath the coat, he wore a polished black military uniform.

Then he stopped.

Black hair, neatly parted. Hazel eyes—clear, but devoid of warmth.

The eyepatched man scowled.

“Margrave Alaric Breval…”

Alaric narrowed his gaze in return, his voice dropping an octave—lower and heavier than before.

“I did not expect to find such a disloyal dog here… one of the Nine High Commanders, Viscount Pierre de Corvalin.”

Azriel, already circulating mana within his body, subtly wrapped his aura around himself—careful to keep it unnoticed.

‘Margrave Alaric Breval… Grade 1 Advanced. A strong one. And that damned eyepatch—Grade 2 Advanced.’

That should make Azriel the weakest here…

Then the Margrave’s cold gaze shifted to Azriel, who returned it without flinching.

“And who are you, boy? Judging from the hostility this traitor has shown you, I assume you’re not one of their barking mutts. Unless you’re a deserter.”

Azriel shook his head.

“I’m not part of the Revolutionary Army. I come from a fallen kingdom far from here… one so small and meaningless it isn’t worth remembering by name or by people.”

The Margrave’s eyes narrowed further, scrutinizing him.

“You’re strong. Definitely not from any of the kingdoms we’ve conquered. And you don’t match any royal family I recall…”

Then his lips curled.

Coldly.

And a sinking feeling grew in Azriel’s chest.

‘Shit.’

“You’re from across the Blue Waters,” Alaric said, almost with reverence.

“So there’s still more land to conquer after all…”

He chuckled.

“His Majesty will be pleased with this information. Well done, boy. Come with me after I deal with this traitor, and I promise—so long as you cooperate—you’ll live a very… comfortable life.”

Hearing his words, Azriel watched him silently.

Then, his gaze shifted toward Pierre de Corvalin, who was also watching him. Despite his earlier statement, it seemed he was now actually considering taking Azriel.

Indeed, a choice had to be made.

Azriel could side with Margrave Alaric Breval—aligning himself with the royal family. That would mean ensuring their survival, binding himself to their power.

Or he could choose Viscount Pierre de Corvalin, a high-ranking officer of the Revolutionary Army… one of the so-called Nine High Commanders. A move that would put him on the path to overthrow the very kingdom the royals had built.

With a darkened expression, Azriel thought bitterly,

‘So either I become a puppet of the royal family… or a tool of the revolutionaries, huh.’

And yet, as he finished the thought, Azriel closed his eyes and smiled—softly, gently.

Because for someone like him, the answer had always been obvious.

When he opened his eyes, the sheer intensity in them made even the Margrave raise an eyebrow.

Azriel’s voice came out low and cold.

“I refuse.”

His gaze cut toward Pierre de Corvalin.

“I refuse both of you.”

Then, with a sharp motion, Azriel summoned his soul weapons.

In his left hand, Atropos’ Elegy shimmered into being. In his right, the blade of Void Eater hissed into existence.

He raised them both—shoulders loose, lips curling into a dark, crooked smile.

“I’ll simply kill the both of you.”

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