Path of the Extra

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

That was the first thing Azriel heard when he came to his senses.

He stood in a narrow, filthy alleyway, the weight of damp mud pressing into the soles of his worn, cracked boots. The air stank of rot and smoke.

Looking down, Azriel noticed his auction attire had vanished—replaced with a rough, earth-toned tunic that clung uncomfortably to his skin.

He clicked his tongue.

“Dammit.”

He’d messed up.

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

‘Royal Revolution…’

He had never heard of this Scenario before. It wasn’t in the book.

“I need to find Jasmine.”

Quickly.

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

As long as she was not in a different Scenario.

The only thing keeping his pulse steady right now was the so-called “balance” of the Scenarios. The scenarios are always fair; they would never be placed in one that’s impossible to complete. But then again… what was balance to the children of gods?

What was fair—to someone like him?

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

Azriel clenched his jaw as the chants kept pounding through his ears, over and over again like a war drum. He stepped out of the alley and onto the muddy, uneven road, blinking against the faint light of a burning torch nearby.

“What is this…?”

His eyes widened slightly.

A large crowd had gathered ahead. Hundreds of people stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces twisted in fury, their voices raw from screaming. They were all facing a raised wooden podium.

And upon it…

A man knelt.

He wore regal clothing, now stained and torn, his hands tied behind his back. Tears streamed freely down his pale cheeks as he trembled beneath the scorn of the people.

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

“DOWN WITH THE GOLDEN BLOOD BASTARDS!”

“KILL THE GOLD! KILL THE GOLD! KILL THE GOLD!”

Then three figures stepped onto the stage.

‘Knights…’ Azriel’s thoughts sharpened.

Two of them wore silver-plated armor. One bore a lion crest crossed out with a large X—denying its former meaning. The other bore a similar mark, except with a phoenix emblem.

The third man stood at the front.

He was younger than the others—wiry, yet firm. His short black hair was slicked back, but what stood out was the jagged scar running from under his eyepatch all the way down to his neck.

He stopped in front of the kneeling man, his one remaining eye full of silent disdain.

The crowd fell into an eerie hush.

His voice was sharp as a sword.

“Baron Adrienne de Castagne. Do you have any last words?”

The kneeling man stopped weeping. His expression twisted into rage as he stared up at the eyepatched man.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH THIS, YOU DAMNED TRAITORS?! ALL OF YOU! THE ROYAL FAMILY WON’T STAND FOR THIS! YOU’LL ALL BURN!”

The young man scoffed.

“Traitors?” he repeated, his voice cold and dry.

“Which one of us is the traitor, Baron Adrienne de Castagne? You? Who ruled this village and bled it dry? You who taxed the poor until they starved, who turned your back on the dying? And now, when they finally rise to crawl out of the hell you left them in… you call them traitors?”

He leaned in.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

Castagne gritted his teeth, hatred pouring from every wrinkle on his face.

“You filthy revolutionary dogs… acting noble when you’re worse than us. The royals—no, the gods themselves—will punish you!”

The revolutionary’s smirk faded. His eye turned cold, empty.

He gave the order like he was discussing the weather.

“Kill him.”

Adrienne de Castagne’s eyes widened.

“W-wait—!”

SWING—!

The knight with the lion crest didn’t hesitate.

Steel flashed in the torchlight. A crimson arc splattered across the wooden platform.

The Baron’s head hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling to the edge of the stage. His body followed a heartbeat later, collapsing into the mud.

Azriel’s breath hitched.

The blood shimmered in the firelight.

The chants resumed, louder—like they’d been set ablaze.

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

The cries of the crowd echoed like thunder.

And Azriel stood frozen, staring at the bloodied platform

Taking a few steps back, Azriel felt his heartbeat quicken at the maddening sight.

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

They were insane.

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

Mad.

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

Furious.

“FOR LIBERTY AND EQUALITY!”

‘…Revolutionary dogs. That man must be part of the Revolutionary Army.’

Now, a choice stood before Azriel.

Either he joined the revolutionaries, or he sided with the royal family.

Survival came first—above all else. He needed to last until the final night, whenever that might be. But if he wanted victory—if he wanted to be rewarded for completing this scenario—then he’d have to tip the scales. Either prevent the fall of the royal family… or ensure it.

And more importantly, he had to find Jasmine. Keep her safe. Then the others too, assuming they were even here…

Well, almost everyone else.

If fortune—or misfortune—had dragged those other bastards into this scenario with him, then there were a few people Azriel wouldn’t mind personally dealing with.

The crowd, like rabid hounds, kept barking the same chant again and again.

The two knights, encased in silver from head to toe, turned to descend the podium alongside the eyepatched man.

Azriel stayed in the shadows, watching silently.

Until suddenly—

His heart stopped.

The eyepatched man froze mid-step. Then, slowly… he turned his head.

And locked eyes with him.

Badump!

Their gazes met.

Badump!

The wind howled, sweeping through the alley, stirring Azriel’s hair.

Badump!

Somewhere along the way, he had lost Jasmine’s hairband.

Badump!

And then—the man stood directly in front of him, his face just inches away.

Badump!

The two knights gasped in surprise.

Azriel felt it then—every single eye in the crowd turned to him, the air growing heavier with each breath.

The eyepatched man’s voice was sharper than before. Harsher than the one he’d used to condemn the baron to death.

“Why is a noble disguising himself as a commoner?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not a commo—!”

He didn’t get the chance to finish.

The man’s fist came flying toward his face like a hammer.

‘The hell!?’

Azriel’s eyes widened. Instinct screamed. He twisted his neck to the side—just in time.

The punch missed by a hair, but the wind trailing behind it tore through the air.

A split second later, the ground behind Azriel exploded, dust flying up in a violent gust.

‘If that hit me… I would’ve cracked my skull!’

The eyepatched man’s next punch was already incoming, but Azriel didn’t wait—he jumped back, his boots skidding across the mud as he landed.

In the same instant, he summoned his Soul Weapon—

Void Eater.

And clad himself in his Soul Armor—

Nocturne Covenant.

Time froze for a breath.

The eyepatched man’s single eye widened.

The two knights beside him stared.

And the crowd gasped in unison.

The eyepatched man roared:

“You’re not just a golden-blooded bastard—you’re also blessed by the gods?!”

Azriel blinked.

‘…Huh?’

‘Blessed?’

‘No—wait, when did I ever say I was blessed by the gods?’

‘I didn’t reveal anything…’

His bandages were still wrapped tight.

His storage ring was intact.

He hadn’t spoken a word about his origin.

Then—he realized.

They weren’t looking at him.

They were looking at Void Eater.

At Nocturne Covenant.

…Soul Weapons and Soul Armor.

In this kingdom, they were rare.

Much rarer than Azriel could have ever imagined.

No. It wasn’t just the fact that Azriel had a soul armor or a soul weapon.

It was the sheer fact that he could summon such a thing.

It was the fact that Azriel could use mana.

And it was then—only then—that Azriel noticed something else, something even more disturbing.

His eyes drifted for a moment, trailing past the eyepatch-wearing man and the two knights, landing on the crowd behind them.

Azriel’s battle sense couldn’t detect a single ounce of strength from them. Which should’ve meant they were all probably Dormants… and that would’ve been fine, if not for one glaring inconsistency.

Even a Dormant—no matter how weak—would hold at least a flicker of mana. And while it was understandable that he, despite being highly sensitive to mana, might not detect such traces—

There was still something… off.

A doubt crawled into his mind as he observed their reactions. Their expressions were wrong.

Azriel inhaled sharply—

The eyepatched man lunged at him.

“Hey, just wait a minute! I told you—I’m not a noble or a Gold-Blooded, or whatever!”

“Lies again!”

“Tch—”

Azriel clicked his tongue.

‘I don’t have a choice.’

He raised Void Eater and lunged forward, the obsidian blade gleaming as it sliced through the air toward the man’s only eye.

“You’re trained,” the man muttered.

And then—before Azriel could react—an axe manifested in the man’s hand.

‘What? Where did that come from—’

Azriel’s eyes dropped to the man’s wrist.

Then they widened in pure disbelief.

The bracelet was plain, ordinary-looking… yet utterly absurd.

‘A storage bracelet!?’

The axe flashed. Its handle carved from darkened wood, while the blade shimmered in silver, etched with exquisite, elegant engravings. A moment later, it crashed against Void Eater with a deafening clang.

The ground beneath them cracked open in spiderweb patterns, and dust exploded outward from the impact.

The crowd screamed. Panic spread like fire. People scattered in every direction.

Azriel strained his muscles, pushing forward, guiding mana into his tendons and arms.

“Not only are you blessed like me,” the eyepatched man growled, “but you’re also an Advanced at such a young age. You’ve been gifted with more than a mana core… you have talent. Boy, give up, and I promise to spare your life.”

Azriel’s breath hitched.

‘As I thought… Except for me, him, and the two knights—no one else here has a mana core.’

They couldn’t use mana.

They didn’t even know how to create a core.

‘I need more information about this world… fast.’

He tried again.

“I’m not lying, okay? I’m seriously not a nob—”

Before he could finish, he felt a ripple of mana coming from the left.

Azriel clicked his tongue and lashed out with a sharp kick, catching the eyepatched man in the chest and sending him skidding backward.

He leapt away just as two swords pierced the ground on either side of where he had stood. The knights had joined the fight.

“Let me finish, dammit!” Azriel shouted, annoyed.

The eyepatched man approached, slow and steady, twirling his axe with ease.

‘That axe… it’s not a soul weapon. And the knights—just Awakened.’

If he could disarm the man, he might be able to kill him.

Maybe.

The man’s scowl deepened. His glare sharpened.

“Still going on with that act? Very well, boy. Let me tell you why it’s pointless to lie.”

He stopped.

“I might’ve believed you, if you were just blessed with a pretty face. But. If you had just used your brain for one damn second, you’d realize the truth.”

Azriel’s fists tightened.

“Only the purest of nobles, blessed by the gods, have mana cores.”

“…!”

‘What…!? Only the purest of nobles? How is that—no. Don’t tell me…’

His thoughts spiraled.

‘They’ve kept it secret. How to use mana…’

Which meant it wasn’t just hidden. It was enforced.

‘They kill anyone who tries.’

This world… it had mana. So there must’ve been commoners occasionally born with natural mana cores, purely by chance.

But they’d be forced to hide it—or die.

Only nobles could have a mana core.

Unlike in Azriel’s world, where quite literally everyone is simply born with a mana core and not just someone from a clan.

‘Gods… what kind of twisted world did I fall into this time?’

“And—”

The man wasn’t done.

“The other obvious fact you didn’t realize…”

He raised the axe.

Azriel’s breath stopped.

Without warning, the man hurled the weapon straight at him.

“Is that arrogant presence you can never mask!”