Path of the Extra

“As I thought… all Gold Bloods are the same.”

“Gold Blood? Not only are you a disloyal dog, but a hypocritical one, too.”

Margrave Alaric Breval snorted, cold disdain etched across his face as he looked at Pierre de Corvalin. A shadow fell over Pierre’s expression.

“A pity, though,” Alaric continued, turning back toward Azriel.

“Boy, if you’re not an ally, then you’re an enemy. And I offer my enemies the same courtesy I’ve given them all—death.”

He raised his hands.

Suddenly, the wind howled.

The air twisted, spun like a cyclone as invisible pressure began to crush the space around them. Hair lifted, cloaks snapped, and dust whipped into the sky. The wind swirled around the Margrave, drawn to him like a living force.

Azriel’s gaze darkened.

‘Wind affinity…’

The two knights standing nearby didn’t hesitate. The moment they felt it, they turned and fled—vanishing like shadows against the wind.

Crackling arcs of lightning coiled around Azriel.

His grip tightened around the handle of his gun—Atropos’ Elegy.

A weapon forged by a god, somehow ending up in the hands of the Ten Heavenly Churches.

A divine weapon—absurd in nature, just like his sword art.

What made Atropos’ Elegy special wasn’t just its craftsmanship or divine origin—it was the multitude of signature skills carved into it. As long as Azriel had mana, the gun could form its own bullets, shaped entirely from his essence.

And with the quality of mana possessed by a Grade 3 Advanced… especially his mana…

Those bullets could pierce through anything of his level.

But that wasn’t all.

The gun didn’t just mold bullets—it allowed him to infuse them with his elemental affinity. He could fire rounds crackling with lightning, or chilling with ice.

Still, none of that compared to the weapon’s true strength.

The reason Azriel had spent so much into acquiring it—

The gun could charge.

If he fed it enough mana—steadily, over time—it would form a bullet.

A single, condensed projectile, birthed from pure mana and shaped to pierce through even those above his rank.

The wind howled louder.

Prince Azriel Crimson.

Ex-Viscount Pierre de Corvalin.

Margrave Alaric Breval.

Lightning crackled. Each of them stared at the other.

And in that stillness…

An unbearable tension settled over them.

Margrave Alaric Breval’s expression darkened as his gaze was on Azriel.

“Dog,” he growled, voice low with venom.

“Just this once, I suggest we form a temporary alliance to get rid of that boy. I don’t know what it is, but my instincts are screaming at me—kill him. Kill him now. After that, I’ll gladly finish you off.”

Pierre de Corvalin raised his sword in response, eyes narrowing.

“…For once, I might have to agree with you, Gold Blood. That boy… somehow, even though he isn’t a master, he can already use mana will. Who knows what else he’s capable of—especially with those strange weapons of his.”

“What?”

Alaric’s eyes widened.

“…Then it’s settled. I hope you don’t consider this dishonorable, boy. In fact, you should see it as the highest form of praise.”

Azriel’s face twitched, but before he could answer, Pierre stepped forward and spoke first.

“Then I’ll make the first move, I suppose.”

And he did.

In the next instant, the wind screamed past Azriel—Pierre was already in front of him.

‘Fast!’

There was no footstep. No hint. No warning.

Azriel hadn’t even seen him move. He’d believed himself to be among the fastest of his rank—perhaps even the fastest.

Was he wrong?

Pierre’s sword came thrusting toward him like a flash of silver.

Azriel grit his teeth and swung Void Eater in response.

“You think a mere Awakened-ranked sword can harm me?”

It couldn’t.

The moment Pierre’s blade clashed with Void Eater, it shattered—splintering into a thousand pieces. And then, Void Eater kept going.

The edge of the blade sliced through the air and slammed into Pierre’s chest.

A thunderous boom echoed out.

The ground beneath them ruptured, exploding into mud and debris. Pierre’s body was launched backward—crashing through the street, tearing a deep scar into the earth as he smashed through an old stone house.

The entire structure collapsed in on itself, stone crumbling like sand.

‘Huh?’

What was that?

Azriel hadn’t noticed it before… but now he did.

The moment Void Eater touched Pierre’s body—he felt absolutely nothing.

No impact. No resistance. Nothing.

It was as if he’d struck empty air.

And yet, he had hit something.

Azriel didn’t get long to dwell on it.

A sudden ripple of mana exploded to his left, and his head snapped toward the source—only to witness something that made his skin crawl.

A massive bird, formed entirely from wind, screamed toward him like a cannonball.

‘The hell!?’

Azriel tapped his boots against the mud once. A thick wall of ice erupted from the ground just in time. The bird collided with it—and both shattered in an instant.

Alaric’s furious voice rang out behind the blast.

“You’ve got dual affinities!?”

Azriel didn’t let him recover. Not even for a second.

He tapped the mud again. His body flashed with red lightning.

He moved.

The world blurred. In the blink of an eye, he was already in front of Alaric, bringing Void Eater down in a vicious arc.

Alaric’s face tensed as a longsword materialized in his grip.

Their blades clashed.

The impact thundered between them, but Azriel had the upper hand. His aura wrapped tightly around him, strengthening each blow. The force and momentum pushed Alaric back—he stumbled a step.

Azriel didn’t stop. He thrust Void Eater forward.

Alaric managed to intercept it, deflecting the blade to the side—but he didn’t anticipate what Azriel was really aiming for.

The cold barrel of the Desert Eagle was suddenly pressed against his chest.

And without hesitation—

Azriel pulled the trigger.

The roar of thunder cracked across the village. A bullet made of pure white mana, trailing a cold mist, tore through Alaric’s chest.

Blood sprayed across Azriel’s face.

Alaric’s body was launched like a ragdoll, crashing through several clay houses before disappearing in a cloud of dust and shattered stone.

Azriel turned to chase him down—

But another ripple of mana flared to his right.

He didn’t even get a chance to move.

Pierre was already standing beside him—his expression twisted in annoyance.

‘What? How is he so fa—no… he’s not fast! He is teleporting!? SPACE MAGIC!?’

Azriel’s eyes widened as realization dawned. And at the same time—

Pierre’s right fist came crashing toward his face.

Despite being struck by Void Eater earlier, Pierre was completely unharmed. His clothes were still pristine. Not even dust clung to them.

No blood. No wounds. Nothing.

Azriel quickly raised Void Eater between them, angling the blade to intercept the blow.

And then… something even stranger happened.

Pierre’s fist clashed with the edge of the blade.

Steel should have sliced through flesh—but instead, they fought.

Azriel tensed his muscles, gritting his teeth as he tried to push Pierre back.

‘Void Eater isn’t cutting him…!’

A cold chill crept into his spine.

He raised the Desert Eagle again and pulled the trigger.

Another roar, another bullet. This one crackled with red lightning.

It was aimed straight at Pierre’s chest.

But just as it was about to hit.

A tiny portal—swirling with violet energy—opened up and swallowed the bullet mid-air.

Then vanished.

‘Huh?’

When Azriel blinked, dazed, he noticed something.

A small hole in his soul armor. Right on his shoulder blade. The size of a bullet.

Blood dripped from it.

His eyes widened in confusion.

Then—Pierre drove his fist into Azriel’s gut.

The impact knocked the wind from his lungs.

Spit flew from his mouth as his body was hurled into the air like a broken doll.

“Hup!”

Pierre bent his knees—and launched himself higher than Azriel in a blur of motion.

He reached him mid-air and drove another punch straight into his chest.

Pieces of Azriel’s black soul armor exploded into the sky.

A shockwave split the clouds as Azriel’s body was sent crashing downward.

He hit the ground like a meteor.

A crater formed where he landed, tearing through the earth.

The tremors rippled out like an earthquake.

Nearby houses groaned and began to collapse, crushed under their own weight.

Azriel’s eyes kept flickering open and shut, his vision swimming in dust as his body lay sprawled on wet mud.

Pierre had an affinity for space.

‘…Who would’ve thought my own bullets could pierce through my aura and soul armor…’

Azriel was lucky.

If not for the protection of his aura and soul armor, his entire shoulder might have been blown off. But he couldn’t afford to waste too much mana reinforcing it either.

Gritting his teeth, Azriel pushed himself up, grabbing his katana—Void Eater—and his Desert Eagle, Atropos’ Elegy.

As the dust finally settled, Azriel squinted through the haze. Pierre was walking toward him—slowly, calmly, as if this was already over.

“It seems I overestimated you.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He raised Atropos’ Elegy and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Again.

Again.

A cacophony of thunder cracked through the battlefield. Bullets of pure white mana howled through the air like streaking meteors, all aimed directly at Pierre.

But each time—each and every time—a swirling violet portal bloomed in front of Pierre, swallowing the bullets whole. They reappeared behind Azriel, unchanged, still roaring forward with the same killing intent and momentum.

But Azriel moved like a shadow.

Red lightning coiled around his limbs, and with only minimal movement, he dodged his own attacks—every single bullet narrowly missing him.

Pierre growled under his breath.

“Are you trying to see which one of us lasts longer? You might’ve had a chance, pretty boy, if I was only using my space magic. But you’ve got to keep feeding that weird pistol of yours mana. That, plus maintaining a level of precision for mana will… it’s not something a Grade 3 Advanced can handle for long. You might understand how to use mana will—but you can’t fully benefit from it yet.”

Azriel didn’t answer again.

He kept firing, again and again, and again. And every time he saw Pierre’s expression twitch in irritation, it made him feel just a little bit better.

Then it happened.

Exactly what Azriel had been waiting for.

The mana behind him shifted.

A presence.

Azriel’s lips curled into a smirk.

‘Got you.’

Without a second thought, he spun, raising Void Eater above his head and bringing it down in a brutal arc.

Alaric.

Unlike Pierre, he was a mess—his body stained with blood and mud, a gaping wound in his chest leaking crimson. His eyes went wide in horror as he was rushing forward, both hands gripping his sword, lunging toward Azriel.

But it was too late.

He saw the edge of the katana descending, angling for his neck. With a growl of frustration, Alaric let go of his weapon and leapt back.

Still not fast enough.

The blade tore across him—from right shoulder to left hip—slicing flesh and muscle clean through.

Blood sprayed like a geyser as Alaric screamed, stumbling backward.

Azriel stepped forward, ready to finish him.

And then—

Alaric’s eyes widened in horror.

Azriel’s did too.

They both looked down at the same time.

A hand was sticking out from Alaric’s back. It had pierced straight through his torso, and in its grasp was a heart. Still beating.

“Guhh…”

Alaric’s mouth opened, and blood poured out in a thick stream, cascading like a waterfall.

The hand withdrew.

Alaric slumped forward, eyes dimming, and collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Dead.

Pierre stood silently. In his hand—Alaric’s heart.

He looked at it.

Then crushed it.

The organ exploded in a splatter of blood and gore.

And yet…

Even now.

Even amidst the mud, blood, and carnage—

Pierre de Corvalin did not have a single speck of blood on him.