Path of the Extra

“Oh? Despite being severely injured, he still had the concentration to kill my crow from that distance… and with such precise accuracy, no less.”

A deep voice echoed from within the radiant shell of a man clad in full golden armor—head to toe, not a single piece of flesh visible. A brilliant crest depicting a blazing sun gleamed on his chestplate, shimmering beneath the afternoon light.

Other knights, garbed in armor almost identical to his, approached with furrowed brows.

“Vice-Captain?” one of them asked.

“What do you mean injured? Is there a battle happening in the Royal Capital? Or elsewhere?”

The Vice-Captain of the Royal Army merely hummed.

“Two extremely powerful combatants are fighting near the border of the kingdom… Keft Village. And it seems…”

He paused. His voice deepened.

“Margrave Alaric Breval has fallen in battle.”

“!!!”

The knights around him froze. Murmurs broke out as more golden-clad knights began to gather, drawn in by the weight of his words.

“How is that possible?! Margrave Alaric Breval was one of our strongest fighters! A Grade 1 Advanced! What kind of human could possibly take him down?!”

“Wait—Vice-Captain, don’t tell me it was the Revolutionary Army! Keft is right near the border he was assigned to protect! If they’ve started moving again… they’ll seize our frontlines before we can respond!”

“This is bad—really bad!”

While panic crept into the voices of his subordinates, the Vice-Captain remained silent for a few moments.

Then his tone turned cold.

“From what I’ve observed… one is a young boy. I don’t know where he came from. But he’s currently engaged in battle with one of the Nine High Commanders.”

His voice dropped lower, like steel grinding against stone.

“The traitor… Pierre de Corvalin.”

A collective breath hitched across the unit.

“Y-you mean that Pierre…? The Immortal Eyepatch?!”

“This is serious…”

“Margrave Alaric was one of the few capable of fighting that monster and surviving! If even he fell…”

The Vice-Captain let out a long, heavy sigh.

“…And yet that same traitor—Pierre—is trembling. That boy, despite losing his eye mid-battle, has him cornered.”

The knights fell silent.

“Trembling?” one finally echoed.

“Fear?”

“…Vice-Captain, wasn’t the last person to see Pierre trembling… the former Captain? The one who died at his hands?”

“That’s correct,” the Vice-Captain said, his voice grave. He rose to his full height.

“That mutt with split personalities is fighting someone strong enough to bring out his true self. We can’t wait any longer. Too many have already died. If we don’t intervene now, that entire village will become a graveyard… and the Revolutionary Army will claim it as their base.”

With a flick of his wrist, a brilliant golden shield shimmered into existence in his grasp. At the same time, a long sword materialized in his other hand.

He turned toward one of the knights in the unit.

“Open a portal to Keft.”

*****

Azriel’s thoughts raced as a sinking realization hit him.

They weren’t alone.

Suddenly, Pierre stood. His face contorted—once, twice—then shifted a third time into a cold, indifferent mask.

“Who dares to spy on me?” he asked, voice low and sharp like a blade’s edge.

Azriel didn’t flinch. Ignoring the man’s transformations, he raised Atropos’ Elegy and fired.

The white bullet, encased in red crackling lightning, tore through the air. Its speed was immense—even Pierre could barely track it with his eyes.

“You don’t learn, do you?” Pierre said coldly.

The bullet struck Pierre’s body, exploding in a flash of light and force.

But it didn’t leave a scratch.

“I am perfect,” Pierre said.

“Perfection cannot be harmed or killed. So if I am perfect… how could someone like you ever hope to hurt me?”

Azriel grit his teeth.

He didn’t want to flee.

Not from this bastard.

And yet… running was the most logical thing to do.

So why—why was it so hard?

He was someone who lied as easily as he breathed. He would use traps, mana bombs, underhanded tricks. He made a mana contract with the goddess of death. He sacrificed others without hesitation.

So why couldn’t he run away from this man?

‘…I want to win.’

That was it. That was all it came down to.

Azriel always wanted to win.

Maybe that’s why he and Freya never got along. Maybe that’s why he had to one-up everyone around him. That stubborn, burning desire to win—it was the very reason he just lost his eye.

Because the truth was…

Azriel should have run the moment he realized Pierre was invincible.

‘I’ve gotten too confident. After defeating the Black-Antlered King… deceiving the God of Time… talking with Xian Feng…’

He’d grown too used to dealing with monsters above his level. Somewhere along the way, he started underestimating the monsters within his own rank.

He exhaled a long, disappointed sigh.

Then, he lowered Atropos’ Elegy.

Pierre narrowed his eye.

“Have you finally realized it?”

Azriel nodded, a solemn expression on his face.

“I have. I can’t win today.”

Pierre raised an eyebrow, smug.

“I knew you were sm—”

“You haven’t won either, Pierre de Corvalin.”

Azriel cut him off.

His single eye glared with violent intensity.

“You haven’t defeated me. You haven’t broken me. I will find a way to kill you. I promise you that. I’ll be the last face you see before your fake immortality shatters—by my hand.”

Pierre’s face darkened.

“You insolent gold-blooded ba—”

He stopped.

Both he and Azriel turned their gazes to the spot where the crow had died.

A rift tore open in the air, violet and swirling like a wound in space itself.

A portal.

Then, one by one, knights clad in full golden armor stepped through.

Azriel narrowed his eye. So did Pierre.

‘They’re with the royal family.’

Azriel was confident. He could strike a deal—turn them, convince them. Use them.

But…

He only stared at them with disgust.

He bent his knees.

Mana surged toward his legs. He reinforced it with more aura.

He spoke one last time, voice ice-cold.

“I won’t forgive you for taking my eye. I’m coming for you, Pierre.”

“Wait—boy!” one of the golden knights shouted, stepping forward with a shield and sword raised.

But he was too late.

Azriel vanished into thin air.

The golden knights stared, stunned.

A beam of blinding white lightning erupted across the horizon, tearing through the field with a deafening crack of thunder—leaving only a scorched path of white lightning in his wake.

Pierre stood still.

His face twisted.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

“Damn you, gold-blooded boy! You come for me?! Don’t make me laugh! I’ll come for you, you hear me?! I’ll hunt you down myself and rip you to pieces!”