Path of the Extra

As Azriel walked into the village, he didn’t bother covering his head with the robe, strolling in casually instead. The village appeared no different from any other—familiar people, typical buildings, and the usual goods. Eventually, he found himself wandering through a lively bazaar.

Casually browsing through dozens of stalls, Azriel paused before one selling exotic fruits. He picked up a strangely shaped pink banana and inspected it curiously.

“That’s twenty-five brown coppers. Pay up or put it back,” the old woman behind the stall suddenly barked in a grumpy tone.

Azriel recoiled dramatically, clutching his chest as if he’d just been struck by an arrow, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Twenty-five brown coppers!? What is this—am I paying additional taxes? This is daylight robbery, I say!”

“Huh? Listen here, you spoiled brat—either pay for the mango or scram!”

Azriel froze.

Mango?

This thing… was a mango?

For a brief moment, his understanding of food shattered.

Then, he burst out indignantly:

“You rotten antique, this is clearly a banana! A pink banana! Instead of scamming me, maybe get your eyes checked!”

In an instant, a fireball appeared in front of Azriel’s face and shot toward him.

“What the—!”

Azriel jerked his head aside just in time, the fireball whizzing past his face. However, a stray ember caught his hair, sizzling slightly before the flames dissipated harmlessly in the air. Azriel stared at the old lady, blinking in stunned disbelief.

Then he blinked again.

And again.

And once more, for good measure.

“W-what… what was that for!?” Azriel’s expression twisted between horror and anger.

What was it with people always throwing things at his face!?

Gods, he knew his face was perfect! Was this some kind of discriminatory jealousy!?

He frowned, sensing something odd.

‘…She’s a Grade 2 Intermediate…?’

Apparently, the village didn’t have the same strict rules as the kingdoms—anyone could freely evolve their mana cores here.

The old woman clicked her tongue in mild annoyance at missing, then suddenly broke into a kind, grandmotherly smile, as though Azriel were one of her beloved grandchildren.

“Ohohoho! Don’t mind me—I was just trying to fix your uneven hair! Can’t tell if you’re a girl or a boy. Thought burning it shorter might help clear things up!”

Azriel’s eyes widened incredulously.

“Who are you calling a girl!? I’m obviously a perfectly handsome boy! And you’re supposed to cut hair, not burn it! Especially not without permission! Has dementia made you forget basic manners!?”

Wait—why was he even arguing with this old woman?

“Forget it,” she suddenly sighed, shaking her head. “You’re not from around here, are you? Keep the banana. Clearly, you’re too poor to afford a proper haircut, let alone food. It makes this dying old woman pity you.”

“I am not poor! I’m simply having issues exchanging currency! There’s a difference!”

Azriel paused.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait, wait.

His face flushed red, realizing he’d been tricked. Pointing an accusing finger at the woman, he shouted,

“I knew it! It is a banana! You blind, dementia-riddled antique—you were just messing with me, weren’t you!?”

The old woman merely looked away, whistling innocently as though she hadn’t heard a word.

‘I’m going to kill her… No, seriously, I’m going to pull out Atropos’ Elegy right this second.’

Just as Azriel was about to summon the Desert Eagle—and yes, he was absolutely serious about doing it—a hand suddenly landed gently on his shoulder.

Instantly cooling down, Azriel turned to look neutrally at the person who had interrupted his almost-homicide.

The newcomer was clad entirely in black, complete with a matching top hat and an eerie, raven-like mask.

‘The Plague, huh…?’

Azriel immediately recognized the figure from Ranni’s description. He gave an annoyed look.

“What do you want?”

The Plague shook his head casually.

“You’re making quite a fuss here. I’m simply asking you to take a breath and calm down. The locals here aren’t fond of loud scenes, especially involving foreigners.”

“Oh, so they’re racist?”

The Plague laughed deeply, slapping Azriel’s shoulder jovially.

“No, no, I’m exaggerating. I was just concerned since a fireball got thrown at your head. As colorful as she might seem, that old lady is one of the strongest people in this village. Thought I’d help you out—no offense meant, of course. I just happen to know her grandkid.”

Azriel shot a quick glare back at the lady before sighing in mock resignation.

“I see. I apologize if I troubled you, antique.”

The old lady clicked her tongue, dismissively waving him off.

“Get lost.”

Azriel walked away, with the Plague falling into step beside him. He glanced sideways at the masked figure, holding back a satisfied smirk.

‘Well, that went faster than I expected…’

Indeed, this had been Azriel’s brilliant plan all along—to find the Plague and draw his attention. Of course, nearly pulling out a god-made gun on an old lady over a suspiciously pink banana was entirely intentional. Absolutely. He wasn’t genuinely irritated about overpriced fruit at all.

Really.

He certainly hadn’t planned to start his master scheme only after getting a bite to eat.

It was all part of the plan.

Completely intentional.

…Really.

“Ahem!”

The Plague suddenly coughed, breaking the silence as they came to a halt.

Azriel regarded him innocently.

“Well, then, I suppose this is my cue to depart,” the Plague announced, removing his top hat and pressing it elegantly to his chest before bowing.

As he turned to leave, Azriel quickly called out:

“Wait.”

The Plague paused, mask tilting slightly as he looked back.

“Yes?”

“How did you know I was a foreigner?”

The Plague chuckled easily.

“Oh? I’ve simply never seen you around here before. I’ve been visiting this village regularly for six years.”

‘Visiting a village in the middle of the Forest of Eternity for six whole years, even before Lady Mio’s death, huh…?’

Azriel felt the Plague’s hidden eyes inspecting him coldly, intensely.

He offered a friendly smile.

“Are you a doctor, by chance?”

“Oh? What gave you that idea? Do you know me?”

Azriel shook his head.

“No, I’ve never seen or heard of you before. But, where I’m from, there was once a terrible plague that killed millions. Doctors back then wore outfits exactly like yours.”

The Plague stood silently, his presence turning notably colder for a tense second—before suddenly erupting into hearty laughter.

“Indeed, indeed! I am a doctor! How many years has it been since I met someone who knows history! You certainly are a bright one, aren’t you!”

Azriel nodded enthusiastically, still smiling.

“Say, if you’re a doctor and have been here often, do you happen to know where an alchemy shop might be?”

Excitement seemed to radiate from the Plague as he stepped closer.

“You study alchemy…?”

Azriel shook his head, causing visible disappointment, before quickly reigniting the conversation.

“Actually, I recently acquired a [skill] that lets me learn and create potions and alchemy-related items easily. It feels like I suddenly have an innate talent for it now, thanks to this [skill]. Pretty amazing, right?”

The skill he referenced was [Distiller’s Touch].

[A brewer’s instinct etched into your soul. You now grasp the rhythm of bubbling mixtures, the temperament of herbs, the volatility of mana in liquid form—as if your hands remember things your mind hasn’t yet learned. Alchemy feels… natural now. Almost second nature. You see ratios in colors. Smell potential. Time your stirring without counting. With each attempt, the work becomes less of a chore and more of a craft—alive, intuitive, and oddly addictive.]

The Plague nodded as if he understood perfectly, showing no reaction to Azriel casually mentioning acquiring a skill or even being a foreigner.

“I know just the place!” The Plague clapped his hands together, sounding genuinely delighted.

“It’s an alchemy shop packed with books containing countless recipes. Please allow me to guide you there. As a fellow alchemist, I feel it’s my duty to support an aspiring one.”

Azriel’s eyes instantly brightened.

“Well, that’s great! I appreciate it greatly—thank you!”

Together they left the bazaar, strolling side-by-side as though they were longtime friends.

Just two friendly alchemists.

Well, one seasoned alchemist and one aspiring newcomer.

Two completely normal, sane, friendly, harmless guys.

“So,” the Plague suddenly spoke up, his voice oddly neutral, “you have red eyes, huh?”

Azriel glanced sideways at the Plague as they continued down the quieter path.

“I’m glad your eyes are working perfectly behind that mask,” he remarked dryly.

The Plague didn’t react to the jab, merely nodding in acknowledgment.

“You’re young, clearly an Expert, and you have red eyes. But obviously, you’re not the Red-Eyed Ghost—she’s a girl, though someone might mistake you for one. The real Red-Eyed Ghost was spotted just two days ago in another village, relentlessly chasing the Immortal Eyepatch. She never gives him a moment’s peace. At this point, we’ve essentially lost a High Commander—it’s a significant setback, if I’m honest.”

Azriel’s right hand twitched slightly. He could hear it—the call of Atropos’ Elegy. It was practically begging him to correct this man for daring to suggest he could be mistaken for a girl. Taking a deep internal breath to calm himself, Azriel prepared to speak, but the Plague suddenly asked:

“Were you the one who destroyed the core?”

Both men instantly halted, and Azriel’s eyes grew cold.

“The core?”

The Plague nodded solemnly.

“The Forest of Eternity has a core. My instincts have kept me alive a long, long time—and right now, standing next to you, they’re screaming. You didn’t come from the secret underground tunnel, which only high-ranking members of the Revolutionary Army know about. To enter the forest confidently, despite the terrifying rumors, and even come to this village—you must’ve known the core was destroyed and the spell broken. Either you know who did it, or my instincts are right, and it was you.”

Azriel’s gaze softened immediately, his lips curling into a friendly smile as they continued walking.

“You’re right—it was me. I destroyed the core.”

‘They clearly know more about this forest than I expected…’

The Plague didn’t seem particularly surprised; instead, he hummed thoughtfully.

“The Inverse Creed… every one of you is truly intriguing.”

Azriel frowned instantly, looking genuinely insulted.

“Please, don’t lump me in with that group.”

The Plague tilted his mask toward Azriel, confused.

“You’re not part of the Inverse Creed?”

Azriel shook his head firmly.

“I admit I know them, but as of now, I’m not part of their group. Aside from a certain woman who clearly traumatized you into running away every time, no one even knows I exist in this world.”

The Plague fell silent for a few seconds.

“So you’re here with that master… although I assumed you were related to the Red-Eyed Ghost. Regardless, I’m confident in my ability to escape both you and her.”

Azriel chuckled, genuinely amused.

“You shouldn’t be so confident—I’m quite fast myself. Besides, I’m different from the others you’ve encountered. Oh, and speaking of acquaintances—I heard you put a friend, well, perhaps just a close acquaintance of mine, into a coma.”

This time, the Plague laughed softly.

“They still haven’t figured it out, have they? It’s a very special poison, curable only by an extraordinary healer or an alchemist skilled enough to create the right antidote. Thankfully, I know the Inverse Creed doesn’t have healers at that insane level yet.”

Azriel, seemingly ignoring him, casually started peeling the pink banana.

‘Huh, it’s pink inside too.’

Without hesitation, he took a bite.

‘Tastes like a regular banana.’

“Did you know,” the Plague said casually, “that what you’re eating is called a love banana?”

Azriel paused mid-chew, looking at him with confusion.

“Wlove bwanana?”

The Plague nodded as Azriel swallowed.

“Yes, legend has it that if you eat one, you’ll find your soulmate the very next morning. Of course, that’s nonsense. Actually, it’s rumored the banana turns pink because it absorbs the hormonal sweat of cave-dwelling love beetles during fermentation.”

Azriel froze, eyes widening in horror. He stared at the banana—already bitten, already exposed. Already, his mind vividly imagined the sweaty love beetles.

He hesitated for exactly one second… then promptly took another bite.

What? It was free food! Everything tastes delicious when it’s free—sue him!

The Plague coughed awkwardly, looking away when Azriel defiantly continued eating.

“So why haven’t you attacked me yet? Not that I want you to, of course—I’d have to escape. Unfortunately, that would force me to abandon a sick little girl I’m here to check on. She chose today, of all days, to act rebellious. But if you do attack, I’ll be forced to report your existence to the Supreme Leader and arrange a plan to eliminate you as quickly as possible.”

‘A little girl, huh… Fate certainly has a twisted sense of humor lately.’

Having finished the banana, Azriel carelessly tossed the peel onto the ground.

Yes, he littered.

What were they going to do—fine him?

He was already beyond broke in this world anyway!

Azriel offered him a polite smile.

“I have no intention of attacking you today, since you’re not my target. Although it might be smart to get rid of you right here and now—and I’m confident I could—it would inevitably lead to collateral damage. While I’m with her, I’d prefer to keep accidental killings of innocent bystanders to a minimum. Besides, I think it’s only fair that your fate be decided by my acquaintances, who you’ve undoubtedly angered. It wouldn’t be right for me to swoop in and handle everything for them. Frankly, I don’t want to—and shouldn’t.”

Azriel paused, scratching his head thoughtfully.

“But honestly, I did hope to meet you before reaching my target. Rumors placed you near the wall, so I gambled you’d be here sooner or later. Glad it paid off.”

The Plague hesitated, then asked warily,

“So that little scene earlier at the stall was intentional—just to draw me out?”

Azriel smiled brightly.

“Of course! Absolutely intentional!”

He sensed the Plague suddenly become far more cautious, tension evident in the man’s stance as they continued walking.

‘Where the hell is this alchemy shop, anyway?’

He might actually become hungry again… actually, scratch that—he already was.

“But why?” the Plague asked, breaking Azriel’s culinary thoughts.

“I wanted to confirm a few things,” Azriel answered without hesitation.

“Confirm… things?” the Plague repeated uncertainly.

Azriel nodded.

“Yes. You’ve already confirmed there’s an underground route, which is how you reached this hidden village. And now, thanks to you, I’m almost 100% certain about a theory I have.”

“And which theory would that be?”

The Plague stopped abruptly, turning to face Azriel, who also paused and met his gaze with a smile.

“It concerns the Immortal Eyepatch—the former Viscount Pierre de Corvalin.”

Azriel’s eyes sharpened dramatically.

“I’ve wondered for a long time how he could possibly be immortal. It doesn’t make sense, does it? He couldn’t truly be immortal. Then it hit me—he’s just a cheap, inferior imitation of the real thing. He’s not immortal at all.”

The Plague stood silently, waiting, as Azriel’s smile widened mischievously.

“He’s actually invincible.”

“…”

“The Forest of Eternity taught me something important: everything has a core. Every [Unique Skill], [Skill], or whatever else, has a certain source—one that must be protected and maintained to function. And for a weaker imitation like the Immortal Eyepatch, with his countless enemies and paranoid nature, he’d have to hide his core exceptionally well, wouldn’t he?”

Three thin, lethal needles emerged slowly from the Plague’s right sleeve as he stepped toward Azriel, who seemed utterly unbothered. The Plague had unwittingly confirmed everything Azriel needed.

“If all high-ranking members of the Revolutionary Army know about this village, it means the Supreme Leader himself revealed it. All the High Commanders revere him like a god. And what better place to hide something precious than in a village almost no one knows about? A place practically unreachable, even if discovered? What better hiding spot for Pierre de Corvalin’s invincibility core than—”

The Plague suddenly lunged forward, needles aimed straight for Azriel’s face. Azriel calmly dodged to the left, his grin growing crooked.

“—a little orphan girl. No family, no love, no surname, no friends—a nobody. Yet, for some mysterious reason, she has a High Commander regularly checking up on her.”

A low growl emanated from behind the Plague’s mask, needles frozen inches next to Azriel’s face. Azriel’s smile twisted further, utterly amused.

“Lia. That was her name, wasn’t it?”