Path of the Extra

In the end, everything that needed to be said was said. And what Lioren had laid out… was a lot to process.

They had one more week. This might be the last week anyone here would have to slack off, prepare, or rest.

The exact format of how the teams would be divided—who would join Lioren at the summit and who would be assigned to eliminate key figures and try to steal the Teeth—would be decided later.

It was also revealed that none of this had been planned recently, but rather…

Since the moment they were all brought into this scenario.

The Revolutionary Army had only one space user, while the royal family and nobles had four in total.

…And yet, it was that single space user, one of the High Commanders, who was the most frightening and troublesome to deal with, compared to the other space users. Having Pierre in the race to search for the Teeth was troublesome—extremely troublesome—as he was unpredictable and dangerous in equal measure.

That was why Jasmine had been relentlessly hunting the High Commander down, keeping him distracted. While it meant Jasmine couldn’t search for the Teeth or do much else, the same was true for Pierre. They were effectively cancelling each other out, disabling perhaps the greatest advantage the revolutionaries had in gathering all the Teeth.

There were many here who had pulled their weight and delivered crucial advantages and information: about important nobles, territories, routes, revolutionary forces other than the High Commander, who was siding with whom…

But how had all of this been possible?

How could so many individuals each pull their weight in such a foreign, dangerous world? How could so many of them be gathered here together, alive?

Everything here was thanks to Nol and his [White Haven].

It was Nol who had allowed these plans to exist at all. Nol who had made these actions possible. Nol who had brought so many lives to this table—and kept them alive.

Nol, who might very well be the most valuable participant here. Always summoning others individually and aiding them in any way he could…

And on top of that, he was the right hand of Prince Azriel Crimson.

Nol was now incredibly respected, and highly desired by many at this table—whether for their clans, their guilds, or even the Church, especially knowing of his silver hair. Yet all they could do for now was look at Azriel with complicated emotions and… extreme envy.

Now that the air had finally grown less tense and the most important topics had been covered, everyone naturally began to relax. The food on the table had gone cold; many hadn’t eaten properly at all.

The Count, having anticipated this, called out to his butler. Soon after, more servants entered carrying fresh trays of food, replacing the cold dishes with new, steaming ones, making more than a few mouths water.

Lumine, however, found he didn’t feel the same excitement at the sight of the food as he had before…

“Hey, Yelena…”

Quietly, he whispered to her while absentmindedly playing with his fork, staring at his plate with a dark expression.

“…Yeah, I know,” Yelena replied, not even needing him to finish. Her expression mirrored his.

Compared to so many here…

They really were…

“I really am incompetent, huh…” Lumine muttered, self-deprecating.

“We both are…” Yelena said.

“It’s not your f—”

“It is. And even if it isn’t… we’ve both been utterly useless,” Yelena said without mercy.

Lumine pressed his lips together.

Sitting at the same table as all these individuals…

Made them feel incredibly unworthy.

“Prince Azriel, where is Cadet Nol? I have yet to thank him for summoning me to his [White Haven] and giving me proper guidance! If not for him, I would have died wandering the desert without food or water!”

“Ah! I need to thank him as well. If not for that cadet, I might have accidentally walked straight into one of those small revolutionary bases alone and gotten myself captured!”

“That’s right, I must thank him too…”

One by one, they all started asking where Nol was, insisting they needed to thank him—voices gradually growing louder as more liquor was poured and emptied. The dinner began to feel much livelier.

Azriel listened to the barrage of questions with a composed smile before finally raising his hand and speaking.

“Unfortunately, Nol isn’t feeling very well and is extremely tired, so he couldn’t make it today. But I’ll gladly tell him how grateful all of you are.”

“Hahaha! You must, Your Highness! You must! If not for your right hand, we would’ve been in deep shit!”

“True, true! We really are grateful to have you and the others of the great clans here with us in this scenario!”

Naturally, once things loosened up, people started talking and trying to cozy up to the participant they had expected the least from in this scenario… and yet who had made one of the biggest contributions.

Then someone coughed and addressed Azriel.

“Your Highness, my name is Phel Rougetwo. I am the head of the Rougetwo Clan—a vassal clan of the great Crimson Clan.”

Azriel and the others turned to him, as did Lumine.

’A grade 3 expert…’ Lumine thought.

“Lord Phel, what is it you wish to ask?” Azriel asked, unfazed. Jasmine, her gaze less icy than usual but still cold, also looked at Phel with mild curiosity.

“…What was it like?” Phel asked.

“Those two years on your own in the Void Realm?”

Jasmine’s eyes turned glacial at that. She narrowed them, and Lord Phel realized too late how inappropriate the question was.

“How much have you drunk to ask such an insensitive question, Lord Phel?” she said coldly.

Azriel, however, kept smiling.

“I don’t mind, Sister,” he said, before seemingly relaxing and letting out a soft sigh.

Everyone fell silent, waiting for his answer.

“Well… I imagine my experience was the same as for anyone here who has gone to the Void Realm and managed to return alive on their own,” Azriel began. “Being surrounded by countless disgusting creatures, all waiting for an opportunity to kill you—and each other. Never knowing what horror the next hour will bring. I survived like some cockroach clinging to life until the time was finally right… and then I took my chance to have my revenge and escape that place.”

As they listened, many of them looked at him with newfound respect.

“As expected of the Crimson Clan. Both siblings are incredible… To think the rumors calling him ’unworthy’ could have been so wrong,” someone muttered. Others voiced their agreement.

Master Margaret narrowed her eyes, a sly smile curling her lips as she looked at Azriel.

“So then, Prince Azriel… what are your plans for the future?”

At her question, the hall quieted once more. The more knowledgeable ones—members of vassal clans and those familiar with politics—glanced at one another before focusing back on Azriel.

Azriel looked at Margaret without a smile this time, his gaze serious.

For some reason, Lumine felt uncomfortable with the question.

Liliane, seeming to notice his confusion, leaned slightly toward him and explained in a hushed voice:

“All the rumors about the prince before his two-year disappearance will rise or fall with his answer to this. And more importantly, everyone here will decide who to place their bets on—who to support—between the two children of the current Crimson King as the next Crimson King.”

She continued quietly:

“If Prince Azriel says anything that suggests he might go for the throne, it means he’ll need support—from clans and from forces outside the clans. And it would also mean the rumors about his ’mediocre’ talent will be called into question. Why would a prince, knowing his talent is mediocre, ever aim for the throne? No one would accept that…”

Lumine’s eyes widened.

For such a simple question to be loaded with so much… He could see it now, and it made him shiver.

All those eyes fixed on Azriel, weighing his worth, calculating…

It made Lumine feel sick.

A bloodbath. Yes. A war and a bloodbath.

He didn’t really want to be here to hear the answer—the answer that could divide the Crimson Clan, and sway so many from EASC and beyond.

And Azriel, who naturally understood the true meaning of the question, spoke in an even voice:

“Let me make one thing clear. And be sure to spread this to anyone else who’s having amusing thoughts about the matter…”

He suddenly stood up. Every gaze followed him.

Sir Felix, with a fleeting look of discomfort and hesitation, stepped back as Azriel moved behind Jasmine, resting a hand on her shoulder and the back of her chair.

Then Azriel gave them all another one of his pretty smiles.

“Princess Jasmine Crimson, the current heiress of the Crimson Clan, has my full and unwavering support in rightfully becoming the next Crimson King. I have no interest in the throne whatsoever and will instead stand at her side, should she ever need my aid.”

Jasmine’s eyes narrowed again, and Lumine could have sworn that beneath the frost in her gaze, there was also a glint of… smugness.

No—it was definitely smugness, confirmed when she offered Margaret a cool, faintly triumphant smile as Azriel looked at the Master.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked.

Margaret let out a soft sound that was half chuckle, half scoff.

“It did. Thank you, Your Highness, for being so generous.”

“Of course.”

Azriel said, then sat back down.

Many people quietly let out the breath they’d been holding. Some looked relieved. Others wore expressions that suggested they were unsure, dissatisfied, or even vaguely disappointed with his answer.

Of course, that wasn’t the end of the evening.

Lumine forced himself to eat the food on his plate as he listened to the stream of political questions being lobbed at the heirs, at Liliane, and at the other important figures seated at the table. Honestly, he was impressed by how effortlessly they deflected or answered everything, every word sounding precise, polished, and deliberate.

Eventually, as the food on the table dwindled and more and more people grew drunk on the wine being served, it finally began to feel like the dinner was drawing to a close. Everyone could feel it.

Yet even as Lumine filled his stomach, a strange emptiness lingered somewhere inside him.

Then he heard Master Jegudiel lean forward slightly and whisper to Liliane:

“Saintess, we should hurry and leave… I have a bad feeling about this.”

Liliane, who had been smiling, froze for a brief moment.

Before she could move, it was Master Ranni who rose first.

“I think we should end it for today, don’t you think, Prince Lioren? Count?” she asked.

Both men nodded. The Count looked relieved—and at the same time even more tense.

Lumine frowned.

’What’s wrong?’

It felt like they were all suddenly in a hurry for a completely different reason.

He glanced around at the faces in the room. Some looked oblivious, still laughing, still drinking.

Others had tight, dark expressions. The Masters—remained calm. The heirs were calm as well.

He heard Anastasia click her tongue.

“I am not in the mood to vomit all this delicious food I just ate,” she grumbled as she stood, and others began drifting toward the doors as well.

Vergil remained seated, watching the heirs with a serious expression.

Lumine and Yelena exchanged a look as Liliane said her farewells to them and started walking toward the exit.

“Before you all—” Lioren began, only to be interrupted.

“Aren’t you all in a bit too much of a hurry?”

Caleus stood up, looking around at them with exaggerated exasperation. He pressed one palm to his forehead in an overly dramatic sigh, the other hand still holding a cup of wine.

“We haven’t even gotten to dessert yet.”

Everyone turned back to look at him, exchanging confused, uneasy glances.

“Say, Guild Master Gere,” Caleus said lightly, “you’d want dessert as well, right?”

Gere, who had been standing, stared at the Nebula prince with a surprised, pale face. He hesitated.

“U-uh… I would love to, Your Highness, but it seems I’ve overeaten…”

Lumine’s heart started to race for no reason he could name.

A creeping dread slid beneath his skin.

The same feeling seemed to spread through many others as well.

“Ah, I see. Then it’s understandable, yes…” Caleus nodded slowly.

“You should indeed… rest.”

As Caleus said those words, Gere forced a weak smile.

“I am glad His Highness is so underst—”

He never finished the sentence.

A wet splatter exploded across the wall, across the remaining food, across the tablecloth and chairs—it was a spray of red and gray. Gere’s headless body remained standing for a heartbeat in front of Caleus, who smiled at it with eyes gleaming in murderous amusement, his right hand raised and soaked in blood to the wrist.

Lumine, without even understanding what had happened, looked instinctively at the table.

Bits of brain and fragments of skull lay among the plates and cutlery.

Someone screamed.

The Countess fainted out of her chair.

Several more people broke into panicked cries.

“What are you doing!?”

The Count shot to his feet, shouting in disbelief and fury.

Caleus’s smile widened, the murderous glint in his eyes only growing sharper.

“From experience,” he said pleasantly, “I’ve come to a conclusion, you see—”

He let his gaze sweep across the room while taking a sip from the cup in his hand.

“Even when everyone has been warned not to fuck up in a way that puts us all in danger, there will always be someone who ignores it. So an example has to be made, naturally, so that every single one of you gets a clearer picture of what will happen.”

The Count grew even paler and staggered back a step as Caleus narrowed his eyes at him.

“Was my example clear enough for you, Count?” he asked softly.

“Or should I throw in a few more?”

“N-No… It… it was clear,” the Count forced out, his voice being barely above a whisper.

Lumine stared at the mess on the table with wide, horrified eyes.

Slowly, his gaze shifted to the ones who were seated calmly.

They were all composed. Some had closed their eyes. Others simply looked away. Only Lioren watched Caleus in silence—and Caleus, in turn, looked back at Lioren.

The dessert had been served to everyone in the end.

And the dinner had finally come to an end.