Path of the Extra

"My lord, are you sure you're alright like this?"

"I am."

Azriel replied curtly. Mio looked at him with concern in her eyes. Dressed in the warm military garments of the Crimson Clan, with a black-furred coat draped over his shoulders, Azriel felt a little warmer—just a little. Oddly enough, his body kept growing colder with every passing second, yet the heat within his mana core only continued to rise.

He leaned on a wooden cane—one that belonged to Mio. She no longer used it; apparently, she'd only ever carried it because she liked the feel. Azriel had accepted it without complaint. With one eye gone, his body hadn't fully adapted yet. His balance was off, and his legs still felt slightly numb.

Mio gave him one last worried glance—one that only made him feel more awkward than comforted—before turning and stepping outside the cabin. Azriel followed.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he halted. A sudden wave of disgust washed over him for reasons he couldn't explain. It passed in an instant. He raised his head and silently observed the forest that stretched out before him—an endless sea of green trees and overgrown bushes.

Despite Mio's insistence that it was safe for him to walk around the Forest of Eternity, this was one of the few times he'd actually stepped outside since arriving. He took a few steps forward, following just behind the woman wrapped in black robes.

Then, surprisingly, Azriel spoke.

"Won't the people recognize me?"

There weren't many—if any—with red eyes. And the way he looked now, he wasn't exactly inconspicuous. It wasn't hard to recognize the one with a kill-on-sight bounty.

Still, perhaps the villagers all knew Mio. She lived here, yet somehow had no trouble leaving the forest to visit the nearest settlement. She went often, apparently—to shop, to trade. That must've been where the bread came from. And the meals she cooked, a mix of hunted meat and purchased ingredients.

The only reason Azriel even agreed to accompany her was curiosity. Curiosity about this so-called village she mentioned.

He needed answers.

Did the villagers know she lived in the forest? And if they did, were they truly fine with it? How far was the village? It had to be near the border of the Black Circle...

"E-eh?"

Suddenly, Mio stiffened. Her steps halted. Azriel stopped as well, blinking with his one remaining eye. The other was still wrapped beneath a black cloth, concealing the bandages underneath.

"Is something the matter?" he asked quietly.

She turned to face him, stared for a second too long, then quickly shook her head.

"...No, my lord. Y-you simply caught me off guard, that's all."

"?"

She brought a fist to her mouth, coughing softly before continuing on, her pace unbroken as she walked deeper into the woods.

"You needn't worry, my lord. The village we're heading to is... unique. They pride themselves on staying out of the conflict between the nobles and the Revolutionary Army. As long as their peaceful way of life remains undisturbed, they care little for politics or bloodlines."

"...I see."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as they continued walking.

Mio moved as if she were strolling through the safest place in the world.

"My lord," she said, "even with the weight of the world on your shoulders, you should find moments to rest. I imagine being the child of Death is not an easy burden to carry... but at some point, your mind may collapse from how much you've burned yourself out."

Azriel didn't answer.

"Hmm?"

She turned, puzzled, noticing he had come to a full stop.

Azriel stared at her. His expression was unreadable—quiet, dark.

"...I do not recall ever telling you I was the son of Death."

"Ah—"

"...!"

No hesitation.

No banter. No witty exchange. Not even a curse or insult.

Just silence.

In one heartbeat, Azriel stood where he had paused. In the next, as Mio blinked, he was directly in front of her—Void Eater drawn, held tight in his right hand. His left remained tucked in his coat pocket.

And without another word, he thrust the blade toward her.

Mio's eyes widened.

The blade was about to pierce the space between them—right between her eyes. But just as Void Eater neared its mark, a mysterious force slammed into Azriel. It was as if a dormant human had walked into a wall of divine steel. The impact flung him back like a ragdoll, sending him crashing through tree after tree. Trunks snapped. Branches shattered. The forest groaned under the violence. Azriel finally landed in a deafening explosion of dust and dirt.

He lay motionless, caked in soil.

Then, slowly, he pushed himself up. His long black hair fell in curtains over his dirt-smeared face.

"Urgh…"

'…My hair is long.'

The thought drifted into his mind strangely calm, despite the pain ringing through his bones.

He blinked. Vision flickering.

…He felt drained.

…Exhausted.

Drip… drip…

Azriel stood again, swaying slightly as he looked back at the path of destruction he'd carved. His one open eye stared wide.

And then…

A wave of disgust hit him.

The same as when he first stepped out of the cabin.

It surged through him, sudden and vile.

Then it vanished.

Then it returned.

Again.

And again.

The feeling crawled beneath his skin, burrowed into his spine. Azriel clenched his teeth. His body shuddered. The revolting sensation refused to leave—it washed over him like a curse, like rot creeping into marrow.

The heat in his mana core flared.

And yet, his body grew colder.

So cold… he trembled.

His face twisted.

Drip… drip…

'…Why?'

'Why is someone like me… cold?'

Could the blood of a dark basilisk truly do something like this?

He scanned his surroundings—but Mio was gone.

Vanished.

His body shivered again from the frigid dread clawing at him.

'This doesn't make sense.'

'None of this makes sense.'

Still, there was no sign of her. The forest was deathly still. An eerie silence hung heavy between the trees.

Drip… drip…

'…I knew it.'

From the moment he met her—despite all her kindness—Azriel hadn't been able to trust her. Something inside him rejected her completely. A gnawing discomfort. A quiet fear.

But more than Mio…

Azriel was afraid of himself.

The way he'd been acting.

The state of his body.

The chaos in his mind.

It all felt… wrong.

Drip… drip…

He took a step forward.

Something crunched beneath his boot. Something soft. Something that moved.

Confused, Azriel shifted his foot back to see what he had stepped on.

Drip… drip…

That's when he noticed it.

The droplets of red liquid pouring down like a silent waterfall.

Soaking the earth.

Staining his pants.

Drenching his boots.

He looked down. His crimson clothes were soaked.

Touching the wetness, his fingers came away coated in thick, sickly blood.

"—Huh?"

He turned.

There, behind him…

A pool of blood.

Drip… drip…

And then his gaze drifted—slowly—toward his left side.

…Where his hand used to be.

From the wrist down, his arm ended in a jagged, exposed mess. His left hand was gone.

"Hah?"

Blood burst from the torn stump, gushing in waves. Arteries, black-red and pulsing, writhed like dying worms. White strands—muscle, tendon, nerve—hung like shredded silk from a grotesque bouquet of ruin.

For two whole seconds, his mind refused to register what he was seeing.

Then reality cracked open like a hammer striking glass.

"Gh-a—!? A-AA—GAAAAAA—!!!"

Azriel dropped to his knees.

The world went white.

His thoughts, fractured and fraying, couldn't grasp thought—only the echo of thought, the smear of it. What thought had sparked this thought? Was it even his? Why think? Why now? Thought, thought, thought—

It scratched inside his skull, clawing to be known, but every time he reached for it, it slipped, broke, multiplied. Thought birthed thought and none of them made sense. Just thought, endless thought, spiraling into thoughtthoughtthought—

In agony, he pressed his bleeding stump against the dirt. His teeth sank into the earth without realizing it. Leaves, wet with his own blood, stuck to his lips. He chewed soil without meaning, vision swimming as the forest spun.

And then… he saw it.

His left hand.

Lying in front of him.

Detached. Pale. Still.

Azriel stared.

It wasn't on his body anymore. It was on the dirt.

He understood.

An understanding he never wanted to reach.

A pain he never wanted to know.

...Not again.