Path of the Extra

Chapter 325: DIY Defibrillator

Slowly, Azriel dragged his feet forward, his vacant eyes staring ahead, the Desert Eagle clutched weakly in his hand. Holes pierced his body, a trail of blood marking every step.

Everything around him was black and white.

He felt nothing. Saw no color. The world was simply cold, muted, and neutral. Yet with each step, those eyes of his grew clearer, more focused, as if color were fighting its way back into them.

He walked on—tree by tree—until at last he stopped before a single trunk. Beyond it stretched nothing but a wasteland of wet earth, all the trees ahead obliterated into nothingness.

He stood there, blinking, his sight sharpening further until, suddenly, the colors returned.

Though the colors had returned, Azriel still felt as if he wasn’t entirely in this world, as if he wasn’t part of reality. It was a strange, derealizing sensation.

Azriel blinked again, disoriented, turning back as though to confirm what he had seen. Behind him: the forest. Before him: the barren ruin.

He looked down at Atropos’ Elegy in his hand.

And then, slowly, everything came rushing back.

Dying.

Coming back to life.

Killing the abyssal with his final shot.

A shuddering breath escaped his lips. He lifted his free, gauntleted hand over his mouth.

“…Holy shit.”

He tilted his head back, eyes rising to the stars.

“…It worked.”

A breathless laugh followed.

“It actually worked!”

And then he couldn’t stop—he laughed louder, shoulders shaking. He had outsmarted the abyssal!

But the sound broke off as he coughed blood, his body swaying. He caught himself against the bark of the tree, pressing a hand into it for support.

’…C-crap.’

He inhaled deeply, letting the cool air fill his lungs, then forced his ice through his wounds, freezing them shut.

’A healer should look me over later… just in case.’

This… this was easily in the top ten of his most reckless gambles.

“So stopping my own heart for under a minute won’t activate [Redo]…”

Yes. That was what he had done.

Azriel had stopped his own heart.

More precisely—he had frozen it. With his ice magic, he had cooled his heart and surrounding tissue just enough to drastically slow his pulse and breathing, rendering them imperceptible. For one minute, he was nothing but a corpse in the abyssal’s eyes.

And when the timing was perfect, he surged lightning through his body—his own improvised defibrillator—forcing his heart back into rhythm.

It had been a gamble with death itself.

A single slip in freezing could have killed him outright—cardiac arrest, permanent damage, brain hypoxia.

A single misfire of lightning could have sent his heart spiraling into fibrillation instead of restarting.

But he hadn’t miscalculated.

It had worked. Against every impossible risk, it had worked. He had fooled the abyssal. He had won!

Azriel let out another shaky chuckle.

“Oh, I’m definitely hitting a casino once all of this is over.”

“Casino? Considering what you’ve just done— is that a term for gambling houses?”

Azriel flinched inwardly before forcing his face into neutrality. He turned sharply, eyes cold, Atropos’ Elegy already raised at the unfamiliar male voice behind him.

An old man stood there.

An old man draped in a long, black robe.

’Robes… what is it with everyone and their robes?’

The stranger’s beard was white, medium in length, his hair just as grey, touched by age. His face was pale, furrowed with deep lines, his eyes a bottomless black. Yet despite his years, he did not stoop or waver—he stood tall, steady, and imposing.

Azriel’s body shivered. His instincts screamed.

He clenched his teeth.

’Strong…! He’s strong!’

Then his eyes widened further.

’…A Grandmaster!?’

How…? How could there still be a Grandmaster in this world!? Wasn’t Lykos the only one? And he was dead… wasn’t he? There was no way someone could have risen to Grandmaster so soon after Lykos—after the Skinwalker.

Dizziness struck him, his battered body wavering. He was in no condition for this.

The old man spoke, his voice was low and calm.

“Should you even be moving with such grievous wounds? You should be dead—or at the very least unconscious. Yet here you stand, aiming a pistol at my face, drowning in pain.”

’Shit…’

His words forced Azriel to grin.

“Who decided wounds like these are enough to kill me? Who decided they should make me feel pain? Don’t assume things about me, old man.”

“You think I can’t see through this act of yours?”

The man raised his eyebrows beneath the curtain of grey hair, his expression was stoic.

“Given your recklessness—rushing toward death right after clawing your way back from it—what purpose would it serve me to assume anything about someone whose luck is bound to run out?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. His mind screamed at him to run.

’He’s been watching me…’

For how long?

“For now, take this. It would be troublesome if you died before we discussed what matters. As for your silver companion—he sleeps. Distressed after I stole his kill, though I doubt he would have managed it regardless.”

’Nol?’

The man tossed something toward him. Azriel barely managed to catch it before staggering, almost collapsing. He looked at the vial in his hand.

’A… health potion?’

His gaze shot back to the old man.

’He’s no participant…’

“You look shocked over something as trivial as a health potion. I find that insulting—to myself and to the alchemists of the Kingdom of the Sun. I advise you to drink quickly and finish your task, unless you wish the blue-haired beauty to die. Even now, she teeters on the edge. The one she faces is an opponent I doubt any master I have ever known could defeat alone. If you survive, then we speak. Otherwise, giving you this potion will have been wasted benevolence. Do not make me regret it.”

Azriel frowned.

’Dammit… I thought she would last longer!’

He shook his head in frustration.

Without hesitation, he uncorked the potion and gulped it down, before tossing the empty vial back toward the Grandmaster.

’I think… I think it might actually be working.’

So, as long as it’s a health potion made in this world, it works?

His eyes hardened.

“I suppose we’ll talk about why you’ve been spying on me this whole time—once I’ve finished killing him.”

The old man scoffed.

“You are not capable of killing him. Nor will a mere bullet harm him. But that is not my concern. Survive, and we speak. Die, and I will take it as my excuse to slaughter the remaining immigrants who’ve brought chaos to my village, before returning to peace.”

’Immigrants? His village… wait—wasn’t that old man the village chief? Has it been him all along? What the hell…’

Azriel clicked his tongue, glaring at the man as warmth spread through his body, his injuries stabilizing.

He turned, then broke into a sprint—running straight toward where Ranni and Mirius clashed.

*****

Azriel kept running through the broken wasteland of wet dirt. From time to time, he passed shattered bark and the shredded remains of leaves, obliterated in the clash of the Masters.

He could not use his lightning affinity.

He could not use his ice affinity.

He wasn’t even capable of running at full speed. His aura refused to wrap around his feet, and he could barely guide any mana into the soul veins of his tendons and heels.

…He was spent. Tired and spent.

The health potion gave him just enough strength to keep moving, sealing some of the worst wounds, while [Eidolon Flesh] labored to knit him back together. But it wasn’t enough. Every step tore at him, reopening what little had healed. Azriel had been forced to desummon his soul armor and his soul weapons. Even the annoying feather—he had dismissed it, trusting what the old man said, that Nol was safe and asleep.

Back in his black robe, Azriel pressed forward.

…In this state, he had no chance of fighting anything.

He didn’t know what he would do if Ranni lost—or even if she simply failed to put Mirius in critical condition.

Blood dripped steadily, leaving a trail behind him, but Azriel kept running.

Ahead, there was nothing but barren land. To his right, far in the distance, the Forest of Eternity rose again. To his left, only emptiness. So he followed the nothing.

What unsettled him most was not the pain, nor the exhaustion—

but the silence.

There was no sound of battle.

Either the fight had carried so deep into the forest that even his ears could no longer reach it… or it had already ended.

Azriel had no choice but to run. Run even if his wounds tore further. Run even as his condition worsened.

So he kept doing it.

Running.

And running.

And running.

Until—

He noticed a black dot in the distance.

He slowed, squinting. The dot grew larger, closer. Azriel stopped.

His instincts screamed. His lips pressed into a thin line.

’What now…!?’

Curious. Terrified. Desperate. He waited. The dot took form. His eyes widened. Get full chapters from novel·fiɾe·net

A creature, a shadow made flesh.

It resembled a horse, but —its body stretched unnaturally tall and gaunt, bones pressing faintly against its hide. Its coat was black, its mane long and as dark as tar. From its forehead jutted a horn. A black horn.

At once Azriel felt struck by a force.

’A… a uni—unicorn?’

He grit his teeth at the grotesque parody before him. A void creature shaped like a unicorn. With a flicker of thought, he summoned Void Eater—only Void Eater—and fell into a stance.

’Come on! I don’t have time for this!’

The creature slowed. Then stopped. Its pitch-black eyes fixed on him. It neighed, a sound that rattled in his bones, before rearing slightly and slamming back down. Dust burst around its hooves.

Azriel’s body trembled.

’A Grade 1 demon…’

He was in no condition to fight a demon. Not now. Not like this. And he had no idea how dangerous this one was.

He braced for the inevitable—uncertain he could even survive—when the creature suddenly… bowed its head.

Azriel blinked.

Then his eyes widened.

“…Wait. Are you… a soul echo? Instructor Ranni’s soul echo?”

The beast looked at him and neighed again, as if in confirmation.

Azriel’s jaw slackened.

“…Oh.”

So Ranni had sent this thing to fetch him? Since when?

’How convenient…’

A crooked smile tugged at his lips. He clapped his hands together, desummoning Void Eater.

“Well, you could’ve said that from the start!”

The soul echo made a sound—half neigh, half scoff. Azriel swore it was mocking him.

Not that he cared.

The creature lowered itself, inviting him on. Azriel didn’t hesitate, climbing onto its back.

“Woah!”

The echo rose in one swift motion, nearly throwing him.

“Easy there!”

It neighed again, and as Azriel peered into its black eyes, he felt certain—utterly certain—it was mocking him.

“Well… how does this work, exactly?”

The creature offered no answer. Suspicion prickled at him. He glanced around.

’There’s nothing to hold—’

Suddenly, the echo bolted forward.

“What the—!”

Azriel’s body whipped back violently, spine cracking against its back. Instinct kicked in—his thighs clamped down hard, dragging him upright. He hunched low, hugging its neck, gritting his teeth with a scowl.

“Curse you! Dammit! Let me off! Let me off, you fucking demon!”

But the unicorn only neighed louder, shaking its head as if in pure amusement.

And Azriel cursed again.

And the creature ran.

And he held on for dear life.

They were going so fast that everything around Azriel blurred. His stomach twisted, dizziness clawing at him, nausea threatening to spill over. He shut his eyes, forcing his breath to steady.

Too fast. Far too fast for his liking.

The creature was not oblivious—no, it knew his condition. It simply didn’t care. Instead, it pushed harder, running even faster.

’I’m going to kill it! I’ll definitely kill it!’

But gradually, the speed began to drop. Azriel exhaled, relief loosening the tension in his chest.

At last, the gallop slowed enough for him to open his eyes.

They had arrived.

The world before him was a ruin. Splintered trunks, shattered branches, bark strewn everywhere like corpses of trees. To his right and left, the endless Forest of Eternity still stood, but directly ahead—

Azriel’s eyes widened.

The horse beneath him neighed, its cry sharp and mournful.

And he saw them.

Ranni.

Mirius.

Far beyond the two, the Forest of Eternity still thrived, green and alive—a cruel contrast to the sight in front of him.

Both of them were drenched in blood, as though painted red. But only one still stood.

…Mirius.

In his right hand, he gripped Ranni by the throat. Her feet dangled, brushing the ground, her body limp, unconscious. Her spear lay discarded nearby, its shaft cracked and chipped to ruin.

And yet—

Mirius smiled.

Slowly, he turned his head, blindfolded face shifting toward Azriel on the black steed.

“Her perseverance was strong… beautiful, even. But not on my level. That is why she lost. Given a few more years of training, I might have hesitated to face her.” His smile thinned.

“Indeed… such a pity.”

He released his grip. Ranni’s body collapsed to the blood-soaked earth.

Then, with a casual motion, he reached down and lifted her spear.

Alarms flared inside Azriel. The unicorn tensed beneath him, ready to react.

But before either could move, the spear was gone from Mirius’ hand.

The soul echo twisted its body just in time—yet the weapon still tore through it. Azriel was thrown from its back, crashing hard into the dirt.

The unicorn staggered, then collapsed with a shattering cry.

“Oh? Fast enough to dodge that? Not that it matters. I pierced your heart instead of your mana core. You won’t be fighting anymore.”

The soul echo wheezed, its breaths ragged, slowing, slipping away.

Azriel’s eyes widened, his face becoming pale.

’I… I couldn’t even see the spear being thrown. Just how much strength does he still have left…?’

Then Mirius turned, the blindfolded gaze falling squarely on him.

“Now… I suppose it’s just the two of us. Just like it was in the very beginning—before all of this started.”