Path of the Extra - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Ragnar Frost
“Death’s… Blossom.”

Everything that had just happened felt so weird.

It was like he was in some sort of lucid dream.

“First form, huh? And it doesn’t even show me how many forms there are,”

Azriel muttered, gazing at the three headless bodies.

Strangely, he didn’t feel as tired as he had thought he would.

Sure, it did cost some mana to perform the Dance of Death’s first form, but not as much as he had expected.

“Perhaps I judged the god of death a little too earl-”

He couldn’t finish speaking as the grade 1 wolf suddenly lunged at him.

Caught off guard, Azriel didn’t have enough time to move his entire body out of the way or raise Void Eater.

Tilting his body sideways, he quickly froze his right shoulder blade with ice before the beast could bite into it, deflecting it from his neck.

Crack!

The sound of ice shattering echoed as the teeth sank into his right shoulder.

“Argh!”

“That fucking hurts!”

Screaming from the pain that nearly made him lose consciousness, he bit his tongue. His left hand crackled with red lightning as he plunged it into the void wolf’s head, frying its brain.

The sensation of his hand penetrating its brain and the sickening crunch of the skull breaking made Azriel grit his teeth and swallow the vomit rising in his throat.

“Shit, this feels so disgusting.”

Removing his hand from its head, the wolf fell with a thud on the ground next to him. His left hand was painted black from its blood, making Azriel want to retch.

Realizing he was about to get distracted again, he gripped his katana tighter and hurriedly looked towards where the last remaining void wolf was.

The grade 2 beast wasn’t there anymore…

No matter where he turned his head, he couldn’t see the wolf anywhere. After an entire minute, he realized that the wolf had actually fled.

“I guess that’s why he had two eyes, unlike this one…”

It seemed the grade 2 wolf was smart enough to understand that it would have died as well after seeing the sudden death of its three companions.

“Tch, I always liked cats more!”

Saying that, he froze the wound on his right shoulder again, stopping the bleeding. He didn’t have anything with him to help heal his wounds.

“Mmpfh!”

‘Dammit, it really hurts getting bitten by those skinless dogs! Well, I shouldn’t have been zoning out in the first place, I guess…’

He was lucky to use his ice fast enough, or else the grade 1 beast would have bitten his entire arm off.

‘…Damn, I feel cold.’

Azriel wasn’t wearing anything except for some torn, ragged clothes, and adding that to the ice on his body only made him tremble more as his teeth started to clatter.

“Right, I should harvest those mana cores, probably,” he muttered to himself.

He decided to absorb their mana cores before any other void creatures found him. He was sure his fight with the void wolves had attracted some of them.

Though whether someone as insignificant as him would be worth killing or eating by the higher-ranked void creatures, he wasn’t really eager to find out.

With his katana, he made a precise incision near where the heart would be. The blade slid through the flesh easily, but the sickly warmth and the smell of blood and offal made him gag. His hand trembled slightly as he reached into the body, feeling around for the mana core.

When his fingers brushed against the smooth, hard surface, he grimaced and pulled it out, covered in blood and bits of tissue.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” he muttered.

Moving to the next body, the process didn’t get any easier. Each time he had to reach into the carcass, the nauseating sensation of warm blood and the slick, slimy texture of organs made him retch.

“I want to take a shower…”

********

“Haa…”

A tired sigh escaped Ragnar’s lips as he walked through the corridors of a military base established in France — a safe zone.

Ragnar was undeniably handsome, with hair as pure and white as freshly fallen snow, cascading in smooth waves down to his shoulders.

His piercing blue eyes resembled sapphires, sparkling with an intensity that seemed to penetrate the soul.

He appeared to be in his late twenties, with chiseled, refined features. High cheekbones framed a strong jawline.

There was a maturity in his gaze that spoke of countless experiences.

Yet, what truly set him apart, making everyone he passed bow their heads in fear and respect, was the palpable aura of strength and authority he radiated. His presence alone had the ability to instill both awe and tremors in those who saw him.

A Grade 1 Grandmaster — the head of the Frost Clan, one of the four great clans ruling the Asian continent. The Crimson Clan ruled the eastern parts, while the Frost Clan governed northern Asia.

Walking a step behind him was his trusted right-hand man and servant, Thomas. Though not as handsome as his lord, Thomas was undeniably one of the most handsome men alive.

His silky blond hair and emerald eyes shone like countless stars in a dark night. While Thomas wasn’t a Grade 1 Grandmaster like his lord, he was still a Grade 3 Grandmaster.

“The government agent said you need to stay in France for a few more days, my lord, instead of leaving today,” Thomas said respectfully as they continued toward the control room.

“And who the hell do they think they are?” Ragnar retorted.

“Remind him and them that the Frost Clan doesn’t work for the government, nor do they have the power to command us.”

To the public, Ragnar was here to demonstrate that the four great clans of Asia, particularly the Frost Clan, supported and collaborated with the government to reclaim Europe.

But the main reason was something else…

There have been multiple reports of possible Phase 4 voidrifts appearing in France and Spain, yet nothing of the sort has happened yet.

Ragnar had been staying here for over a week because humanity couldn’t afford to let all their hard-won control that they barely had in Western Europe go in vain.

However, there had been no signs of any void rifts appearing whatsoever in the past week. Not only that, there had been no signs of a void creature above the Monarch rank in France at all.

“We will leave today after one final check-up,” Ragnar declared, showing his indifference to staying longer in this compromised country.

“I’ll dispatch a few of our own to stay here and assist the military if necessary.” he continued.

“Actually, my lord… There seems to be interference with the signals, making it currently impossible to contact anyone outside of Europe, though travel between continents seems unaffected,” Thomas reported.

Ragnar halted, a scowl forming on his face as he faced Thomas. The bad feeling he had only intensified.

“How long has this issue been occurring?” Ragnar demanded.

“…Since the last hour,” Thomas replied calmly, though a slight cold sweat betrayed his concern.

Ragnar shook his head and resumed walking.

“It doesn’t matter. We are leaving today no matter what. Inform the government that the Frost Clan will send their representatives only once the signal is restored.”

He was determined to return to Asia, not to the north but to the east instead. Tomorrow was an extremely important day for his best friend, Joaquin Crimson.

Unlike what many believed, the four great clans harbored no animosity among them — at least, not entirely. The Crimson Clan and the Frost Clan shared the strongest bond among the four.

Perhaps because of this, most preferred Asia, where the four great clans worked together competently instead of fighting each other.

This cooperation was also why the Hero Academy was located there — maintaining Asia’s peace was crucial, as the fall of any great clan could lead to chaos.

Joaquin and Ragnar had been friends since childhood, attending the Hero Academy together.

And tomorrow… it would be the day after the birthday of Joaquin’s only son, Azriel Crimson, who had been presumed dead or missing for the past two years.

‘…they still haven’t accepted his death after all. Well, it’s not like they ever found his body or even knew exactly what happened,’ Ragnar thought somberly, reflecting on the grief Joaquin and his family must be experiencing.

Finally, Ragnar and Thomas arrived at the control room.

Yet, as they approached, both men sensed something was amiss. They listened intently to the conversation unfolding inside.

“Do you think he actually killed those four Void Wolves by himself?”

“Well, do you see anyone else with him?”

“…still, he looks so young.”

“And handsome.”

“Quickly, save this footage for later…”

“What if he isn’t human but actually a skinwalker?”

“Skinwalker or not, this could sell for a lot of money.”

“Could be true, but he could also be a wanderer?”

A “wanderer” often refers to a human who has been unfortunate enough to find themselves in a death zone after entering and exiting a void rift.

Intrigued by their discussion, Ragnar moved forward with Thomas, suppressing their presence as they approached a massive holographic screen at the front of the control room.

It displayed footage from a drone positioned directly in front of a young teenage boy…

The boy sat nonchalantly on the corpse of a headless Voidwolf, playing with its empty mana core using his left hand, which was stained black with the beast’s blood. A pitch-black katana was embedded in the ground beside him.

With messy, long black hair and blood-red eyes, his torn clothes and a patch of ice on his right shoulder suggested the recent battle that took place.

His hair fluttered in the wind as he stared directly into the drone’s camera with a small smile.

Suddenly, he tapped the drone lightly with his right hand, causing it and the camera to sway.

“Hello? Does this thing have a mic?”