Path of the Extra

The cadets were packing up their gear, preparing to enter the boss room.

The joyous atmosphere of the previous night had vanished, replaced by grim expressions and a tense, gloomy air.

It was no surprise—most of them were terrified, and who could blame them?

They had barely faced any battles in the void dungeon, and the entire first floor had turned into a deserted zone.

Some even speculated that it could be declared a safe zone like the fifth floor, but that was irrelevant now.

What mattered was the daunting challenge ahead—they were about to face the first boss of the void dungeon with little to no combat experience.

The tension was palpable, and it was nerve-wracking for everyone.

The only reason they hadn't panicked was that a few cadets remained calm, helping to steady the others.

Having the Princess of the Frost Clan among them reassured many, and with one of the top cadets, Vergil, offering his support, it brought some comfort.

Still, the lack of help from the Apex himself was starting to stir quiet resentment among a few.

"Are you really planning to stay out of this?"

Jasmine asked, standing beside Azriel as they watched the cadets prepare for the boss fight.

There wasn't a clear plan—no one knew much about the first-floor boss.

It was rare for a boss to change, especially on the first floor, but now, nothing seemed certain.

Even if the boss hadn't changed, little was known about it.

Information on the void dungeon, particularly regarding bosses and other key details, was strictly prohibited from being leaked.

"...I am."

"Are you sure? It would be your first time fighting a floor boss... it's quite the experience,"

Jasmine pressed, her concern evident.

But Azriel remained unmoved, his expression indifferent as he continued to watch the cadets.

"I'm sure."

"...I see."

Jasmine responded, disappointment creeping into her tone.

She glanced at his face, trying to read his thoughts, but he remained a closed book.

Even yesterday, she'd panicked when she went to check on him, only to find him absent from the tents where he was supposed to be resting.

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Luckily, he had just been observing them from a distance.

But why?

Why did he always keep everyone at arm's length?

'When will you open up to me?' she thought, aching for him to finally let her in.

But she couldn't force him—she didn't want to push him away.

"...Are you disappointed?"

Azriel suddenly asked, his gaze still fixed ahead.

Jasmine's eyes widened slightly.

She bit her lip, unsure how to respond.

"Are you disappointed in me like the others? For not meeting your expectations?"

His voice was calm, but his words carried weight.

"I let you down, didn't I?"

Jasmine couldn't read him at all.

"I'm not disappointed."

She whispered.

"Liar."

His quick rebuke startled her.

She froze, unsure how to respond once again.

"I'm not..."

"Yes, you are. It's normal to be. I'm Azriel Crimson. Everyone has expectations of me. You want me to take the lead, destroy the void creatures, make everyone see me as some kind of hero. You want me to be the person who walks into that room and slays the boss on my own."

A small smile tugged at his lips, but Jasmine found herself unable to speak.

He was right—deep down, she did want that.

She wanted him to live up to his potential, to be the hero she knew he could be—her talented little brother.

He was never one to seek the spotlight, and she understood that.

But when he decided to attend the Hero Academy, she'd been thrilled.

His rise to becoming the Apex had made her even prouder.

So yes, it would be a lie to say she wasn't disappointed that he didn't get involved now.

"The Unworthy Prince."

Jasmine's heart froze at hearing those words leave his mouth.

"The most famous title given to me..."

"...."

It wasn't the title itself that shocked her—she knew people whispered about him online, even though slander against the children of the great clans was technically illegal.

The internet was a wild place, especially in this age.

What stunned her was that he acknowledged it, that he spoke of it.

She had always assumed he didn't care what others said about him.

Afraid of what he might say next, his following words left her speechless.

"I think there isn't a title more fitting for me than that."

*****

Celestina stood before the assembled cadets, their backs rigid, the tension in the air palpable.

Many of them looked hesitant, even scared, and she couldn't blame them—it was time to face the floor boss.

She had waited a full day, and still, nothing had happened.

No attacks, no intervention from the instructors.

There was no longer any room for delay.

Glancing one last time at the group, she turned toward the massive gates ahead.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, syncing with her heartbeat, which seemed to drum louder in her chest.

She was scared too.

But fear was good. Fear kept her alive.

Standing before the towering gate, she reached out and placed her right hand on its dust-covered surface.

The moment she did, the ground trembled beneath them.

Dust cascaded from the engravings as blue light began to fill the grooves, glowing brighter with every second.

The tremors intensified, and slowly, under the astonished gazes of the cadets, the massive gates began to part.

'This is it...'

There was no turning back now.

Today, she would slay her first floor boss.

As the gates finally opened, Celestina took a step forward, her footsteps once again echoing ominously through the corridor as she entered the boss room.

The cadets, not wanting to be left behind, followed their leader.

But when they stepped inside, what greeted them froze each one of them in place.

Before them loomed an enormous chamber, its vastness swallowed by shadows.

At its heart lay a massive, circular arena, the only path to it being the narrow one directly ahead.

The edges of the platform dropped away into an endless abyss, a void so deep it felt as though it could swallow both time and light itself.

The walls surrounding the chamber mirrored the ancient gates they had passed, adorned with dust-laden engravings.

Faded, yet strangely beautiful, the intricate designs whispered of another world—one touched by a master's hand.

It was otherworldly, as though the chamber itself was a forgotten relic of divine craftsmanship.

But it was not the artistry that held them motionless.

No, what froze them in place was what sat at the very center of the arena.

A throne.

And upon that throne sat something.

Or someone.

A lone figure, draped in onyx armor so polished it seemed to ripple like liquid, catching the dim light in ominous, gleaming waves.

The craftsmanship was so exquisite, so flawless, that it struck both awe and terror into their hearts.

A dark, inscrutable helmet masked the figure's face.

Through the narrow vertical slit in the helm, two glowing crimson orbs stared out—like burning embers in the void.

Yet... it did not move.

It did not seem to be alive.

It did not breathe.

It did not see.

It simply sat there.

Staring.

Straight at them—or perhaps through them—bound by chains to its throne.

It was...

The Dark King of Imperion.