Path Of The Extra Chapter 188

Only five people remained in the lounge: Azriel, Nol, Iryndra, Jasmine, and Aeliana.

“Big brother… do you still want revenge…?”

Azriel turned his head toward Iryndra, who sat beside him, her worried gaze fixed on him. She was, perhaps, the one person who truly understood how dangerous Neo Genesis was.

He smiled warmly at her, reaching over to pat her head gently, trying to reassure her.

“With someone as adorable as you here, why would I want something as boring as that?”

Her cheeks flushed a light red, but a smile of relief softened her expression. She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch.

‘Cute.’

This girl… she really was something else. Azriel couldn’t help but fear for the amount of heads he’d have to rip off from the people who would come after her.

A sudden noise snapped his attention away—the door shut, and Azriel saw that his mother had left, leaving only Jasmine.

Jasmine stood up, walking toward him.

“She left… said she needed to talk to Dad. Probably wants to know more about the coma you were in.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on the closed door. He knew his mother had the most questions. She was the one who was probably the most worried and heartbroken. He wanted to speak with her, but… perhaps she needed some time.

“Big brother, why were you in a coma?”

Azriel turned his attention back to Iryndra, a slight amusement in his eyes.

‘Looks like calling me ‘big brother’ is no longer a problem…’

She still seemed embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly she had adapted.

“Hmm… you could say it was just my body and mind catching up with each other.”

“Oh…”

Iryndra nodded, her expression softening with understanding. To her, it probably seemed like he was simply exhausted, like his body just needed to rest.

Suddenly, Azriel’s vision shifted, and before he could react, he felt two warm hands pressing gently against his cheeks.

Azriel blinked in surprise, seeing Jasmine’s face right in front of his.

“Jasmine?”

She was holding his head with both hands, her face tense with uncertainty. She hesitated before asking, her voice laced with concern.

“Are you really okay?”

Azriel studied her for a moment, then smiled warmly, trying to reassure her as well.

“Of course. You don’t need to worry that much. I’m just grateful to be alive.”

Jasmine pursed her lips for a moment, then placed one hand on the back of his head and pushed him against her chest. Azriel sank in, feeling the softness of her embrace.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

She held him tightly, burying her head in his hair.

“I know when you decide to do something, you can become reckless… not caring about yourself at all. But… I’ll become strong enough so you never have to go through something like that again. Please… don’t throw away your life again. If you’re ever in a tough situation… please just rely on me. I promise you, little brother… I’ll become the strongest. So please… don’t die again.”

Azriel’s heart throbbed painfully, and for a few moments, he didn’t say anything. Jasmine’s anxiety grew, and her grip on him tightened, faltering for a second.

Finally, he spoke, his arms wrapping around her in return.

“Okay… I promise…”

*****

“I guess it’s reasonable that I won’t be going to the academy tomorrow,” Azriel muttered, leaning against the balcony railing of his room.

The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain even though the ground below remained dry. It was late at night, and he was still dressed in the same T-shirt and joggers. His gaze was fixed on the sky, where a jagged crack stretched across the heavens, illuminated by the moon and stars.

A twisted smile crept onto his face as he stared at the crack.

“For the first time in 150 years, the sky has broken even more… The timing matches exactly with the book.”

He wasn’t particularly surprised when he first heard about the crack widening.

He had known this was coming all along.

With a flick of his finger, he tapped on his storage ring. A dagger materialized in his right hand.

The wind swept across his face, ruffling his hair, as Azriel glanced down at the blade. His reflection shimmered faintly on the polished steel.

“I wonder…” he murmured.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he stretched his left hand forward, steadying it against the railing. Slowly, he dragged the dagger across his palm, splitting the skin.

Blood seeped from the cut, dripping over the edge of the balcony into the garden below. Even the dagger now glistened crimson.

Azriel frowned as he observed the blood trickling from his hand.

“I didn’t feel anything…”

That was… concerning.

[Soul’s Crucible] might have dulled his ability to feel pain, numbing him to the point where even a cut like this was imperceptible.

Or maybe it wasn’t numbing at all—it just felt… strange. Not painful, not agonizing, just an odd sensation. It wasn’t nearly enough to alarm him, yet the lack of reaction was unnerving.

Would he one day bleed out without even noticing?

“Everything comes with a price.”

So now what?

Azriel wondered just how much pain it would take for him to actually feel it.

Was he supposed to keep harming himself until he reached his limit? Or wait for someone—or something—else to hurt him enough?

Neither option seemed particularly appealing. In fact, he’d rather not be hurt at all anymore.

“Ah, shit… What the hell am I even doing…”

Regret was already settling in as he looked at the cut on his palm. With a sigh, Azriel turned away from the balcony, shaking his head at his own foolishness.

‘I should test [Soul’s Crucible] on someone else,’ he thought. The passive effects were one thing, but he was curious about how much mana it would take to use the active effect.

He was just about to collapse onto his bed when he froze.

The air in the room seemed to rise several degrees.

Azriel’s blood ran cold, his eyes widening.

The door to his room was open.

Standing there, framed by the faint light from the hallway, was his mother. Her face was pale, her expression a perfect mirror of his own horror.

For a second, they just stared at each other.

Azriel’s gaze dropped to his left hand—the blood still trickling from his palm—and then to the dagger clutched in his right.

His eyes flicked back to his mother.

Her face, which had been frozen in shock, began to shift. Slowly, painfully, her expression hardened.

Azriel’s stomach sank as he watched her features tighten with every passing second.

His own expression darkened.

‘Dammit.’