Extra To Protagonist
Chapter 113 - 113: The Others (1)

The corridor curved again.

Which made no sense, because it had just un-curved thirty steps ago.

Nathan ran a hand along the wall as they moved. It wasn't smooth. It felt like… ripple-stone. A design carved by something that didn't care about geometry or sanity.

Elara walked ahead, blade sheathed but loose in her grip. Always in front. Always silent.

Seraphina followed behind him, slower than she wanted to be. Her limp was more of a rhythm now than a problem.

Nathan didn't ask how bad it was. She wouldn't answer anyway.

He kept his voice low. "Anyone want to guess what exactly this place is trying to be? A tomb? A dream? A collective fever hallucination from drinking the dorm tea?"

No reply.

Not unexpected.

He tapped a cracked pillar with his knuckle. The echo came back wrong. Like something repeated it a second too late.

He didn't like that.

At all.

The air was stale. But not dead-stale. It was the kind of stale that meant something had breathed here recently, and that something was not done doing it.

"Elara," he muttered, "any idea where we're going?"

She didn't turn.

"Forward."

"Good. I love vague metaphors when I'm trapped in stone death puzzles."

Still no turn. But she said, "He drew it off. The dragon. He made noise on purpose. Took pressure with him."

Nathan blinked.

"Okay, cool, but we have zero guarantee he's still alive. Or that the dragon stayed drawn."

"He is. It did."

Seraphina spoke for the first time in ten minutes. "She's right."

Nathan turned slightly. "You're both terrible at this whole 'easing anxiety' thing."

"I'm not trying to ease anything," Elara said.

"Wow. Really? Could've fooled me with your emotionally nurturing tone."

They rounded another bend. The light shifted again, stone glowing faintly, like it remembered torchlight once and was trying to fake it now.

A stairwell loomed up ahead. It wasn't steep. But it went down.

Nathan stopped.

"So, we're doing the classic horror move and going deeper."

Elara didn't pause. Just started descending.

He followed.

Of course he did.

The air got colder.

Not 'cool breeze' cold.

Their footsteps echoed more now. Like the halls were listening again.

Seraphina leaned a hand against the wall. Her breath hitched once, but she kept going.

Nathan glanced back.

Still three.

Still breathing.

But every instinct in his spine was screaming, "four left. One returned."

He swallowed hard.

'Come on, Merlin. Show up. Say something cryptic. Be smug. Make a terrible joke. Anything.'

Nothing.

Just stone. And their footsteps. And the quiet click of Elara drawing her blade again.

Nathan exhaled.

"We are never coming back down here again."

—

He opened his eyes to stone, cold, lined with vein-cracks that pulsed faintly blue, like mana that didn't want to be touched.

He was lying on his back.

Alone.

Again.

Merlin exhaled slowly, sat up, and blinked once.

"Okay," he muttered, "let's check the checklist."

Back hurts? Check.

Coat intact? Mostly.

Scroll? Gone.

System?

[SYSTEM CORE: 100%]

[SOUL CONDITION: STABLE]

[AFFINITIES: ACTIVE]

[FAVOR STATUS: GRANTED (The Messenger)]

[NEW TITLE: One Who Bears the Hidden Letter]

[SKILL: Veilstep (Passive) — Active Layer Blending Enabled]

[The Messenger is watching. Amused.]

[The Hollow Flame is bored.]

[The Huntress watches from the edge of stone.]

[The Mirror-Twin licks their pen.]

He winced.

"Great. My trauma has an audience."

The labyrinth was quiet.

No dragon.

No fire.

Just the gentle, persistent hum of old magic and bad decisions baked into ancient architecture.

He stood.

Stretched once.

Everything cracked. Loudly.

Something above him flinched.

Stone dust fell from the arch.

He did not look up.

He started walking instead.

One corridor. Same endless tiling. Same half-lit walls with glyphs that pulsed like bored heartbeats.

'This isn't where I left them.'

'Elara. Nathan. Seraph. Still in here.'

The system pulsed.

[Current Status: Labyrinth Reentry — Alternate Branch]

[Proximity Warning: Unknown Signature Approaching]

[The Thread-Tenders pause their loom.]

He didn't slow.

His boots echoed softly.

The air was heavier now. Like someone had turned the pressure up without touching the temperature.

Behind his eyes, the gods said nothing.

That was worse than when they talked.

He rounded the next bend.

Saw blood.

Just a streak. Dried. Faint. Human.

His muscles tensed.

Then relaxed.

It wasn't recent.

And not his.

[The Shadow That Judges hums.]

[The Messenger says nothing. But they lean forward.]

He pressed his palm to the wall.

Felt the magic ripple beneath it. Old. Passive.

But deeper down?

Movement.

Something shifting through the layers of space, not footsteps, but weight.

Sovereign Chain lit quietly under his skin.

No alarm.

Just readiness.

He whispered, "Veilstep."

Didn't know what he expected.

Didn't get fanfare.

Just the feeling that every cell in his body stopped casting a shadow.

He moved.

And the air didn't react.

No ripple. No pressure shift.

'Good. This… this is cheating. I like this.'

The sound came again, closer.

Something sniffing the edge of reality like it knew he shouldn't be here. Like he was walking on the wrong save file.

Merlin stayed still.

Not hiding.

Just… shifted.

And as it passed him, huge, white-eyed, stitched with too many legs and not enough logic—he watched it walk straight by.

No pause.

No reaction.

Then the gods whispered through the system—

[The Messenger chuckles.]

[The Bound Flame says, "Let's raise the difficulty."]

[The Huntress smiles. Just a little.]

[Three new presences enter the field.]

Merlin turned his head.

Three pulses.

Not monsters.

People.

Trialers?

No.

Worse.

Witnesses.

And one of them?

Wore the same divine mark he did.

"…Why the hell did you just drop me back into the labyrinth?"

—

He dropped Veilstep slowly.

Didn't fully exit.

Just… thinned it.

Enough to be seen if someone really looked.

Enough to not be a ghost anymore.

Ahead, the corridor widened.

The walls pulsed blue-gold now, same divine echo he'd seen near the scroll, near Hermes' tower, near things that wanted too much from him.

—

He walked toward them.

Slow. Quiet.

Veilstep still humming in the background like a heartbeat half-forgotten.

The corridor widened. Stone walls pulsed with faint gold-blue veins, like the labyrinth itself was holding its breath.

Then he saw them.

Three figures.

Each standing in a loose triangle, like they hadn't planned to meet, but also didn't need to question why they had.

The first one moved forward.

He had wavy dark brown hair, cropped at the sides, but messy on top, like he cared just enough to look like he didn't.

Warm tan skin. Wide shoulders. A jacket that looked expensive, stolen, or both.

His smirk came easy, like it lived on his face full-time.

Eyes? Hazel.

Sharp. Tired. But way too awake.

"Hey," the guy said. "You're later than expected."

Merlin didn't answer.

Just scanned the other two.

The second figure stood a little farther back.

Taller than both of them. Broad. Silent.

Face obscured by a high black hood that cast half their features in shadow.

What skin he could see was pale, almost too pale.

Eyes were grey, but flat. Not dead. Just watching. Like the world wasn't something to respond to, just something to calculate.

She didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

Everything about her posture said: you'll blink first.

The third figure?

A girl.

Short. Thin. Maybe twelve, maybe thirteen.

Barefoot. Her pale hair fell in straight lines down her back, silver with a lavender undertone, like moonlight bent wrong.

She wore a ragged cloak stitched from fabrics that didn't match, and her fingers were stained with what looked like charcoal or ink.

Her eyes were light blue. No warmth. Just… tired.

She looked at him, then away.

Not rude. Just used to being ignored.

[The Messenger hums softly.]

[The Chainbreaker watches your expression.]

[The Grin Beneath the Mask giggles.]

Merlin stopped five steps short.

Still close enough to strike.

Still far enough to vanish.

"You're marked," he said.

The boy nodded. "So are you."

The girl just blinked slowly.

The hooded one didn't move.

System pinged.

[All Apostolic Signatures Confirmed.]

[Trial Instanced: Concordance or Collapse]

[Objective: Align or Overcome]

[Multiple outcomes. Limited time.]

Merlin exhaled through his teeth.

"You've done trials before."

The boy grinned. "Three. Survived two. Jury's out on the last one."

He stepped forward and offered a hand.

"Dion," he said. "God's title? The Grin Beneath the Mask. Don't ask. It's exactly what it sounds like."

Merlin didn't shake it.

He turned to the girl.

She tilted her head, hesitant.

"Mae," she said, voice barely above the wind. "I don't remember which god. Just that she watches… everything."

The tall one finally spoke.

Voice sharp. But low.

"Call me Flint."

That was it.

No god mentioned.

Just a name that didn't sound like a name.

Merlin's fingers twitched at his side.

The gods were quiet.

But very present.

[The Huntress marks Flint.]

[The Silent Wing leans closer to Mae.]

[The Messenger places a coin on your head. Figuratively.]

"Right," Merlin said. "Three variables. No clear rules. And we're all pretending this is a conversation."

Dion laughed.

Mae didn't.

Flint stayed still.

Merlin crossed his arms. "Anyone actually want to work together?"

Mae nodded.

Dion shrugged. "I'm flexible."

Flint didn't answer.

Merlin sighed.

"Cool," he muttered. "I always wanted to be part of a trust exercise designed by a god with a gambling problem."