Extra's Fate
Chapter 48: Emotions

Chapter 48: Emotions

Squelch...

Crimson blood splattered across my face.

My blade sank deep into the man’s back, cutting and shredding through flesh and bone with surprising ease. Its tip even burst through his chest, causing him to sway forward and vomit a mouthful of blood.

"Wha... What is this... You dare!?"

He choked, trying to dislodge the metal piercing him.

However, I remained calm.

Twisting my odachi embedded in his back, I watched as his body convulsed in pain.

"AARGH!"

The man shrieked as he tried to reach me, grasping at the air, desperate to pry me off. But his strength was quickly leaving him.

Even when he managed to grab my hand, he was unable to move it.

A gleeful smile spread on my face.

"Beg for mercy. Isn’t that what you wanted?"

His body shuddered.

His hands clawed at the edge of the blade, but all he managed to do was smear his own blood over his trembling fingers. His knees buckled, barely holding him up.

"P-please..."

He spluttered, almost crying.

However, his fate was already sealed.

"Too late."

With a swift jerk, I pulled my odachi free.

Blood sprayed across the floor in thick droplets.

For the first few seconds the worshipper swayed on his feet, his lips moving wordlessly, before his legs finally gave out.

Thud...

He crumpled onto the cold tiles, his face twisted in agony, his breaths growing fainter by the second.

His fingers twitched one last time before falling still.

Silence...

The people huddled in the corners of the restaurant who witnessed the whole exchange were completely pale. No one spoke either.

I flicked my odachi to the side, letting the blood drip from the blade before sheathing it.

Without another word, I turned toward my table and picked up my glass of water, taking a slow sip.

"Check, please."

***

The aftermath of the battle was far more difficult to deal with then the actual battle.

Guards flooded the restaurant within minutes.

The heavy thud of armored boots striking the marble floor reverberated through the tense silence, breaking only when steel was drawn and sharp commands were barked.

I didn’t resist.

There was no need to.

The moment they saw the corpse sprawled on the ground, still leaking a pool of crimson, they knew there was no question about who was responsible.

They stripped me of my weapons, binding my hands behind my back with thick iron shackles that bit into my wrists. The lead officer, a burly man with a weathered face, studied me with a hardened expression, as if weighing whether I was worth the trouble.

I remained silent, even as he gestured for the guards to haul me to my feet.

They took me through the city streets, past gawking bystanders who whispered in hushed voices as we passed.

I could hear the murmurs, some condemning me, others wondering what had led to the bloodshed.

I paid them no mind.

Interrogation followed soon after.

The room was dimly lit, the scent of old parchment and ink mixing with the faintest trace of sweat. I was seated across from a stone-faced official, a quill poised over a scroll as he prepared to document my responses.

The questions came in quick succession.

"State your name."

I complied.

"What was your relationship with the deceased?"

"None."

"Then why did you kill him?"

"Self-defense."

The official arched a brow, glancing at one of the guards standing by the door, as if waiting for them to confirm or dispute my claim. When no immediate contradiction came, he pressed on.

"Eyewitnesses say that you struck first."

I smirked, though there was no amusement behind it.

"And did those same witnesses tell you what he intended to do to me?"

He hesitated, sifting through his notes before moving on.

"The man you killed was a worshipper of the Demons, a Dark Magician. Did you know that?"

"I suspected as much."

I leaned back against my chair, the chains rattling softly.

A beat of silence passed. The official exchanged another look with his colleagues before scribbling something down.

The questioning dragged on for what felt like hours. They asked about my purpose in the city, my affiliations, my past. I answered only what I had to, leaving out unnecessary details.

Eventually, they came to a decision.

"Okay, since the attacker was a Dark Magician, you are free to go.

I offered no argument. Standing as the guards unshackled me, I flexed my wrists and turned to leave.

As I retrieved my things, I felt my phone vibrating.

"What the hell?"

I muttered under my breath, turning it on.

On the first page of the news, I could see a picture of the restaurant I had just been in.

"Shit!"

I immediately froze, scrolling through all the articles to see if my face was somewhere. Luckily, there was none of it.

Just to make sure, I took a photo of myself and ran an image search using it as a base.

Nothing popped up.

Safe.

I sighed in relief and leaned against the cold stone wall of a nearby building.

My fingers flexed slightly, a subtle effort to shake off the residual tension still clinging to my muscles. Even though I had kept a calm demeanor throughout the entire ordeal, my body betrayed me, my heart was still hammering against my ribs and a cold sweat had begun to settle at the nape of my neck.

It wasn’t every day that one crossed paths with a Dark Magician and lived to tell the tale, let alone killed one.

Sure, in the grand scheme of things, protagonists encountered these kinds of enemies frequently, but if my memory serves me right, there weren’t supposed to be any Demon worshippers causing trouble in this timeframe.

Something in the storyline had been twisted, tangled up in a way I couldn’t yet understand.

"It lasted shorter than I expected..."

I ran a hand down my face, exhaling slowly.

Then, I began my walk back to the dorm, the weight of the day pressing heavily on my shoulders. The streets were quieter now, the earlier commotion having scattered most of the onlookers.

Still, I could feel the occasional gaze land on me.

My clothes were stained with blood, my face splattered with crimson and I knew I looked like a walking nightmare. I kept my head down, my expression neutral, but my mind was racing.

The city seemed to stretch endlessly before me, each step echoing in the hollow silence of the night. The cool air brushed against my skin, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of blood. I ignored the whispers that followed me, the hushed murmurs of those who dared to glance my way.

By the time I reached the dorm, my body felt like it was moving on autopilot. I pushed the door open, the familiar creak of the hinges grounding me slightly. The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside the window. I didn’t bother turning on the lights.

I dropped my bag onto the floor with a dull thud, the blood-soaked fabric leaving a faint smear on the wooden surface. My hands moved mechanically, stripping off my ruined clothes. Each piece fell to the floor in a heap.

I didn’t spare them a second glance.

The bathroom door creaked as I pushed it open. I turned the shower on, the water hissing as it hit the porcelain. Steam began to fill the room, clouding the mirror and obscuring my reflection.

I stared down at my hands, watching as the water ran red, swirling around the drain before disappearing. The blood clung to my skin, stubborn and unyielding, as if reluctant to let go.

"..."

I’ve killed yet another person today.

Also it’s not the first, it’s still tough to cope with.

Just a few months ago, I was a normal person who would have fretted over murder, over blood, even. The very idea of taking a life would have sent my heart pounding in horror.

But now?

Now, I had slaughtered more than a couple dozen men and I felt nothing.

No guilt. No hesitation. No remorse.

The realization should have unsettled me, but it didn’t. Instead, it sat within me, cold and unmoving, like a stone resting at the bottom of a frozen lake.

I watched the water continue to swirl down the drain, the last traces of crimson fading into nothingness. My fingers curled slightly, then relaxed. There was no trembling. No shaking. My body accepted the act as if it were as natural as breathing.

Was this what it meant to adapt? Or was I just losing what little humanity I had left?

I exhaled deeply, running a hand through my damp hair before stepping out of the shower. The steam clung to my skin, but I barely noticed. I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked back into my room, my eyes landing on my discarded clothes, the only real evidence left of what had happened tonight.

Without a second thought, I picked them up and stuffed them into a plastic bag. I’d get rid of them later. It wouldn’t leave traces behind.