The Extra Who Shouldn't Exist novel Chapter 302

Chapter 302: Chapter 302 : The first Victory (1)

[ Southern borders of the Avaloria Empire ]

Ash hung in the air, trailing above rows of battered tents sprawled across the barren ground. War-wearied soldiers staggered about with bandaged limbs and grim faces.

Inside Reynard’s command tent, the duke looked up as a tall figure entered—a man with dark blue hair and equally dark eyes. His features were sharp, his aura even sharper, but there was something different about him now.

’Azrael,’ Reynard thought, immediately recognizing the visitor. For all the times they’d fought and strategized together, Reynard was used to the other’s face being marred with old, wicked scars. He blinked, realizing only now that Azrael’s skin was completely unblemished.

Reynard’s brow furrowed. "How did you fix that ugly face of yours? No offense."

Azrael’s lips curled in a faint smile. "None taken, mortal. I’m just as surprised as you. Scars that couldn’t heal no matter what—fixed in only a few minutes. Still doesn’t feel real."

"Who did it?" Reynard asked, suspicion growing.

Azrael tilted his head. "You already know."

A moment of clarity flickered in Reynard’s eyes. "Oh."

He couldn’t help a half-smirk. "That kid is really something else, isn’t he?"

The air changed as Azrael’s expression became serious. "So, what’s the situation here? You look like you’re hanging by a thread."

Reynard’s jaw tightened. "Most of the southern territory is lost."

Azrael’s eyes darkened. "How much?"

"Let’s talk inside," Reynard said quietly.

They ducked behind the flaps. Inside, three battered battalion commanders stood at grim attention.

Reynard explained, "The southern land was divided into four sectors. We built defensive lines for each. Over the last three months, we lost two... and just yesterday, the third one fell."

Azrael’s eyes narrowed. "So this is the last line before the enemy breaks into the main land of thesouthern province which is unguarded.?"

Reynard nodded stiffly. "Even this line was attacked today. Over half the soldiers are dead or wounded. There’s hardly any hope for recovery."

Silence thudded through the tent. The commanders carried the weight of a nation on their shoulders.

Azrael’s voice was low and cold. "So we’re already on the brink of destruction."

One commander broke the gloom. "We’d have been utterly wiped out already, if not for Sir Reynard risking his life to defend us time after time."

Azrael glanced at Reynard, a shadow of respect flickering in his eyes. "You have good people with you, Duke."

"That’s what makes it harder to see them die for nothing," Reynard muttered.

Azrael drew a breath. "Tell me about these enemies of yours."

Reynard nodded, jaw set. "It’s nothing like we’ve seen before. And it’s not just one group—different races on all the borders. Here, we face the Lycans."

The mention sent a chill through the tent.

"Their attacks are beyond prediction,"

Reynard went on. "No fixed patterns. And the worst is their power—they transform into wolves. When they do, even an ordinary soldier rivals a Master-rank. Sometimes the strongest Lycans kill Grandmasters as if they’re children. At night... their strength multiplies."

Another commander jumped in, the despair raw in his voice. "Hundreds of our Grandmasters have died in their jaws. We’ve tried everything—traps, magic, the best tech we had—but it never works. They break through it like sticks."

A third looked at Reynard, frowning. "Commander... no offense, but why are we telling him everything? He’s just one man. What can he do?"

Before Reynard could reply, an alarm blared outside. A soldier burst into the tent, out of breath.

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