Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The five remaining men gritted their teeth and wiped the blood from the corners of their mouths. Their bodies trembled with the strain of channeling their mana into their weapons, a clear indication that all of them were 2-star Awakened.

The air around them buzzed with the weight of their combined energy, but despite their wounds and fear, they stood ready.

One by one, the bandits prepared for their final stand. Three of them, wielding heavy axes, growled as their weapons glowed faintly with the essence of their mana, while the other two gripped swords, poison dripping from the edges of their blades.

They knew they couldn't outmatch the young man in pure power. But they were bandits—dirty fighters by nature—and they had their tricks. Poisons that could paralyze, weapons with hidden spikes, and a deep-rooted instinct for survival at any cost.

They attacked all at once, a desperate and chaotic rush meant to overwhelm him. The three axemen swung in wide arcs, their blades heavy and menacing, while the two swordsmen lunged from either side, their poisoned blades gleaming with malice.

The young man, however, remained eerily calm. He moved with the fluidity of a seasoned predator, his eyes cold and focused as the first axeman swung at him.

SWOOSH!

With a single motion, the young man's estoc danced through the air, meeting the heavy axe with terrifying precision.

CLANG!

The axe was cleaved in two as if it were nothing more than paper, and before the bandit could even react, the starlight-coated blade sliced through his torso, bisecting him cleanly.

Blood sprayed, and the first man crumpled to the ground in two lifeless pieces.

The second and third axemen followed quickly, roaring as they tried to use their sheer strength to force the young man back. One of them hurled a vial of poison at his face, hoping to catch him off guard.

"As expected."

But the young man was far too quick. He sidestepped the vial effortlessly, his estoc carving a lethal path through the air once more. A blinding flash of starlight cut through the second axeman's chest, sending his body falling in halves to the blood-soaked floor.

The third axeman tried to bring his weapon down in a powerful overhead strike, but he never had the chance. With a quick thrust, the estoc pierced straight through his throat, ending his life in an instant. His body slumped to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

The two swordsmen, realizing the hopelessness of their situation, tried to retreat, but the young man gave them no such opportunity. He surged forward, his body a blur as he cut through the first with terrifying precision. The poison on the man's blade never even came close to reaching its mark. A clean slice through his abdomen and the bandit was gone.

The final bandit swung wildly in a panic, his poisoned sword barely grazing the young man's shoulder. But the attack lacked any power or conviction, and the young man dispatched him with a quick, decisive strike. The estoc flashed once, and the last man fell to the ground in two pieces.

None of the five had lasted more than two moves.

The tavern was now quiet, save for the sound of blood dripping from the corpses littering the floor. The young man stood amidst the carnage, his blade still gleaming with black starlight, his expression calm as ever.

The young man turned slowly, his eyes locking onto Lothar, who stood frozen amidst the wreckage of his men. Lothar's body was still trembling, his hand gripping his bleeding side as he struggled to comprehend the scene before him. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat filled with the cold realization that death had just swept through his gang like a storm—and now it was his turn.

The young man took a step forward, his expression calm, almost bored. "So?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Are you coming or not?"

Lothar met his gaze, swallowing the lump of fear that had formed in his throat. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, trying to find some meaning in what had just happened. Desperation flickered in his eyes as he finally managed to speak.

"Why?" Lothar asked, his voice trembling, barely more than a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

The young man tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in mild confusion. "What do you mean by 'why?'" he asked, his voice calm and measured as if the question itself were nonsensical.

Lothar coughed, wincing as the pain in his side flared up. "With your talents... you could find a job anywhere," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Why waste your time here, in a backwater like this? Why bother with us?"

The young man's lips curled into a small, almost thoughtful smile. He nodded slightly, acknowledging Lothar's point. "You're not wrong," he said, his tone surprisingly conversational. "With my talents, as you say, I could find something much more... rewarding."

He paused, his gaze shifting briefly to the carnage around them before returning to Lothar. "But you and Korvan... well, you're just unlucky," he continued, his voice carrying a sense of inevitability. "Because the circumstances led me here."

Lothar's breath caught in his throat, the weight of the young man's words sinking in. There was no grand purpose, no deep vendetta. They were simply unfortunate—caught in the path of a force far beyond their understanding or control.

"Unlucky?" Lothar repeated, his voice barely audible.

The young man gave a small nod, his expression unchanging. "That's all there is to it," he said, his voice calm. "If I were to be born as a normal noble or as a normal citizen of Arcanis, I would not be here doing this. At the very least, you would have your life here, and once a team to subjugate you was sent, you could get the intel and leave.

But there was no way you could expect someone like me, isn't that right?"

Lothar nodded weakly, his mind piecing together the grim reality of the situation. "That's... that's how it goes," he muttered, his voice shaking as the weight of it all pressed down on him. "We... we've always known how to play the game. Move before they catch up.

Keep the right people on our side, bribe the officials, and pay off the scouts. It's always worked... until now."

He coughed, blood spilling from his lips as the pain in his side flared once more. His grip on his axe weakened, and he leaned heavily against the wall to stay upright. "But we never heard about anyone like you," he continued, his voice bitter. "No warnings, no rumors. That means... you're not affiliated with anyone, are you?

Not part of the usual system."

The young man's gaze didn't waver. His calm expression remained unchanged, though a flicker of acknowledgment passed through his eyes. "That's correct," he replied softly. "I'm not bound to any of the corrupt officials you've bribed, nor am I part of the regular forces you've been dodging."

Lothar let out a weak laugh, filled with disbelief and resignation. "So that's it. We were playing our usual game, and... you weren't even on the board. We were just unlucky."

The young man raised his blade, its surface still shimmering with the remnants of the dark starlight that had left nothing but destruction in its wake. He stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Lothar's with an almost unsettling calmness.

No, they were not calm.

They were different. There was a slight sense of greed in those eyes. A sense of happiness?

'This guy…..He is a demon…..'

Indeed, the guy's eyes were smiling as if he was enjoying the situation himself.

Lothar could feel the weight of his own mortality pressing down on him as he stared back, the bitterness of his defeat sinking in deeper with every passing second. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body failing him as the wound in his side continued to drain his strength.

The young man's voice cut through the stillness, soft but firm. "Indeed. But don't worry…" He paused, the tip of his estoc gleaming in the faint light as he raised it slightly. "You won't be alone."

Lothar's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening in a mix of fear and understanding. The young man's gaze didn't falter as he continued, his tone as calm as ever. "All of your friends... every one of them... they'll follow you. Just like you, they'll meet the same end.

One by one. Even the one you dislike, his name…..What was it? Ah, Alric. Everyone."

And then his smirk widened.

"Ah, just to inform you. The people that you think escaped to inform Korvan...They are all dead. So, you don't need to buy time."

At that exact moment, Lothar's fading hope was crushed entirely. From the entrance of the tavern came a soft, dragging sound. His head snapped toward it, and what he saw made his blood turn cold.

A small cat padded into the room, its sleek, midnight-black fur glistening in the dim light. But what caught Lothar's attention was the bundle behind it—a group of men bound in thick ropes made of glowing mana, their bodies dragged effortlessly along the floor. Every one of the bound figures was a familiar face.

These were the bandits who had escaped just moments before, now tied and gagged, their eyes wide with fear and defeat.

Lothar's breath hitched as the cat, seemingly indifferent to the weight it was pulling, stopped in front of the young man. The cat glanced up at him, its eyes shimmering with a sharp intelligence far beyond any ordinary animal.

The young man looked down at the cat with an almost playful smile. "Ah, Vitaliara. Good work, as always."

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