SHATTERED INNOCENCE: TRANSMIGRATED INTO A NOVEL AS AN EXTRA

“And these gentlemen appear to have some business left with you.”

A slow ripple of tension ran through the gang.

The axe-wielder, having regained his footing, let out a harsh breath. “You think you can just walk away after drawing your blade on me?”

The cloaked man let out a long, exaggerated sigh, tilting his head.

“Man… just read the room, will you?” His voice was laced with something close to disappointment, like a teacher scolding an underperforming student. Then, he turned his full attention to the axe-wielder and his men.

“I’m really leaving you a way out,” he continued, almost lazily. “And yet, here you are—acting arrogant.” His black-flamed estoc flickered, reflecting the torchlight in eerie patterns. “Do you really want to die that much?”

The gang leader sneered. “Hah! Bluffing won’t save you, bastard!”

Caius could see it—the twitch in their muscles, the brief shift in weight that came before an attack. They were done talking. They were going to strike.

And yet—

The cloaked man wasn’t moving.

Not shifting into a stance. Not even tightening his grip. He just stood there, calm.

And then—he turned his head.

Toward Caius.

“Your answer?” he asked.

Caius’s blood ran cold.

The gang was already lunging for him—steel flashing, mana crackling. Yet this guy? He was waiting?

‘What the hell is wrong with this bastard?’

Caius could feel the air shift as the first strike came—

And still, the cloaked man didn’t move.

‘He’s insane. If I don’t answer, we both die here!’

Gritting his teeth, Caius spat, “Fine! I’ll take you to Kael Draven!”

The moment the words left his mouth—

The robed man moved.

No—he didn’t move.

He vanished.

A sudden rush of air, and then—

The cloak hit the ground.

And Caius saw him.

Black hair. Black eyes. A scar running over his right eye, jagged and deep.

His grin was sharp, teasing. “Had you been a second later, you’d be dead,” he mused. “Took you long enough. Survival instincts lacking.”

“Bastard, just move!” Caius shouted.

The man smirked.

Then—

The world blurred.

Caius barely registered what happened. One second, the axe-wielder was swinging down—

The next, his arm was severed at the elbow.

A scream.

A dagger thrust forward—

A flash of black steel—

A leg sliced clean through, the man crumpling with a strangled cry.

The knuckle-cracker’s eyes widened in horror. He barely had time to react before—

A single, effortless pierce straight to the heart.

The man gasped. Then, his body went rigid—

As the black flame consumed him.

Not just him.

All of them.

Their wounds ignited first—then the fire spread, devouring flesh, curling up their bodies like living shadows until there was nothing left but ash.

Caius stood frozen, barely breathing.

The fight had lasted mere seconds.

And the bastard in front of him? He barely looked winded.

The black flames on his sword dimmed as he turned back to Caius, utterly nonchalant.

“Well,” he said, stepping over the pile of smoldering ash. “Now that that’s done…” He clapped a hand on Caius’s shoulder, grinning. “Shall we go meet Draven?”

Caius felt like he was dying.

Not from wounds—no, he’d taken worse hits before. It was his soul that felt like it was curling up and withering away inside him.

‘How the hell did I get entangled with a bastard like this?’

His pulse still hadn’t settled. His brain was still trying to catch up to what had just happened. The fight had barely lasted a heartbeat, and yet, in that instant, the cloaked man had wiped out all of them—ruthless, precise, and completely unfazed.

Caius swallowed hard. He should’ve run. He should’ve never opened his damn mouth.

And just as he was about to get his bearings—

A loud, self-important huff shattered the tension.

“Unacceptable!” Halvor shouted, waddling toward them with the furious dignity of an overfed noble. His plump face was red, his thick fingers jabbing aggressively at the scorched ground where his goods had fallen during the chaos.

Caius felt a headache forming.

‘No. No. Gods, please. Not now.’

“This is an outrage!” Halvor continued, flinging his arms in the air. “Do you have any idea how much these products cost? Ruined! Ruined! Do you plan to compensate me for this?”

A long silence followed.

Then—

The black-haired man blinked, looking to his side, as if confirming something. Then, with an almost theatrical slowness, he tilted his head.

“…Talking to me?”

“Yes, you!” Halvor snapped, jabbing a sausage-like finger in his direction. “You think you can just waltz in here, cause a ruckus, and destroy my merchandise without consequences? That’s money out of my pocket, and I demand reparations!”

Caius felt his soul actively trying to leave his body.

‘Oh, you stupid, blind bastard. You didn’t see what just happened, did you? You didn’t even register that those men are nothing but ash now, did you?’

Caius could not believe what he was witnessing.

The gang had died in the blink of an eye. He had nearly died. And now this merchant was demanding compensation from the guy who had just butchered three-star warriors like they were nothing?

Caius took a sharp step forward, panic clawing up his throat. “Halvor, don’t—”

A hand shot up, stopping him.

Caius froze.

The black-haired man didn’t even look at him—he just raised a single finger, casually halting Caius in place. As if he already knew what he was about to do.

Caius’s stomach twisted. He could feel it—an unspoken warning, a quiet don’t interfere.

‘Shit. Shit.’

Halvor, oblivious, continued blustering. “Well? Say something! I won’t stand for this insult! You owe me, you reckless—”

The black-haired man exhaled, long and slow. Then, finally, he turned his head fully toward Halvor.

The black-haired man’s lips curled, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. He turned his full attention to Halvor, as if actually considering his complaint.

“So,” he mused, gesturing lazily at the scattered remains of the merchant’s goods, “you’re saying this was my fault?”

“Yes!” Halvor snapped, his jowls shaking with indignation. “Do you have any idea where these products came from? The finest spices, hand-picked from the southern isles! Enchanted silks woven by the artisans of Vashaar! And now—now!—half of my stock is gone!”

The black-haired man hummed, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought.

“So,” he said slowly, pointing toward what remained of the merchant’s carriage. “You seek compensation… for the missing half?”

“Yes!” Halvor huffed, crossing his thick arms. “At once!”

Caius clenched his teeth.

‘Oh no.’

He had seen that look before—the way the man’s amusement deepened, the glint of mischief beneath his half-lidded stare. This bastard was up to something.

The black-haired man raised a hand, gesturing toward Halvor’s ruined carriage.

“Well then,” he said smoothly, “I will restore it to an equal state.”

Halvor, ever the fool, stretched out a greedy hand, palm open, expecting coin.

The black-haired man merely flicked his fingers.

FWOOSH.

The remaining half of the carriage burst into black flames.

The fire ignited in an instant, devouring wood, silk, and spice with unnatural hunger. The scent of burning fabric and exotic seasonings filled the air, thick and acrid. The fire made no sound—no crackling, no roaring—just an eerie, consuming hush.

Within seconds, the entire carriage had been reduced to smoldering nothing.

The black-haired man turned back to Halvor with a pleasant smile.

“There,” he said. “No half parts left.”

Caius felt Halvor’s soul leave his body.

The merchant stood frozen, his mouth working soundlessly as he stared at the pile of blackened ash that used to be his fortune. His face contorted—first into disbelief, then into rage.

“Y-you—you wretched son of a—”

Caius grabbed him before he could finish that sentence.

“Shut. Up.” He hissed into the merchant’s ear, dragging him back before he got himself killed. “If you value your life, you will not finish that sentence.”

Halvor made a strangled noise, still trembling with fury, but Caius wasn’t about to let this idiot get them both obliterated.

The black-haired man only chuckled, watching the whole scene unfold like an amused spectator. “Hmph. Ungrateful, aren’t we?” He gestured toward the ashes. “I did exactly what you asked.”

Halvor wheezed, his fat fingers clawing at his balding scalp. “I—I meant—compensation, you lunatic!”

The man tilted his head. “Oh, that was compensation.” He smirked. “I compensated for the imbalance by making everything equal.”

Caius wanted to die. Right there. On the spot.

‘Why am I here? Why am I dealing with this?’

But deep down, beneath all the exasperation, he knew one thing for certain.

He was never getting paid for this job.

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