SHATTERED INNOCENCE: TRANSMIGRATED INTO A NOVEL AS AN EXTRA

The streets of Varenthia stretched ahead, winding and unpredictable, much like the situation Caius found himself in.

He walked with measured steps beside the black-haired bastard, his nerves coiled tight. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting thoughts.

‘What the hell am I doing? This guy is strong. Crazy, too. Is it really a good idea to take him to Kael Draven?’

His instincts screamed no. Draven wasn’t the kind of man who appreciated surprises, and bringing this lunatic to him felt like walking a rabid beast straight into the heart of a den of wolves.

‘But at the same time… can I really stop him?’

That was the real question, wasn’t it? If Caius refused, what would happen? He had seen what this man was capable of. One way or another, he would find Draven.

Was there any need for Caius to risk his life trying to stop the inevitable?

He exhaled slowly.

‘Yeah, yeah… Let’s just put my faith in him. If he wanted me dead, he would’ve done it already.’

Beside him, the black-haired man walked at a leisurely pace, his hands tucked into the folds of his long coat. His eyes roamed the city, sharp and intent, taking in every detail like a traveler seeing a foreign land for the first time.

Caius narrowed his gaze.

“…You’re looking around a lot,” he noted.

The man hummed in response, his lips curving slightly.

“I am.”

Caius tilted his head. “Why?”

The man’s dark eyes flicked toward him, considering for a moment before answering.

“Someone I know told me to find him.”

Caius frowned. “Someone you know? Who?”

The man’s expression didn’t change. “Have you ever been outside of this city?”

“I have,” Caius said slowly.

“To the Arcanis Empire?”

“Yes.”

The man’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Stormhaven?”

Caius hesitated. “…Not that far.” He exhaled through his nose. “It’s at least three months of riding on horseback from here.”

The black-haired man nodded absently, as if filing that information away. His fingers tapped against his coat, thoughtful.

‘Stormhaven? What does that place have to do with Draven?’

Caius had heard of it, of course. A city in the heart of the empire, far beyond the reach of Varenthia’s mercenary-run chaos. But what business did this guy have that connected both places?

The black-haired man waved a hand dismissively. “If that’s the case, then you probably haven’t met her.”

Caius frowned. ‘What kind of reasoning is that?’ Just because he hadn’t been to Stormhaven didn’t mean he hadn’t met this mystery woman somewhere else.

Also—her?

His curiosity sharpened. “Her?” he asked, glancing at the man. “So, it’s a woman?”

The man didn’t stop walking, but his lips quirked in the faintest hint of amusement. “Corvina,” he said casually. “Heard of that name?”

Caius thought for a moment, searching his memory. “Corvina… No.”

The black-haired man clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “See? Don’t try to act smart too much.” He shot Caius a sidelong glance, his tone light, but edged with something sharper. “Some people may not like it, and you never know when your head might be rolling on the ground.”

Caius felt his stomach drop.

‘Crazy bastard! Are you saying you will kill me?!’

His hands instinctively twitched toward his sword, but he forced himself to remain calm.

This guy enjoyed playing with people. That much was clear. He said it as if it were just casual advice—like he wasn’t casually implying be careful or you might die.

Caius exhaled through his nose, swallowing down the curse rising in his throat.

The black-haired man glanced at Caius and smirked.

“Why do you look so pale?” he mused. “Should I get you some orange juice? I heard it’s good for the skin.”

Caius’s mouth twitched.

‘Orange juice? What the hell is this guy on about?!’

He clenched his jaw, resisting the overwhelming urge to deck this bastard. Not that it would accomplish anything besides getting himself killed.

Before Caius could even attempt a response, the black-haired man suddenly burst into laughter.

Not a chuckle. Not an amused snort. Full-bodied laughter.

“AHAHAHA! Maan… you’re funny!” He clutched his stomach, his voice still shaking with amusement. “Did I scare you too much?”

Caius exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to keep walking. Ignore him. Ignore him.

He had been around all kinds of mercenaries, killers, and criminals in his time. But this bastard? He was something else.

By the time the two of them reached their destination, Caius had fully decided—he was never getting involved in anything like this ever again.

They stopped in front of The Rusted Fang, a bar tucked away in one of Varenthia’s less chaotic districts. It wasn’t the biggest or loudest establishment in the city, but it was known to those who needed to know.

Caius pushed the door open, stepping inside. The dimly lit interior was filled with the low murmur of voices, the clinking of tankards, and the faint scent of spiced rum and old wood.

Several mercenaries and smugglers occupied the bar, some throwing dice in the corner, others engaged in hushed discussions over maps and coin purses. The kind of people who weren’t looking for attention but would slit your throat if you gave them a reason.

Caius approached the counter, catching the eye of a rough-looking bartender—a man with a thick beard and a scar running down his left cheek.

“Need to see Draven,” Caius said, keeping his voice low.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “That so?”

Caius nodded. “It’s important.” He hesitated, then gestured toward the black-haired bastard beside him. “And, uh… he needs to see him too.”

The bartender’s gaze flicked toward the black-haired man, narrowing slightly.

The man simply smiled.

“Tell him it’s a friendly visit,” the black-haired man said smoothly. “I just want to have a little chat.”

The bartender snorted, shaking his head. “No such thing as a friendly visit when it comes to Draven.”

Still, he didn’t dismiss them outright. Instead, he muttered something to a younger worker behind the bar, who quickly disappeared into the back.

Caius exhaled, feeling the tension coiling in his chest.

‘Here we go.’

The bar fell into a tense silence.

Caius could feel it—the slow shift in the air, the weight of too many stares settling on them.

Then—

A chair scraped against the floor.

One of the mercenaries near the back, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar running across his forehead, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze fixed on Caius with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

“Well, well… Since when did Caius become such a coward?”

A few others chuckled, low and taunting.

Caius’s eye twitched. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

‘Coward?’ He wanted to laugh. If any of these idiots had been in his shoes, they wouldn’t just be standing here pretending to be tough. No, they’d be groveling on the floor—maybe even licking this fucker’s boots while they were at it—just to make sure they didn’t end up ash.

But instead of pointing that out, Caius forced a grin, tilting his head toward the mercenary. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you switch places with me, then?”

The man smirked. “Gladly.”

Then his gaze shifted to the black-haired man.

Caius immediately regretted everything.

“Oi,” another mercenary called out, stepping closer to their table. He was a wiry man, with a thin mustache and the kind of sneer that made you want to punch him on sight. “Don’t you know where you are?”

The black-haired man blinked, genuinely curious. “No. That’s why I came with a guide.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then the room erupted into laughter.

The mustached man slapped his knee, practically wheezing. “Hah! Came with a guide!”

“Oh, this one’s a real gem!” another added, grinning.

Caius felt his headache worsen.

‘You’re all going to die.’

The black-haired man didn’t react to the mocking. If anything, he looked mildly entertained. “Well,” he mused, resting a hand on the hilt of his estoc. “Seems like you all find something amusing.”

The mercenary with the scar stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Yeah, I do.” His grin widened. “You.”

Caius tensed. No. No, don’t do this, you dumb fuck—

The scarred mercenary swung.

And that was it.

The moment his fist moved, the black-haired man disappeared.

One second he was standing there, casual and loose—the next, he was a blur.

A fist struck air.

A crack of steel against bone.

The mercenary screamed as his arm twisted at an unnatural angle, his elbow shattering from a single well-placed blow.

The laughter stopped.

The entire room shifted.

Chairs scraped. Weapons were drawn.

The black-haired man straightened, his black eyes glinting with something dangerous beneath the flickering candlelight.

“Ah,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “And here I thought this would be civil.”

He turned slightly, glancing at Caius. “You know, I really don’t see why you hesitated so much.”

Caius pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘Because unlike you, I wanted to live quietly, you lunatic.’

Too late now.

The bar exploded into chaos.

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