Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

As I was savoring the delicious meal in front of me, the tranquility of the inn was suddenly shattered by the deafening sound of the door bursting open.

Startled patrons jumped in their seats, and the previously cheerful morning ambiance was replaced by an atmosphere of surprise and curiosity as everyone's attention swiftly shifted toward the entrance.

'Hmm?'

A tall figure stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame as he surveyed the room with a look of barely concealed irritation.

His clothes were rugged, a mix of leather and worn fabric, and his boots were caked with mud. A heavy, imposing sword hung at his side, its hilt worn from use.

The man's face was hard, weathered by years of battle, with a scar running down his left cheek that only added to his menacing appearance.

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension palpable as everyone waited to see what this newcomer would do.

'But, they seem to know this person.'

They did not show the same reaction that they did to me when I entered, but the fear was still there.

His gaze swept over the patrons, lingering on each one as if assessing their worth before finally settling on me.

His eyes narrowed, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny. There was a coldness in his stare, a calculation that suggested he was no stranger to violence. This was a man who had seen his share of battles—and had likely caused more than a few of them himself.

Vitaliara's voice whispered in my mind, [Stay alert. This one doesn't look like he's here for a peaceful morning.]

"I noticed," I replied mentally, my hand instinctively drifting toward the hilt of my estoc, which rested by my side. I kept my movements subtle, not wanting to provoke a confrontation unless absolutely necessary.

Just as I felt the cold gaze of the scarred man bore into me, I sensed more presence approaching from behind him. A familiar, unwelcome aura seeped into the room—one I had encountered just yesterday.

'So, they're back for more…'

Ragna and his men filed in behind the tall man, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. It was clear they weren't acting on their own volition anymore. Ragna's eyes flickered with recognition when he spotted me, and a twisted grin spread across his face.

"There he is," Ragna sneered, pointing directly at me. "That's the one who caused us all that trouble."

The moment he spoke, the tall man's gaze hardened further. His cold eyes never left mine as he took a step forward, the sound of his boots echoing ominously through the now-silent inn. The patrons who had been quietly eating their breakfast were now frozen in place, their fear palpable.

'I see….So this is what it is.'

The tall man moved with a deliberate, almost predatory grace, closing the distance between us until he was standing right in front of me. He was even more imposing up close, his presence radiating an aura of danger and command.

He didn't speak at first, merely looking down at me with a disdainful expression. The silence stretched the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. I kept my hand resting lightly on the hilt of my estoc, ready for whatever might come next, but not making any overtly hostile moves.

Finally, the tall man broke the silence, his voice low and gravelly. "So, you're the one who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with my men?"

His tone was calm, almost conversational, but there was an unmistakable threat lurking beneath the surface. He leaned in slightly, his scarred face just inches from mine, as if daring me to give him a reason to escalate this encounter.

I met his gaze evenly, refusing to be intimidated. "Your men were the ones who caused trouble first," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "I merely defended myself."

A muscle in the man's jaw twitched, and for a brief moment, I saw a flash of something dangerous in his eyes. But he didn't lash out—not yet, anyway. Instead, he straightened up, his expression shifting from contempt to something more calculating.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said slowly. "But you're stepping into dangerous territory, boy. This isn't a place for heroes. You should've kept your head down."

His hand rested casually on the hilt of his own sword, a clear warning. Behind him, Ragna and his men exchanged glances, eager to see how this confrontation would play out. It was obvious they were relying on their leader to exact some sort of revenge for the humiliation they had suffered.

I could feel Vitaliara's presence sharpening, her instincts telling me that things could go south at any moment. [He's testing you,] she whispered, her voice tinged with concern. [Be careful.]

'Be careful, huh?'

There was indeed tension around the room, something that everyone could sense. But I was already expecting such a thing to happen from the start.

After all, when confronted, cockroaches like Ragna tend to hide behind someone stronger.

"Maybe I should've," I said, my tone even. "But then again, I'm not one to back down when challenged."

The tall man's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Is that so?" He glanced over his shoulder at Ragna, who was watching the exchange with a mixture of anticipation and fear. "Seems like my men underestimated you."

Ragna flinched slightly at the indirect rebuke but quickly regained his composure, glaring at me with undisguised malice. The tall man turned his attention back to me, his expression hardening once more.

"You've got one chance," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Apologize for what you did to my men, and maybe I'll let you walk out of here in one piece."

"Huuh…."

I let out a quiet breath, feeling the tension in the room spike even further. The man was offering me a way out—one that would let me avoid a fight.

But it was clear that this was more than just about an apology. It was about dominance, about showing everyone in the room who held the real power here.

And this was exactly what I wanted.

"Mister Leader, let me ask you something," I said, my voice calm but carrying a weight that demanded attention.

The tall man narrowed his eyes at me, clearly not expecting the shift in tone. "What is it?" he growled, his patience wearing thin.

"Are you married?" I asked, my gaze steady. "Or do you have a significant other?"

The man's brows furrowed in confusion. "Significant other?" he repeated, the term unfamiliar and odd in this context. He glanced at Ragna, who looked just as puzzled, before turning back to me. "What does that have to do with anything?"

I leaned slightly forward, my voice dropping just enough to draw him in. "What if someone were to molest your daughter?" I asked, my tone deadly serious. "What would you do?"

The question hung in the air, the atmosphere in the room growing even heavier. The man's eyes darkened, and I could see a flicker of something dangerous behind them. "If someone were to molest my daughter," he said slowly, his voice dripping with menace, "then that person would no longer be in this world."

"So, you would kill him?" I pressed, my gaze never leaving his.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation, his eyes cold and unforgiving. There was no doubt in his mind, no room for mercy or understanding. The conviction in his voice was chilling, and it was clear that he meant every word.

I nodded, acknowledging his response. "But what if you weren't strong enough?" I continued, my tone unwavering. "What if the person who molested your daughter was stronger than you? What would you do then?"

When asked this, he was not able to give any answer at all at first, as he seemed to be thinking.

'Something that he is not much accustomed to.'

The people of such an era. Especially those who live in the countryside like this.

They are not accustomed to thinking. But when they do, most of them tend to reveal how they were raised.

The man's face twisted with thought, his brow furrowing as he processed my words. It was clear that this wasn't something he was used to contemplating. The concept of strength being the ultimate decider was deeply ingrained in him, but the idea of being powerless in the face of greater strength seemed to trouble him.

After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice cold and resigned. "If that's the case, then I can only blame myself for being weak."

I tilted my head slightly, studying him. "So, by your logic, the strong are allowed to do anything? Without consequence?"

"That's right," he replied, his eyes hardening as if steeling himself against the implications of his own words. "In this world, the strong make the rules. The weak either fall in line or get crushed."

I nodded slowly, a faint smile playing at the corners of my lips. "Then it seems we're in agreement."

That is why I both hated and loved this world at the same time.

In this place, if you are strong enough, you can do anything, and if you are weak, you can't.

"Wh-?"

In that split second, my blade flashed—a quick, precise motion that sliced through the air.

SWOOSH!

The room seemed to freeze, the tension reaching its peak as the patrons watched with bated breath.

The man didn't have time to react. His eyes widened in shock as my estoc was already at his throat, the cold steel pressing against his skin. His breath hitched, and I could see the realization dawning in his eyes—that, at this moment, he was at the mercy of someone stronger.

The silence in the room was deafening, every eye on us as I held the blade steady, my expression calm and unyielding. I could feel the weight of my words, of the situation, settling over him like a heavy shroud.

"Then, by your own rules," I said quietly, my voice low and firm, "you've lost."

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