Don't Want to Be Ordinary Even Though I'm an Extra Character-Chapter 134: []

While Arkan discussed the kingdom’s affairs with calculated precision, Rainer and a specialized unit from the Lawrence forces—Erik’s team—had already crossed into Northern Empire territory. They traveled under the guise of a merchant caravan, complete with two seemingly ordinary wagons, though secretly outfitted with military preparations.

The biting cold greeted them the moment they crossed the border. The Northern Empire was infamous for its unrelenting chill—though the year offered up to four warm months, the rest was dominated by a biting winter.

Frozen ground and a thin mist veiled the cobblestone road as they passed, the sound of wagon wheels echoing softly between the stone walls of the small border town. Rainer adjusted the collar of his coat, his eyes scanning every intersection and shop window that appeared just a bit too quiet.

"We’ll head to the eastern district of Ellgard city. That’s the designated spot for initial surveillance," Erik murmured from behind his face covering. The others simply nodded, too focused on maintaining their pace and demeanor as traveling merchants.

Their identities were carefully crafted, backed by forged documents provided through Arkan’s spy network. Even the contents of the wagons included actual trade goods, adding credibility to their cover.

But even with such a meticulous plan, they all knew that setting foot on imperial soil was a massive gamble. They weren’t just far from home—they were standing at the heart of a power that could destroy them if their cover was blown.

Rainer glanced up at the gray sky overhead, the same sky he had known in childhood—cold, heavy, and full of silent whispers. "This place... hasn’t changed," he muttered quietly, as if speaking to memories that hadn’t fully faded.

Beside him, Hongward turned slightly, his hands clutching his cloak tightly to shield against the cold. "That’s true... I heard from Lord Arkan that Sir Rainer is originally from the Empire, yes?" he asked, his tone friendly but cautious.

They walked a little apart from the others, as though this conversation wasn’t meant to be shared too widely. Despite coming from different worlds—Rainer, from the noble bloodline of Duke Astoria, and Hongward, from a high clerical order—that social gap felt irrelevant now amid the disguise and the mission uniting them.

Rainer nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the gray sky above. "I grew up here... though now, it feels foreign," he said, his tone flat but holding something deeper.

Hongward looked ahead, then spoke softly, "Places can stay the same, but we’re the ones who change... and sometimes, that change makes it hard to know if we can still call it home."

Those words left Rainer quiet for a moment, then he exhaled slowly. "Maybe... But there are things you can’t just forget." His voice was soft, yet it hung in the air like frost in the winter.

The imperial gates loomed ahead beneath the heavy gray sky, a grand stone structure standing like a sentinel of the ages, adorned with the twin-headed eagle—an emblem etched into the long history of the Northern Empire. In front of it, a slow-moving stream of travelers, merchants, and wanderers paused under the watchful eyes of alert guards.

Rainer’s caravan stood in the queue—two large wagons filled with sacks and wooden crates. The horses pulling them stamped their hooves occasionally, their breath fogging in the frigid air. Inside, the disguised operatives posed as servants and cargo handlers, their faces hidden beneath wool hoods, identities carefully concealed.

"Halt," came the flat voice of a guard, his hand motioning them to slow down.

Rainer was the first to dismount from the wagon, facing the guard calmly. He wore a light fur coat, a merchant’s helm hanging at his waist, and the broad, open posture of an ordinary tradesman. In his hand, he held a scroll containing the prepared trade permit.

"Name?" the guard asked without ceremony.

"Rainer. We’re from Lawrence territory, bringing herbal oil, wool fabrics, and some metal trinkets from the South," he replied, handing over the scroll. "We passed through the western checkpoint—these are our trade papers."

The guard took it, then gestured to two others behind him to inspect the wagons. They began opening crates one by one—inside were sacks of grain, folded fabrics, and small bottles of spiced oil. Some wooden boxes held handcrafted metal goods: decorative knives, eagle-shaped pendants, and small tube-like objects that looked suspicious... but still resembled exotic southern trinkets.

"This one?" one guard lifted a wooden-handled metal object, frowning.

"That’s... a souvenir," Erik replied from atop the wagon, his voice calm yet firm. He even patted the crate beside him, as if to show it was nothing more than typical merchandise.

The guard stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowing, weighing suspicion against the hassle of prolonging the inspection. At last, he let out a low grunt and gave a faint nod. "Southern goods are always odd," he muttered, then gave a relaxed signal to his comrades.

Another guard checked the registry and called out to the scribe near the gate post. "They’re clear! Mark them as a trade caravan from the South." His voice rang loud, making sure everyone nearby heard and wouldn’t question it further.

The scribe nodded, quickly jotting down the entry in a large ledger while eyeing the wagons as they began to roll forward. The wooden wheels scraped against the frozen ground with a gritty sound, while the disguised passengers held their breath, waiting until they had truly passed the threshold.

Once they were clear of the city gate and far enough from the guards’ earshot, Rainer glanced into the wagon with a meaningful look. Inside, the disguised soldiers sat in silence, their expressions showing deep relief.

"We made it," Gav murmured, leaning back against the wagon wall and exhaling a breath he had been holding the entire time. "I thought for sure they’d open the bottom crates."

"Good thing we sent the real ones through the port route," Erik replied curtly, his gaze fixed on the small slit in the front curtain of the wagon.

The imperial city slowly unfolded before them, stretching out with tightly packed stone roads and rows of tall classical-style buildings. The cold air welcomed them, but it wasn’t the chill that made the atmosphere heavy—it was the fact that they were now deep in enemy territory, in disguise, carrying a mission that could not be allowed to fail.

After a long journey, they finally arrived at a modest inn located at the border between the central and eastern districts of Ellgard. The place was simple, but clean and tucked away from the bustle—quiet enough to safely conceal their identities.

Erik quickly arranged the rooms and assigned the watch schedule, ensuring everything was in order before moving on to the next phase. Oil lamps hung in each corner, casting a warm glow that stood in sharp contrast to the cold outside.

"Get some rest. I’ll step out for a bit," Rainer said calmly, removing his gloves and straightening his long black cloak.

Hongward, who had been seated while rubbing his temples, quickly turned. "Where to?" he asked shortly, a hint of concern lacing his tone.

Rainer offered a faint smile, his eyes drifting toward the window that overlooked the cobbled street. "Just... reminiscing," he replied softly, before stepping out without offering further explanation.

No one asked again, because that look was enough to say the place he was heading to held a part of his past not meant to be disturbed. As the door closed behind him, silence reclaimed the room—each of them left alone with their own thoughts.

###

Rainer walked along a narrow path blanketed in a thin layer of snow, his body wrapped in wool and wolf fur, shielding him from the cruel bite of the northern wind. Every step he took made a soft crunch, and his breath rose in wisps of white, drifting slowly before vanishing into the cold air.

He wasn’t in a hurry. His pace was calm, almost heavy, as if the weight of old memories slowed each of his movements. It took him half an hour to reach his destination, passing through narrow alleys and cold, silent stone walls.

At last, he stood before a rusted iron gate enclosing an old cemetery—where many soldiers had once been buried without grandeur, marked only by headstones and wooden crosses. Among them was his closest comrade, Sam, who had fallen in battle due to a foolish decision Rainer had made in the past.

Rainer bowed his head slowly, gazing at the simple headstone half-buried in snow. His gloved fingers gently brushed the snow off the engraved name.

"Hey... Sam," he said softly, his voice nearly swept away by the wind.

There was no response, of course—only silence and the whisper of wind to greet him. But to Rainer, that silence was more painful than any curse he might have deserved.

He crouched slowly, his knees touching the snow and soaking his trousers, though he didn’t care. His eyes remained fixed on the grave before him, as if hoping the carved name would move... speak... forgive him.

"It’s been two years..." he whispered, barely audible. His hands clenched on his lap, trembling—not from the cold, but from the emotion slowly rising from deep within his chest.

"Back then... I thought I could save all of you. But it turns out... I was just a foolish kid who believed too much in honor and strategy without foresight." He furrowed his brows, his voice breaking at the end. "And you... you were always the one covering our retreat for my sake. Why did it have to be you?"

He fell silent again, letting the night wind slap his face with a chill gentler than the sting of regret buried too deep to measure.

"I’m here now... not as Rainer Astoria. But as someone who owes too much to your spirit." He bowed lower, nearly pressing his forehead to the snow. "I won’t ask for forgiveness. But let me repay this, step by step... starting from here."

A few seconds passed, filled only with the sound of his breathing and the wind rustling between the graves. He slowly raised his head, his gaze no longer wavering—though the pain in his eyes remained, like a scar that would never fully heal.

"Watch over me, Sam," he whispered again, this time with more resolve. "Because I’m walking into another hell... and I don’t know if I’ll make it back as a human."