Don't Want to Be Ordinary Even Though I'm an Extra Character-Chapter 135: []

Their first mission was to recruit forces from the lowest rungs of the network, and for that, they needed the help of someone named Ethan Marshal. Ethan was a figure operating in the capital’s underworld—though his base of operations was small and not as powerful as the larger crime syndicates, the man possessed remarkable skill.

Despite being relatively new to the underground scene, Ethan was known for his strategic mind and talent for striking profitable deals. Though his name wasn’t widely recognized yet, in a few years, he would become one of the most influential figures in the black market.

Why did Arkan recommend Ethan despite his shady background? The answer was simple—Arkan prioritized ability above all else. He knew exactly how to negotiate with someone like Ethan and had already briefed Rainer and the others on how to build agreements with individuals driven more by profit than by ethics or morality.

"We’re in the eastern district now," Hongward murmured, his eyes scanning the slums that looked like a shadowy reflection of the grand capital. "This place is worse than I expected."

The stench of garbage and charcoal smoke hung in the air, mingling with the breath of a cold wind that cut to the bone. Among the crumbling buildings and vacant-eyed children, the capital’s darker truths lay untouched by the light of justice.

"Yes," Rainer replied calmly, his hand firmly gripping the reins as he guided the horse slowly along the muddy street. "Which is why, in a place like this... a light is needed."

Hongward turned, gazing at the young man’s back. His eyes softened, as though he understood that those words weren’t just a metaphor. "I know," he said quietly, and in his voice was a sincere, weighty acknowledgment.

"We’re here," said Rainer as the carriage came to a slow stop in front of an old tavern. The building was made of aging wood, its paint peeling, and its foggy windows reflecting the gray light of the overcast sky.

"Hongward and I will go in. You guard our supplies carefully," Rainer whispered to Erik in a serious tone. "There are too many eyes here, and most of them look hungry... not just for food."

Erik gave a sharp nod, his gaze sweeping the crowd that had subtly begun to watch them. "Understood. If anything happens, signal through the rear window."

Without waiting for further reply, Rainer patted Erik’s shoulder and moved quickly with Hongward. A small bell chimed as they opened the tavern door, greeting them with the scent of cheap alcohol and over-fried smoked meat.

The scene inside was filled with rough-looking men, their eyes sharp and their bodies scarred from past brawls. Some slouched with large mugs in hand, while others spoke in low voices, laughing with a tone that felt more like a threat.

Rainer remained calm, his steps steady and unshaken despite the tension that choked the room. Beside him, Pastor Hongward looked a little uneasy, his eyes scanning the space like he was searching for a hidden exit. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

They made their way to the bar at the far end, where a burly bartender was polishing a glass with a grimy cloth. The clinking of bottles and the pungent smell of liquor welcomed them.

"What do you want?" the bartender asked flatly, eyeing Rainer from head to toe.

"A glass of ale," Rainer answered casually, without losing his composure.

"I’ll just have water!" Hongward chimed in quickly, prompting the bartender to raise an eyebrow before nodding lazily.

"Alright then..." the man muttered, beginning to prepare the drinks.

Hongward leaned toward Rainer, his voice low and sharp. "Psst... What now?"

"Just wait a little longer..." Rainer whispered back, his eyes not straying from the crowd, which had begun to take notice of their presence. He knew the tavern’s owner would show himself soon.

And sure enough, the moment arrived. A large man clad in rough, open clothing—revealing a long scar stretching from shoulder to waist—staggered past them. His massive hand brushed—whether intentionally or not—against Hongward’s shoulder.

The pastor shifted slightly but didn’t react. Still, the man stopped, slowly turning with a crooked, unfriendly smile.

"Hey..." he rumbled, his voice gravelly like stones rolling in a steel drum. "Did you just move out of my way?"

Hongward held his breath, trying to remain composed. "Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense."

Raucous laughter erupted from the man, drawing the attention of several nearby patrons. "Look at this! The little guy so polite!" he mocked, then swung his arm toward a nearby table, knocking over a glass onto the floor. "Why don’t you get on your knees while you’re at it?"

Rainer raised his glass of ale and took a slow sip, not even looking at the man. "Pastor, allow me."

The brute snorted, narrowing his eyes at Rainer. "You talkin’ to me, boy?"

Rainer finally turned around, a faint smile on his face. "No. I’m talking to the dog that won’t stop barking."

The thug’s grin vanished in an instant, replaced by a flare of fury in his eyes. His massive hand shot up, clearly aiming to smash it down on Rainer in front of the entire room.

But the blow never landed.

In one swift motion, Rainer pivoted and caught the man’s wrist, twisting it back until the giant lurched forward, grimacing in pain. The crack of strained joints was soft but unmistakable to those close enough to hear.

"Gah... Bastard..." the man groaned, his face flushed with humiliation.

"You’re the one who picked the fight, friend..."

Around them, the tavern began to stir. The other patrons, hardened by life in the capital’s underbelly, seemed to find solidarity in the chaos—as if seeing Rainer and Hongward had given them a target to unleash their frustration.

The way they encircled Rainer now was proof enough—they weren’t just picking a fight. They were looking for an outlet for their pain, and that outlet had walked right through the front door.

The once-rowdy bar, filled with the clinking of mugs, drunken chatter, and hollow laughter, now fell into a tense, suffocating silence. Rainer had just floored the large man with a clean strike. The room froze. Tables ceased their creaking, chairs stopped shifting. Dozens of eyes—eyes well-acquainted with violence, whether as witnesses or participants—were now locked onto him and Hongward. Unease spread like fire catching on oil.

"You think you’re some kind of tough guy, kid?" barked one of them, a skinny man with yellowed teeth, clutching a small knife.

"Outsiders bring bad luck..." muttered a tattooed woman in the corner, slowly setting down her bottle, her gaze fixed on Rainer.

"You all saw it," added another man, rising slowly from his seat, voice low but venomous. "They walk in and cause trouble right away. We need to teach them a lesson."

Rainer stood tall, his gaze sweeping over the crowd that had begun to encircle them. His breathing was steady, his steps light—like a soldier long familiar with the scent of danger. Hongward stood behind him, one hand clutching a small cross beneath his robe, the other tightening its grip on his wooden staff.

The first move came from the tattooed man. He lunged forward, a rusty blade flashing in his hand. Rainer twisted smoothly to the side, avoiding the strike with ease, then drove his elbow into the man’s wrist. The knife clattered to the floor, and the attacker fell to his knees, clutching his arm and cursing.

Chaos erupted.

Two more men charged in. One swung a wooden stool, the other tried to grab Rainer from behind. Rainer ducked low, grabbed the leg of a chair, and spun with swift force, slamming both of them at once. The stool shattered in mid-air, and both attackers crashed onto the filthy floor.

"Get him! Beat the bastard!" someone yelled from the crowd.

Everything descended into madness. Plates shattered, tables overturned, and the sound of bodies crashing echoed through the room. Rainer moved like wind cutting through fog—every strike precise, every kick purposeful. He wasn’t just fighting—he was dancing with violence. Bodies dropped one after another, groaning and writhing in pain.

In the midst of the chaos, someone lunged at Hongward. The priest stepped back and struck the man square in the chest with his staff. The man coughed and collapsed, his face twisted in pain. Hongward took a long breath, glancing down at the staff in his hands as if just realizing he could fight back.

Rainer pressed on, fending off wave after wave. The room thickened with adrenaline and fury. From one corner, a young man with a bleeding arm began to retreat, dragging his unconscious friend with him.

"I don’t get paid enough for this shit," he growled, hauling his companion out of the mess.

Finally, only the sounds of ragged breathing and groans of pain remained. Rainer stood at the center of the room, his clothes slightly torn, a shallow cut on his cheek—but his eyes were steady. He didn’t tremble, didn’t falter. He stood like a boulder unmoved by the storm.

Then came the sound of applause. Slow, deliberate, laced with irony.

"Impressive."

All heads turned toward the voice. From the shadowed corner of the bar, a tall man stepped out. He wore a server’s uniform, but it was clear from his demeanor and the aura around him that he was no ordinary worker. His face was clean-shaven, hair slicked neatly back, and a faint smile curved on his lips.

"It’s not every day someone takes down all our little ’entertainers’ with bare hands," he said, voice calm, deep, but commanding.

"Who are you?" Rainer asked, though deep down, he already knew the answer.