Don't Want to Be Ordinary Even Though I'm an Extra Character-Chapter 136: []

The conversation began as Rainer let out a slow breath and bent down to pick up the wooden chair that had fallen during the earlier tension. The sharp scrape of wood against stone echoed in the now-empty bar, its once-rowdy customers long gone. He adjusted the chair with care before slowly taking a seat, while Pastor Hongward stood behind him, expression guarded.

In front of them stood a man wearing a thin smile that never quite reached his eyes. His gaze was sharp, but not aggressive—more like someone accustomed to reading others’ every twitch and shift.

"I’ll ask again," Rainer said coldly, cutting straight to the point. "Who are you, really?"

The man leaned casually against the table behind him, his shoulders relaxed despite the suffocating tension that filled the room. He rolled down his sleeves slowly, then answered with a flat but clear voice.

"Well... I’m the owner of this bar. Ethan Marshal."

The way he said it was almost dismissive, as if offering a name that meant little to no one. But to those in the know, that name wasn’t just some bartender’s alias. Ethan Marshal was infamous in certain circles—a master informant who disguised himself as a barhand just to eavesdrop directly from the mouths of drunken soldiers, loose-lipped merchants, and nobles who didn’t know when to shut up.

Rainer studied him, trying to reconcile the man’s relaxed demeanor with the reputation Arkan had mentioned. His hair was a bit unkempt, but his eyes were far too alert for a simple bartender. His movements were smooth, yet carried the caution of someone who never let their guard down.

(So this is the guy... Ethan Marshal.)

In Rainer’s mind, scattered pieces of information began to align. Arkan’s earlier comments now made sense—Ethan wasn’t just a man of mystery. He was dangerous not because of magic, but because of something even deadlier: knowledge. He was a man who knew too much... and knew when to keep it to himself.

Ethan glanced between the two of them, the small smile tugging at his lips doing nothing to hide the suspicion in his sharp gaze. He crossed his arms, letting the silence stretch before finally speaking.

"So let me guess... you were looking for me, huh? Why?" His tone was casual, but every word was laced with caution.

Pastor Hongward opened his mouth to answer, but Rainer gently raised a hand to stop him. His eyes remained fixed on Ethan, unwilling to risk any misstep.

"We’re here on behalf of someone," Rainer said, voice calm and firm. "We’re carrying out a mission in the Imperial Capital. And we need someone like you—someone who knows a lot, and knows how to move in the shadows."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting into something between amusement and skepticism. He leaned back against one of the wooden support pillars of the bar’s ceiling.

"’We,’ huh? Don’t tell me you’re another group of idealists with a speech about rebellion?" He let out a short, bitter laugh. "If so, go find someone else. I’m not in the mood to be a martyr for a second-rate revolution."

Rainer shook his head slowly. His tone remained flat, but there was a sharper edge to it now.

"No. We’re not rebelling against the Empire. In fact, we don’t give a damn about court politics." He leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Ethan."Our target is the Church of Krisihan."

Ethan fell silent.

The relaxed glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by a narrowed stare. He held his breath for a beat, as if trying to make sure he had heard correctly. When he finally spoke again, his voice had shed all traces of sarcasm—it was serious.

"...What did you say?"

The atmosphere in the bar, once laced with a subtle tension, now shifted into something sharper—something heavy. Rainer’s words hung in the air like a blade, invisible but undeniable. This was no longer a quiet, back-alley talk. This was a declaration of war against the most powerful institution under the Empire’s sky.

Ethan Marshal narrowed his eyes, and for the first time since their meeting, clear lines of tension appeared on his face. He slowly pushed himself off the pillar and took a few steps forward.

"This is... riskier than I thought," he murmured, then fixed a piercing look on Rainer. "So you’re telling me... you people are insane? Fine then. Let’s hear it—what’s really going on?"

Rainer didn’t flinch. His eyes remained calm, but within them burned a quiet, unshakable determination. His voice was flat, yet it carried weight.

"We intend to make the man standing behind me... the next Pope."

"What!?" Ethan barked out, snapping his head toward Hongward as if actually seeing him for the first time."Are you out of your mind, saying something like that in the open!?"

Hongward, who had been silently listening from the start, finally stepped forward. He clasped his hands calmly in front of his waist, bowed his head slightly as a gesture of respect, and then looked up with the composed grace of a man of faith."Forgive me for interrupting this heated exchange," he said softly, yet with a quiet authority. "Allow me to properly introduce myself... My full name is Hongward Krisveil."

His voice was clear, unwavering, even though he knew the weight that name carried—Hongward Krisveil—a name whispered in the shadowed halls of ancient chapels, a name scrawled in noble ecclesiastical bloodlines. And now, it had been spoken aloud, here, in a place no less dangerous than a battlefield—surrounded by spies, informants, and silent eyes. Yet Hongward stood tall, not an ounce of doubt in his posture.

Ethan let out a low click of his tongue, one hand brushing down his face, now lined with growing exhaustion. His gaze sharpened, but this time, it was layered with something else—frustration, unfiltered and raw.

"Wait... Haah... Are you seriously not worried we might report this to the Church?" His voice was low, heavy with threat. "You do realize ’Krisveil’ is the most powerful sacred noble name in the North, right?"

Hongward didn’t respond. Instead, Rainer took over, his expression calm yet razor-edged, as if he had anticipated this exact line of questioning. He glanced briefly at a few of the people still nursing wounds from their earlier clash, then turned his eyes back to Ethan.

"We know... And aren’t all of them your people?"

Ethan fell quiet, his eyes shifting toward the battered men huddled in the corners of the room. Some winced as they wiped away blood, others turned their faces slightly—not in anger, but in shame. The tension in Ethan’s chest became audible in the sigh that escaped him as he leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed.

"Haah... This is getting out of hand." He shook his head slowly and looked at Rainer with a reluctant acceptance. "You’re right. This bar may look like any other from the outside, but everyone inside still works for me."

Ethan’s tone began to change. The sharpness was fading—not because the danger was gone, but because the weight of memory was heavier. Every word that left his mouth was no longer just a precaution, but a reflection of a personal history long buried beneath the clamor of this tavern’s laughter.

"And what you’re asking for... depends entirely on this conversation," he said quietly, shifting his gaze between Rainer and Hongward. "I could help you... because, to be honest, I have my own history with the Church. A bad one. And many of the people here... they’ve got their reasons, too."

Rainer leaned in slightly over the table, his eyes locked onto Ethan’s. His voice remained steady, but every word struck like a hammer against the wall of doubt.

"Help us build an information network. Hide us from the Church’s spies."He paused, his tone dropping."Our plan involves exposing everything—corruption, abuse of power... and ultimately, toppling the Pope himself."

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at Rainer, as if trying to confirm whether he’d truly heard what he thought he had. Those words—toppling the Pope—sounded like the fever dream of madmen. Yet neither of the men before him looked like they were joking.

"That’s... insane..." he whispered, eyes narrowing, looking for a reason to laugh at them.But he found none.

"Yeah, we know," Rainer replied calmly, his voice bearing the weight of both weariness and unwavering conviction. "But this is the reality. The rot in the Church goes too deep. We can’t afford to wait any longer, which is why we’re backing Hongward to take the highest seat."

Ethan didn’t respond right away. He bowed his head, letting the firelight flicker across his face, casting long shadows as his mind wrestled with the storm of doubt and belief now raging inside him.

"This is going to be a hard road," he said at last, his voice steadier now, but without the mocking edge. "And there’ll be no turning back once you take that first step."

His eyes drifted to the empty cup on the table before him, as if trying to glimpse the future in the cold porcelain. The last wisp of steam from the long-cooled tea vanished into the air, like the last of his hesitation. He no longer slouched. No longer wore the lazy air of a man playing a role.

For the first time that night, Ethan Marshal sat upright—not as a bartender, but as an informant, and a man once broken by the very world they now planned to shatter.

"If you really want to bring down the Pope," he said slowly, almost like a vow whispered only to himself, "then what you’re challenging isn’t just a man. It’s the entire foundation of belief that shelters the Empire."

His eyes locked onto Hongward, sharp and testing. "So why do you want this? Give me the truth. From your soul."

Hongward didn’t flinch. Instead, he took one step forward, the lantern above casting light across his simple yet immaculate robe. He spoke not with anger, nor with fiery zeal, but with the quiet gravity of a man who had weighed this decision for years.

"Because I love the Church."

The words made Ethan furrow his brow. He hadn’t expected such honesty to sound so much like betrayal.

"I love the teachings of Krisihan," Hongward continued, his voice steady, each word hitting its mark. "Teachings of compassion, of justice, of sacrifice. But what I see now is a structure built on lies, where leaders fill their pockets and silence the faithful with rigid dogma."

Ethan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked at Hongward with a mix of awe and unfamiliarity. This man... wasn’t chasing the throne for power. He wanted to claim it to save something that had already begun to rot from within.

"I don’t want to destroy the Church," Hongward said quietly. "I want to save it—before the people lose their faith forever. The faithful deserve a leader who doesn’t just sit on a throne, but walks beside them. Who understands their suffering and acts not for doctrine—but for truth."

Ethan looked down, fingers curling tightly around the empty cup. Several long seconds passed in silence. Then, with a breath that seemed to lift the weight of years, he finally spoke.

"In that case..." he murmured, lifting his head, eyes sharper now—clearer, resolved."Then let me help you."

He turned to Rainer."You’ll need a place to hide, connections on the inside, and someone who knows when to speak... and when to stay silent."

Ethan rose from his seat, reached into a drawer, and pulled out an old, yellowed sheet of paper. He laid it flat on the table. Etched on its surface were underground tunnel routes, coded symbols, and hidden meeting points.

"The Church once silenced me," he said, voice void of bitterness, yet full of fire."But this time, I choose to speak."

And just like that, the tense negotiation turned into a pact.No longer strangers, no longer a bartender and his patrons.

From that night forward, they were co-conspirators—bound by a plan that would one day shake the very pillars of their world.