I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra-Chapter 286

Outskirts of Eldoria

The streets felt heavy with tension, like everyone was just holding their breath. People moved quickly, shoulders tense, eyes scanning every shadow. These days, even the heart of the city didn’t feel safe anymore. The monsters lurking in River Moteph had become far too savage.

"I’m thinking of leaving the country for a while," someone said quietly.

"Where will you go?"

"Aeonia. My sister’s got residency there. She’s not in Monfort, but... it should still be safer than here."

"Ahh... I’m jealous."

There was no real bitterness in the words—just weariness.

Everyone seemed drained, worn down by the constant threat looming over them. Worry clung to every sentence, a shared fear for what the future might hold and the people they might have to leave behind.

Then suddenly—

The sirens blared.

A piercing alarm ripped through the air, signaling a monster breach.

At the same time, a manhole cover in the middle of the street blasted upward, slamming into a storefront window as creatures began crawling out.

Mudfangs. Frobbits. Slogs.

Novice-ranked monsters—individually weak, but overwhelming in numbers.

They spilled onto the streets, a writhing, hungry mass. Their yellow eyes gleamed with feral intent as they scattered in every direction. Screams erupted from the crowd. People ran for their lives.

The monsters chased them in a frenzy.

Civilians ducked into alleys, leapt over fallen carts, slammed doors shut behind them. Even with guns in hand and little training, those monsters, at the lowest level, still posed a deadly threat.

A Frobbit leapt onto a man’s chest, knocking the wind right out of him.

"Ah—fuck!" he gasped, swinging his fist wildly in an attempt to hit the creature.

It was useless. The monster just grinned—its mouth stretching unnaturally wide—and leaned in closer.

Then, suddenly, it went limp.

The weight vanished as the Frobbit collapsed beside him.

Heart pounding, the man scrambled to his feet and took off running.

A second later, two more figures lunged from the side—Mudfangs with jaws snapping menacingly.

"Oh, come on," he muttered under his breath.

Before they could reach him, both monsters suddenly dropped mid-leap, crashing onto the pavement with dull thuds.

He skidded to a stop, glancing back.

Others nearby also slowed, confusion flickering across their faces. One by one, they turned their heads and stared down the street.

He followed their gaze.

Hanging in the air were like hundreds of glowing fireflies, swirling around a single figure. The person moved with quiet grace, slipping smoothly from one monster to the next.

Every time the figure drew near, the creature stiffened then collapsed.

It hit him all at once.

He’d seen this scene before.

Repeatedly, late at night, on WeTube clips—videos he’d watched more times than he could count.

There was only one person who fought like that.

Hundreds of blades flashed in a silver storm as the woman moved through the chaos, slicing through flesh and bone with effortless precision. In less than five minutes, the street was silent.

Every monster was down.

The screams that had filled the streets faded into stunned silence.

"...Wow."

"My goddess..." someone whispered in awe.

The wave of blades shimmered and then steadily sank inward. Hundreds became dozens, then a handful, and finally just six—flying effortlessly back into her hand. One by one, she slid the daggers smoothly into their sheaths, as if they’d never left her grasp.

She whistled softly.

From behind her, a Frostbane emerged, its massive form radiating an icy chill that made the air seem to freeze. It let out a low, rumbling roar. Beside it, a strange owl fluttered into view, eyeing the surroundings.

The crowd barely had time to catch their breath before she was gone—vanishing as quickly as she had appeared.

"T-That... that had to be Tigris!"

Whispers spread rapidly among the survivors, the shock and awe tangible in their voices.

The only mercenary known to use daggers swirling around her and commanding two familiars, one of which was thought to be extinct and a normal yet strange looking owl.

Her name so famous that even ordinary people knew.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Ezekiel sat across the table from yet another group of mercenary representatives.

"With all due respect," the lead representative began, his tone dripping with arrogance, "we’re proud to say we secured tenth place in the latest mercenary rankings."

The Grayhawk Mercenary Group.

From the moment they started speaking, their leader’s attitude reeked of superiority, as if the deal was already a done deal. Ezekiel was no stranger to arrogance, but the unreasonable demands that followed—excessive authority, inflated pay, and a glaring lack of accountability—crossed a line.

Despite the guild’s current predicament, Ezekiel’s expression remained calm. "That’s not going to happen," he stated plainly.

The representative’s face tightened at his bluntness.

"Next," Ezekiel muttered, signaling his assistant to bring in the next group.

The door swung open.

A woman stepped inside, "Hello there—" her words stopped abruptly when she caught sight of him. Her eyes widened, and she gave him a slow, knowing smile. "Well, aren’t you a sight," she purred softly.

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow as the woman who entered stopped short and stared at him openly.

"Please let’s have a normal conversation," he said, unimpressed by her attempt at seducing him.

"I didn’t realize you were this attractive," she responded with a playful grin.

"Excuse me?"

He blinked, taken aback—this was not the way he envisioned negotiations unfolding.

The Wildrose Mercenary Group, ranked around fifteenth, was led by a woman in her mid-thirties. She leaned back in her chair, smiling far too comfortably, eyes lingering on him longer than professionalism allowed.

Suddenly, the meeting felt more like a blind date than a business discussion.

She flirted openly—complimented him repeatedly, circled back to his looks, weaving a web of distraction.

Despite her overly familiar attitude, her proposals were surprisingly sensible—reasonable pay, well-defined roles, no overreach.

But Ezekiel saw through her tactics instantly.

If he accepted her help, she wouldn’t stop there. She’d keep pushing, blurring the lines until things spiraled out of control.

In the end, he refused her offer.

Eldoria needed allies, yes—but not at the risk of inviting chaos or loose cannons into the fold.

Soon, the next representative was ushered in.

"Eldoria’s in a tight spot, huh?" the new representative remarked casually. "From the air, land, and sea, sea monsters are the toughest to handle. Why not ask the GHA for assistance?"

"That’s our concern," he answered flatly.

The man’s smile faded slightly. "Are you looking down on mercenaries? Think we’re too uneducated to understand what’s happening?"

"No," he replied evenly.

The meeting wrapped up quickly, but just as fast as it ended, another began.

And then another.

It seemed arrogance and ignorance were the standard credentials for leadership. The higher a mercenary group’s rank, the more troubling their attitude became.

The representative from the fifth-ranked mercenary group was unmistakably the most repulsive of them all.

"Here’s an idea," the man said, leaning forward with a twisted smile. "We’ll give you our full backing. But in return... you owe me every night in your bed."

His eyes lingered lecherously on Ezekiel.

"I’ve got a real weakness for pretty boys like you."

Ezekiel’s hand twitched instinctively toward his weapon.

For a moment, he imagined it—one swift motion, and that bastard’s head would be separated from his shoulders, ending this nightmare instantly.

But he held back, forcing his muscles to stay still.

"I’m not interested," he said, voice controlled and cold.

The man sneered. "Still playing the tough guy, huh? Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you." He rose abruptly. "If you ever change your mind, that body will be fully mine."

The door slammed shut behind him.

Ezekiel exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead as the tension finally began to drain from his body.

Hours later, the fifteenth and final meeting ended.

It hadn’t been a waste of time.

Out of all of them, only two had shown any real reason or restraint.

Rank fifteen.

And rank ten.

At that moment, his desk phone rang.

"We’ve got a problem, sir," Charles announced.

Ezekiel pinched the bridge of his nose. "What now? Did one of the reps break something on their way out? If so, send them the bill and—"

"No, that’s not it," Charles cut in quickly.

Ezekiel hesitated. "Then what is it?"

"Someone from another mercenary group just arrived—unannounced."

Ezekiel frowned. "I thought we were done here."

"We were," Charles replied, "but this individual insists on seeing you. Claims to be a mercenary."

"Then why haven’t you kicked them out?" Ezekiel rubbed his temples again.

"I’m trying," Charles admitted, "but... this person is somewhat famous."

"Oh." Ezekiel exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair.

’Do mercenaries become more arrogant the more renowned they are?’ he wondered, trying to keep an open mind. Especially when reputation seems to be their only claim to be respected.

After a moment, he made a decision.

"Fine. Let them in," he said quietly. "It’s not like I’ll lose anything by meeting one more person."

"Understood. By the way, sir, this person says that she knows—"

"Quick," Ezekiel interrupted sharply. "Before I lose my patience."

The line went dead.

Ezekiel exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead as his fingers tapped against the desk.

’I’ll listen for a few minutes, then reject her,’ he thought. ’I really hate people who show up unannounced, acting like they own the entire world—’

The door creaked open.

Soft footsteps echoed across the room.

Ezekiel straightened instinctively, eyes lifting—

And froze.

A woman dressed entirely in black stepped inside. A mask concealed the lower half of her face, giving her an unreadable, enigmatic aura. As she slowly removed the mask, his breath caught.

She was even more stunning than when he’d last seen her.

Her presence felt different—more guarded, more distant—but unmistakably her. Ezekiel recognized her far too well to mistake her for anyone else.

"It’s nice to see you again," she said casually, her voice warm yet carrying an undercurrent of familiarity. She settled into the seat across from him as if she belonged there, uninvited.

"Ah—uh—I—" Ezekiel stammered, words failing him.

His composure shattered for the first time that day. His mind went blank, senses dulled, and all he could do was stare, utterly caught off guard.

"I forgot to introduce myself," she continued smoothly. "I’m Tigris, and I’ll be representing Talon’s Mercenary."

Remillia.

Ezekiel’s mind raced. ’Was she aware of the full extent of Eldoria’s predicament? Or was this just a calculated coincidence?’

He couldn’t tell. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

All he could see was that gentle, measured smile on her lips—as if she were meeting an old friend.