The Extra's Reincarnation

"You think you’re in a position to negotiate? To make demands?" His hand swept toward the guards surrounding them.

"Look around you, ’Chief.’ You’re outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and completely at my mercy." Stay connected via Freewebnovel

Julian didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

The mana-suppressing cuffs around his wrists glinted in the greenish light as he squared his shoulders.

"You really think, in your state, you can be making demands like that?" the man continued, a cruel smile playing at his lips.

"Perhaps I should demonstrate what happens to those who—"

"You think I won’t stop now to make demands?"

The words weren’t shouted. Julian barely raised his voice.

But something changed in the air of the temple—a sudden pressure that descended like an invisible weight, crushing the very atmosphere around them.

"...!"

Julian’s body remained still, but a presence seemed to radiate from him.

The aura of pure intimidation rolled outward in waves, pressing against every person in the chamber with the force of a physical blow.

Guards staggered back, weapons lowering involuntarily. Mel and Fletra gasped for breath, their eyes wide with shock and awe.

Even the bubbling cauldron seemed to quiet, its noxious brew settling as if cowed by the overwhelming force.

"I—" he started, then swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"Very well," he managed finally, adjusting his collar with trembling fingers.

"A reasonable request. I am, after all, a man of my word."

He snapped his fingers, the sound unnaturally loud in the pressurized silence.

"Escort them out. All the way to the forest’s edge. If they attempt to return..."

He drew a finger across his throat in a universal gesture.

"Kill them on sight."

"Chief—"

"Leave."

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the atmosphere thick with tension that seemed to press against the crumbling walls.

Finally, one of the guards returned, his footsteps echoing through the cavernous space.

He approached the boss with measured steps, his armor clinking softly with each movement.

"They’ve… crossed… the forest… boundary, sir… We watched… until they… disappeared… beyond the treeline… They’re gone."

A satisfied smile spread across Kyran’s face as he turned back to Julian, his silver-white hair catching the moonlight, giving him an almost ethereal appearance that belied the malice in his eyes.

"There. Satisfied? I’ve honored our agreement." He gestured expansively, as if expecting gratitude for his magnanimity.

"Now we can proceed with our... conversation... without further interruptions."

Julian’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly—a subtle shift that only the most observant would notice.

"Kyran,"

"…!"

"The newly appointed high commander... how long have you’ve served the Blackhearts for?"

The effect was immediate and profound.

Kyran’s composure shattered like fine crystal dropped on stone.

His eyes widened, pupils dilating with shock as the blood drained from his face, leaving his aristocratic features ashen and stricken.

"What did you—" he stammered, taking an involuntary step backward.

"How do you know my name? How could you possibly know about the Blackhearts?"

Julian shrugged, the gesture almost casual despite the mana-suppressing cuffs that still bound his wrists.

"I’m not sure,"

"You have a nametag on your shirt, you know?"

Instinctively, Kyran glanced down at his immaculate attire, confusion momentarily overriding his alarm.

CLANK!

The metallic sound, sharp and definitive, snapped Kyran’s attention back to Julian.

His gaze shot upward—just in time to see the mana-suppressing cuffs drop to the temple floor with a clatter that seemed to echo throughout the chamber like a death bell.

"How did you—?"

Kyran’s voice emerged as a strangled whisper, his composure shattering completely.

Julian rolled his wrists, the faintest flicker of energy dancing between his fingertips before dissipating into the charged air.

"You should’ve brought prism cuffs to hold me,"

"And also... how are you able to command the dead as an elven vampire?"

The question held in the air like a thunderclap, each word striking with precision.

TCH...

Kyran’s face contorted, the aristocratic mask falling away to reveal something ancient and terrible beneath.

"You can’t possibly—" he began, but the words died in his throat as Julian’s hand shifted to the sword at his hip.

"...!"

The movement was casual, unhurried.

Yet every guard in the chamber took an involuntary step backward as their instincts screamed the warnings their conscious minds couldn’t yet process.

"Inertia Style..."

The blade cleared its scabbard with a sound like silk tearing, a whisper that somehow carried more menace than a battle cry.

Moonlight streaming through the broken dome caught its edge, transforming the metal into a ribbon of liquid silver, beautiful and deadly.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then—

"Formless Slash... Crowned Comet"

SLASH!

A single swing, so swift that most eyes couldn’t track it.

The blade seemed to pass through the air with no resistance, no effort, as if reality itself parted willingly before its edge.

No one moved. No one breathed. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had happened at all.

CREAK...

Then came the sound—a deep, resonant groan that started low and rose in pitch and volume until it filled the temple with its dying cry.

Ancient stone, severed along a perfect horizontal plane, began to shift.

The upper half of the temple—thousands of tons of carved rock, timber, and ancient elven craftsmanship—slid sideways with a grinding roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

"B-Boss..."

The guards nearest Julian had just enough time to register their fate before their bodies separated cleanly along the same impossible line, the perfect bisection so swift and clean that, for one surreal moment, their torsos remained balanced atop their legs.

Then reality caught up with perception, and the horror began.

KYAKK!

But these weren’t ordinary corpses.

As their severed halves collapsed, a sickly green mist erupted from the wounds instead of blood—necromantic energy, the unholy power that had energized these long-dead bodies, now vanishing into the night air with a sound like distant, tortured screams.

-If I hadn’t seen it earlier, I would’ve lost my body on the spot.

Kyran’s reflexes saved him from sharing their fate.

He had jumped backwards the instant Julian’s hand touched the sword.

Even so, the blade’s passage caught the edge of his expensive cloak, slicing through the enchanted fabric as easily as it had through stone and undead flesh.