I Reincarnated as an Extra in a Reverse Harem World-Chapter 89: First meeting
Chapter 89: First meeting
A few days had passed since Paladin Theron began his mission.
And not a single day had been wasted.
His agents, scattered through the city like ghostly tendrils, had tapped into every flow of information—from guild whispers and market gossip to slumfolk chatter and mercantile suspicion. A careful web, strung through backdoors and candlelit rooms, ready to tremble the moment the name Cedric emerged.
And today... it did.
The message had come on folded linen, stained with soot from a furnace chimney. A code only his operatives would know.
"The lily glows again. Lower Slum Quarter. East of the collapsed granary."
Theron was already running before the ink dried. freēwēbnovel.com
His boots struck the cobbled streets with silent urgency, armored cloak billowing behind him. Slum after slum had emptied like water through cracked hands, but there were still corners left untouched, and this one had sparked with movement.
This time, he would see the man himself.
*****
He moved through narrow alleys, eyes sharp beneath the hood of his paladin helm. And there—at the edge of the slum ruins—he saw them.
Not Cedric.
But the signs.
A small gathering. Half a dozen people, kneeling in the mud. Their eyes were closed, hands clasped over their chests as if clutching warmth. And on the backs of their palms—the faint afterglow of gold.
He had been here.
They hadn’t noticed Theron arrive. They were weeping, whispering prayers not to the Church, not to the High Priest, not even to the name Elyssera.
They prayed to him.
Lord Cedric.
Not a god.
But something else.
***
Theron stepped back behind a crumbling wall, breathing slowly.
He’d missed him—again.
It had happened like this every time.
Reports came. He ran. Only to arrive at footprints, warmth, and silence.
He had begun to think Cedric was doing this deliberately. Testing him. Or worse... evading him with ease.
But then another thought returned—one that weighed heavier than frustration.
The Crydias Estate.
Almost all of the slum people had gone there. Everyone in the inner circles knew it. They hadn’t marched—no, they’d vanished, escorted, directed... transferred.
Some investigators had tried to question the estate.
But Crydias was not just any noble family. They were entrenched, powerful, ancient. Public questioning of their affairs required proof. Solid, noble-proof parchment and guild-certified warrants.
And Cedric—if he was there—left no such proof behind.
Theron had considered it. Of course he had. To go knocking on the estate gates. But that risk...
It was too early.
Because the one overseeing the Crydias Estate—the one behind its rise, the one behind its new-found wealth and reorganization—was said to be more powerful than Cedric himself.
Some even said Cedric served him.
And that terrified the Church more than Cedric’s miracles ever could.
***
Rumors had spread like embers on dry parchment.
A figure within the estate who moved quietly but pulled strings behind the curtain.
A being who commanded respect without asking.
A presence that never showed itself... but made the world shift anyway.
And worse—
Whispers.
That this figure had enslaved a [Rank 5].
A [Rank 5]—those elevated beyond mortal limits, individuals whose might could topple cities, whose steps shaped the fate of nations.
Even the Church, bolstered by its sanctified knights and favored warriors, had only a few Rank 5s to its name. And if this being—whoever he was—could subjugate one?
Then Cedric was no anomaly.
He was a herald.
And Theron... was in over his head.
***
He crouched in the shadow of a collapsed wall, heart steady despite the tension. His mission wasn’t to strike blindly. He was not a fool.
The main church in the Great Empire had given them cover. The Velmora Crown backed their actions. That was the only reason the High Priest dared to send him at all.
And yet, the deeper he walked into this mystery, the more he felt...
Watched.
As if the city itself pulsed with awareness.
As if somewhere, far above or within the very stones, a gaze lingered—not hostile, but knowing.
And indifferent.
A divine gaze.
***
Theron stood again, adjusting his cloak. He would not confront the Crydias Estate.
Not yet.
But his path was narrowing.
And Cedric... would not stay elusive forever.
*****
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶
✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
*****
Theron exhaled and turned.
It was time to retreat—to return to the cathedral, compile the latest report, and admit again: nothing. No trace. No confrontation. Just dust and prayers left in the wake of a ghost.
His cloak rustled behind him as he moved.
And then—
He froze.
His breath caught.
A shape stood in front of him.
He hadn’t heard a sound.
Not a footstep. Not the crunch of rubble. Not the shift of air.
It was impossible.
He was a [Rank 5], trained in aura perception, mana detection, emotional veils, soul echoes, and divine tethers. He had been forged to hunt heretics and masked killers, to feel danger before it took shape.
And yet...
There was someone in front of him.
Standing still.
Watching.
Theron’s heartbeat slammed into his ears like a war drum. His mind raced, calculating the surroundings, the wind, the mana flow—all clean. All silent.
No alarms had triggered.
No perception wards activated.
This was beyond stealth.
This was wrong.
He looked up slowly.
And saw him.
Lord Cedric.
His entire figure was cloaked—hood drawn low, casting soft shadows across his face. Every inch of his form was hidden. Robes dark as dusk. Gloves of an aged priest. Heavy boots planted calmly on broken stone.
No aura.
No heartbeat.
No smell.
Just presence.
Like the world had made space for him.
Theron staggered a step back—instinct overriding pride. His hand nearly reached for his blade but stopped. His fingers trembled.
The silence deepened. It was suffocating.
Not oppressive.
Just unreal.
Cedric didn’t speak.
He simply stood there, watching.
A stillness more terrifying than any threat.
Theron’s lips parted, trying to form a greeting, a challenge—anything.
But he couldn’t speak.
He couldn’t even blink.
The man had arrived like a phantom, and something deep inside Theron’s core—that primal part untouched by training or faith—was screaming that if this being wanted him dead, he already would be.
-To Be Continued
