I Reincarnated as an Extra in a Reverse Harem World-Chapter 90: No Room for Secrets

"Hello there, Paladin Theron."

The voice was soft. Clear. Neither warm nor cold—merely present, like it had always been there, waiting for the silence to end.

Theron’s chest tightened.

That name—his name—spoken aloud by the very man he was meant to hunt, the man cloaked in myth and rumor.

His breath hitched. His tongue faltered.

But before he could form a word, Cedric spoke again.

"You’ve been tailing me for quite a while now."

A pause.

"You must have something you want me to say, right?"

Cedric tilted his head slightly. Not mockingly—more like someone curiously reading a page that had already been written.

"Well... I see that it’s not you."

A longer pause now, deliberate.

"It’s the High Priest who has something to say."

Impossible.

Theron’s thoughts scrambled. That was classified information. All the Church’s movements were veiled in layers of misdirection, sealed within trusted tongues and coded paper. The High Priest’s plan—recruit or remove—was spoken only once in a closed sanctum.

No one else should have known.

But Cedric’s tone was not accusing. Nor gloating.

It was observational.

He knew.

And worse—he understood.

Theron took a breath, steadying his spine.

"How—how did you know—"

"How did I know?"

Cedric’s voice remained even, as if reading a thought Theron hadn’t finished.

"You planned your little game with care. Absolute secrecy. No obvious moves. You tracked from the edges, asked through smiles, gathered whispers without ever drawing a blade."

A pause.

Then, calmly:

"But that’s the problem with games, Paladin. The board isn’t yours."

Theron’s heart thudded against his ribs. He wasn’t just outmaneuvered—he was outseen.

The Church’s entire operation felt suddenly small. Like ants crawling under the gaze of something far too large to even notice them individually.

Cedric took a single step forward—not aggressive, but deliberate.

"You wanted to recruit me, right?"

Theron said nothing.

"Right. So then..."

Cedric tilted his head again.

"Where is your sincerity in that?"

A soft exhale.

"No letters. No messengers. No formal offer. Just shadows. Sabotage wrapped in silence."

Theron swallowed hard.

Then Cedric said something that chilled him to the marrow.

"Lead me to your church."

A breath.

"Let’s have a talk with your superior... so that we can finalize the deal."

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

After those chilling words, Cedric turned and began to walk.

Not hurried.

Just... forward. As if the decision had already been made, and the outcome had already been written.

Theron’s mind spiraled.

How did he know?

The plan had been sealed in the High Priest’s private sanctum, spoken to no one but him. No scribe. No aide. Not even among the Paladin Order’s inner circle.

The Church’s protocol demanded absolute silence.

And yet...

He knows.

More than that—he knew exactly what had been said. He knew about the offer. And he knew about the contingency.

"If he doesn’t comply... eliminate him."

Those words hadn’t even been written down. Only spoken.

And Cedric had quoted them as if he’d stood in the room himself.

Theron’s stomach twisted.

His breath slowed.

A faint layer of cold sweat prickled his back under the armor.

Is this even a man I’m dealing with?

Cedric’s robe form moved farther, the long hem of his coat trailing in the wind like a silent brushstroke against the dirt.

Then—

He stopped.

Turned his head slightly back.

The soft shadow still veiled his face. Not magic. Not trickery. Just... divine mystery, like a veil of dusk that refused to lift.

"Sir Paladin,"

Cedric called gently,

"Are you just going to stand there... or lead the way?"

A pause.

"Do you really want your guest to walk by himself?"

The words pierced through Theron like a slap of cold water.

He flinched. Jerked upright.

"Forgive me,"

He muttered quickly. His voice cracked slightly. He coughed to hide it, then stepped forward, armor clinking with every motion.

He hurried to catch up.

But before he could say anything more—

Cedric spoke again.

Still walking.

"Let’s go through the unconventional way."

Another pause.

"People might suspect something if they see a Paladin escorting me through the main streets."

His voice was calm... but the undertone was undeniable.

Mockery?

No.

It was closer to... understanding.

"You Church folks seem to have a rather intense reputation these days."

Theron swallowed hard.

He said nothing.

And kept walking.

Silently.

Behind the man he was supposed to hunt... and now could barely even follow.

***

Theron was shaken again.

Not because Cedric had spoken. But because of what his words implied.

He knew.

Not just about the High Priest’s secret directive. Not just the recruitment wrapped in veiled execution.

He knew the Church’s habits. Its filth. Its rot.

Theron had tried to pretend otherwise, like many in the Order did—wearing blindfolds stitched from faith and convenience. But the truth was no longer hidden.

The Church had long forsaken its divine path.

Any voice raised against its decrees, any soul daring to expose its crimes—were eliminated, quietly, under the name of divine verdict.

The people knew.

Of course they did.

They spoke in whispers. They lowered their eyes. They stopped praying.

The devout became fewer.

Those who still knelt in pews were either the powerful, the well-connected... or the desperate.

The rest had stopped waiting for salvation a long time ago.

Some had even tried to speak out. Evidence had been gathered—documents, testimonies, numbers, bodies.

But the Velmora Royal Line had always stood behind the High Temple. A political alliance dressed in divine robes.

Every revolt was buried before it bloomed.

And now...

Cedric knows even this?

Theron’s thoughts twisted again, but he forced his expression flat.

He looked up—only to find Cedric was no longer walking with him.

He was gone.

Theron spun—panicked for a breath—until his eyes caught movement above.

There, on the roof of a nearby building, stood the cloaked figure again.

Hands calmly folded behind his tattered robes.

Looking down on him.

Silent.

Motionless.

And yet... it felt as if a mountain stood overhead.

Theron couldn’t see the man’s face. The hood still veiled it in soft dusk.

But somehow, he felt the gaze.

Not angry. Not mocking.

Just... weighing.

Measuring.

Theron’s fingers twitched.

He jumped.

A swift, perfect bound up the wall—a [Rank 5]’s reflex. Dust swirled around his boots as he landed on the rooftop across from Cedric.

A few paces apart.

Still below him.

He exhaled.

Raised his head.

And finally spoke—voice clear, measured, not arrogance, but earned confidence.

"I ask only one thing,"

He said.

"Please... try to follow the words I say."

His hand hovered near the sword at his side—not to draw it, but out of habit.

"I am Theron of the White Flame. I stand at the early ranks of the Fifth Stage. Whatever techniques you used before, I may not understand them, but I know what strength is."

His eyes narrowed.

"And I do not walk beside men without knowing their weight."

The wind caught Cedric’s coat.

But Cedric still didn’t speak.

Not yet.

Not a motion.

Not a breath.

Only the stillness of something that had already judged everything it saw.

-To Be Continued