I Reincarnated as an Extra in a Reverse Harem World-Chapter 93: No Room for Secrets [4]

The grip tightened.

A sickening squelch followed.

The High Priest’s neck—broad enough to require two palms—was now compressed into one. Bones cracked like twigs. Muscle cords snapped beneath Cedric’s fingers. The skin bulged and broke in places, splitting like overripe fruit beneath pressure too precise to be mortal.

Then—his eyes.

POP.

Both orbs shot forward in slow horror, bulging out of his sockets—still attached by tendrils of vision and nerve. One dangled sideways, hanging loose. The other remained halfway in.

And yet... he remained conscious.

He was still awake.

Still breathing—barely. Still hearing everything.

Still seeing—through some awful divine violation—as if his mind had been held intact just so he could witness what was happening to his body.

There was no blood.

No screams.

Only faint, ambiguous fluids escaping through his pants—liquids that fell like thick rain to the floor.

But they disappeared the moment they touched the marble.

Ssshhk.

The church’s sacred floor cleaned them instantly, a silent function of holy enchantments—meant to preserve purity.

But it only made the moment more terrifying.

Like his pain...

Wasn’t even worth staining the floor.

Cedric stood there—hood low, arm extended, fingers buried in the priest’s throat.

And said nothing.

The silence echoed through the grand hall, heavy and unnatural. Statues of saints stared down, unmoving. The great effigy of Elyssera, the Goddess Herself, loomed behind the altar—eyes closed, hands folded. Peaceful.

Unmoving.

And yet, the weight in the air shifted—thicker, denser, as if the divine was listening. Not interfering.

Just watching.

Theoderyn stood frozen behind it all.

He couldn’t look away.

The man he had sworn to follow, the High Priest, was being unmade—without spells, without a sword, without war cries or lightshows.

Only will.

And in that will was something far beyond mortal power. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

A verdict.

The High Priest’s mouth opened wide, jaw cracked loose from its hinge, but no sound came. No mercy followed.

Cedric leaned closer, finally.

Voice low. Steady. Cold.

"This... is the weight of truth.

Not doctrine.

Not hierarchy.

Not fear.

Truth."

He released his grip.

The High Priest dropped like a lifeless sack—but before his body hit the floor, Cedric snapped his fingers.

Snap.

The man hovered midair, like a marionette on invisible strings. Head twisted. Eyes ruined. Skin cracked.

But still conscious.

Still watching.

Still very much alive.

Cedric’s tone remained level. Unhurried.

"You once claimed to speak for the Goddess.

Now, for the first time in your life...

You will listen to Her."

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

Cedric’s voice cut the silence like a blade.

"This is the first time you’ll see what true unfairness looks like."

He stepped forward—quiet, measured—and raised his hand.

A golden-white light, faint and undulating like a calm flame, bloomed from his palm. Gentle... for a moment.

Then it burst outward like a tidal wave.

The light surged over the priest’s suspended body. Where once there had been torn flesh and shattered bone, now there was restoration—horrifying, unnatural healing.

His neck snapped back into place.

His eyes pulled themselves inward.

His skin stitched seamlessly together.

Not a scar.

Not a single mark.

Nothing.

As though it never happened.

And yet, he remembered everything.

The High Priest’s body trembled in the air, now whole—yet his soul shivered with something deeper than fear.

Because he now knew.

Cedric’s hand hadn’t only destroyed him.

It had healed him.

While it destroyed.

The same fingers that nearly crushed his windpipe were feeding divine power into him. Keeping him alive—making sure he felt everything.

That he didn’t die. That he couldn’t pass out. That no scream, no thought, no plea could escape him. That his body would survive the full torment.

It was not mercy. It was absolute control.

And the priest realized it then.

"This... this isn’t a man,"

He thought.

"This is something that decides."

Cedric lowered his hand. The golden light faded into a few glimmering threads before winking out completely.

The priest collapsed to his knees, gasping. Not from pain—there was none left—but from trauma. From what he now knew.

His hands trembled, pressed together instinctively in a gesture of prayer—but to what, he didn’t know anymore.

Cedric stood above him, like judgment wrapped in silk.

"Now,"

Cedric said, flatly,

"Give me all your money."

The priest looked up in disbelief—his lips trembling, eyes wide.

He didn’t ask "why." He didn’t ask "what for." He just nodded. There was no bargaining in him now. Only obedience.

Behind them, Paladin Theron remained silent. Or more like he couldn’t speak nor move. He was suspended in place.

He had seen many divine miracles in his life. But none like this.

This was not holy.

This was divinity at war.

He could feel it—raw authority pulsing from Cedric like a divine heart beating outside the laws of men and gods. Something not meant to walk among mortals... and yet here it was.

Not asking for faith.

Not offering hope.

Just showing them the difference between power and belief.

The High Priest was trembling like a leaf, eyes glassy, mind fraying at the edges of coherence.

He finally managed to mutter a word.

"W–wait, Lord Cedr—"

CRACK—!

A solid kick crashed into his abdomen.

His breath exploded out of him in a sickening gasp, body curling inward like a broken reed. He screamed—high, guttural, animalistic. His knees scraped against the polished marble as he crumpled, coughing, gagging, choking on pain.

Cedric’s voice followed. Calm. Cold. Final.

"Did I tell you to ask me a question?"

He took a step forward, boots echoing with the heavy silence of divine judgment.

"Did I tell you to speak?"

The High Priest wheezed, clutching his midsection, face pale, sweat beading like rain on a drowned man’s brow.

Cedric stared down at him.

"I told you to give me your money."

He looked around at the golden hall—the opulence of the Church gleaming in every corner. Altars wrapped in silver. Chandeliers studded with sacred gems. Tapestries woven from silk that could feed a starving family for a year.

"And what were you planning to do with it, hmm?"

His voice dropped, softer now—almost inquisitive.

"Sit on it?

Bury it?

Feed it to your pride?"

He turned his back slowly to the priest, gazing up at the towering statue of the Goddess Elyssera that loomed above the altar.

"You preach salvation while your people rot in the dirt.

You build monuments while children beg for moldy bread.

You hoard offerings in the name of divinity, and yet the only thing divine in this place is me."

He glanced over his shoulder.

"So tell me, what will the Church do with that wealth?

I see no way you worms can spend it for good.

But me?"

He raised his hand, fingers glowing faintly once again in white-gold light.

"I will use it. Every coin. Every scrap. Every grain of gold.

To burn away the filth choking this world."

The High Priest shook uncontrollably. His lips parted, but no words came.

Only a sound. A whimper. A creature whose illusion of power had been stripped down to naked impotence.

Cedric approached slowly, his voice no longer angry—just filled with unshakable conviction.

"Give it to me.

Not because I asked nicely.

But because I can take it.

And because the world will be better for it."

-To Be Continued