I Reincarnated as an Extra in a Reverse Harem World-Chapter 94: No Room for Secrets [5]

Cedric’s voice rang out again—calm, casual, as if he were asking the weather.

"So, High Priest... how much money does the Church truly possess?"

The priest’s mouth opened—but nothing came.

He forced himself to lift his eyes toward Cedric.

And that’s when he saw it.

Through the gentle veil of shadow that cloaked Cedric’s hooded face, something had changed.

Two blazing eyes—white-gold and divine—now stared back at him.

Not eyes of a man.

Not even a saint.

Eyes of judgment. Eyes that pierced through thought, through flesh, through soul— fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

eyes that laid bare every truth the priest had ever tried to bury.

He felt his knees go weak.

His voice came out in a strangled whisper.

"...Three trillion..."

Cedric tilted his head.

"Three trillion?"

He took a step forward.

"Are you... sure about that?"

"Yes. Yes, of course—why would I—"

CRACK—

The sound of impact snapped through the cathedral like a thunderclap.

The High Priest’s body exploded across the air, slamming into the marble wall with such force that blood painted the sanctified stone. His entire frame compressed—neck twisted, ribcage flattened, bones bent into shapes they were never meant to hold.

His face—the side that had taken the hit—was now molded flat like polished stone. His form had lost all sense of humanity. A wall with organs.

He couldn’t scream. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even collapse.

Because a moment later—the golden-white light surged again.

It didn’t mend him. It restored him.

Every shattered piece of cartilage, every pulverized tendon, snapped back together in perfect order.

His flesh didn’t just heal—it rewound, as if time itself bent to Cedric’s command.

And yet he felt everything.

His mind, rather than reeling into unconsciousness, was more awake than it had ever been.

His thoughts no longer fogged by pride, delusion, or power—only raw, surgical clarity. And in that clarity, he knew—he understood—the full depth of suffering he was being made to endure.

Pain became infinite.

It became spiritual.

And still, he could do nothing.

He stood there—shaking, dripping, reborn in agony—when Cedric’s voice rang out again.

Still calm. Still polite. But now with an edge sharp enough to cut the world.

"I’ll give you one more chance."

"How much money does the Church truly have?"

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

The High Priest trembled.

His mouth hung slightly open—dry, cracked, breathless.

But his mind... his mind was crystal clear.

Clearer than it had ever been in all his long, twisted life.

That clarity, however, was not a blessing.

It was born from terror, the kind of terror that hollowed out pride and rewrote instinct.

A clarity forced upon him by the being standing calmly before him—Cedric.

He opened his mouth again. No stammer this time. Just the truth, sharp and trembling.

"More than... three hundred trillion."

Cedric nodded, the faintest curve of amusement tugging beneath the hood’s veil. Though not seen, but felt.

"That’s more like it."

He stepped forward, slowly—leisurely—as if congratulating a child for learning how to walk.

"See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

"You just needed to be... honest."

He tilted his head slightly.

"I know you lots. You’ve all mastered the art of lying. Wrapped yourselves in it so well, you forgot what truth tastes like."

"But sometimes, my friend... sometimes the truth is the only thing that lets you live."

Then Cedric did something strange. He opened his arms gently, as though welcoming an old friend—soft, casual, disarming.

"Now then, my friend..."

The High Priest floated closer—not of his own will, but as if drawn by invisible strings.

Cedric patted his shoulder gently.

And with every single pat, a ripple went through the High Priest’s body.

Not on the skin.

Through the soul.

Each touch was like a gong struck inside his being.

Each vibration rearranged him, like the notes of a song being rewritten without consent.

Tears formed, unbidden.

Not from pain—but from sheer helplessness. From the realization that he was nothing.

Not before a man. Not before a saint.

But before something... divine.

Then Cedric’s voice rang out again. Calm, but resolute.

"You have five minutes."

"I want all the money transferred to me in that time."

He paused. The church’s ornate silence suffocated every sound.

Then, Cedric smiled wider. The golden light behind his hood seemed to grow.

"And for every ten seconds you’re late..."

"A bone pops."

His hand made a simple gesture—fingers closing like a claw—and a soft click echoed from somewhere within the High Priest’s chest.

"Got it?"

"Now go."

With a flick of his fingers, Cedric shoved him back—not harshly, not violently, but with a force greater than reason. The High Priest flew across the grand hall, the cathedral’s doors slamming open on their own, as if the building itself bent to Cedric’s will.

The High Priest ran.

He didn’t understand what would happen if he failed—only that it would be far, far worse than death.

He tore through the corridor with a speed that defied age and fatigue, robes flailing, heart threatening to burst.

Behind him, silence fell again.

Only one remained in that room.

Theron.

Paladin of the White Flame.

[Rank 5].

A pillar of the Church.

Unshaken by war, by beasts, by divine calamities.

And yet now...

Now, he trembled.

His fingers twitched by his sides.

His knees felt cold.

His chest, armoured as it was, felt too light, like it might float away from his body.

He had seen what no mortal should ever see—

Not just power, but a truth so massive, so final, that it crushed the pride out of even the strongest.

"This... This isn’t justice..."

He whispered under his breath.

"This is something else entirely..."

***

The High Priest ran through the church like a man possessed.

But not insane.

That was the worst part.

His eyes were wide, heart thudding with a rhythm not his own, but his mind—clearer than glass, unclouded, aware.

And that clarity...

It forced him to endure.

To register every step, every heartbeat, every creeping shadow, every dawning horror, inch by inch, bit by bit.

He couldn’t faint.

He couldn’t collapse.

The divine force that twisted around his very soul wouldn’t allow it.

It forced him to see. To feel.

To know.

He turned a corner. What he saw made his stomach twist.

The entire church—everyone—was suspended in action.

Clerics frozen mid-prayer, Paladins mid-sparring motion, monks mid-step with dust halted in mid-air like glass shards, unmoving.

Even the [ Rank 5]s.

Even the ones they called "Sacred Flame" and "Soul Forger."

All of them, stuck in a breathless, impossible moment.

He hadn’t noticed.

He hadn’t seen it. Not when he walked in. Not when he spoke to Cedric. Not when Cedric disappeared behind him like a phantom. He had believed he had control, leverage, support.

But from the moment Cedric entered...

This was never a negotiation.

It was judgement.

And all this time, he had been trapped in Cedric’s world.

The High Priest screamed inside—but his body pushed forward. He reached the vault. Massive gates, layered enchantments, high-grade sigils of divine approval.

He tore it all open with trembling hands and poured everything—every gem, every bar of platinum-light gold, every sacred relic, all compressed, refined wealth of centuries—into his spatial rings.

The suction enchantment did most of the work, but there was too much.

Even with magic, the process was painfully slow.

Seconds crawled.

The vault echoed with the rush of air and clinking treasure.

4 minutes passed.

Then 4 minutes 33 seconds.

He was done. Everything was packed. He bolted out.

And as he stumbled back into the halls, sprinting as fast as his robbed body could move...

He realized.

His strength was gone.

He was no longer [Rank 4]s.

He was running with the speed of a common man.

And time...

Time wasn’t slowing down for him.

Then—

5:10

With an audible pop, the bone in his right leg exploded.

He screamed.

Not because it shattered.

But because it didn’t tear through the skin.

The explosion stayed internal—bone fragments ripping muscle, rupturing blood vessels, slicing through nerve and sinew.

And yet...

He could feel every piece.

And not just feel them.

His perception was sharpened to impossible clarity—

It was as if he could feel each fragment’s trajectory, each microtear, each nerve as it was shredded.

And the worst part—he couldn’t pass out.

His scream echoed down the corridor.

But no one moved.

The church remained silent. Frozen. Watching.

Then—

5:20

Another bone exploded.

This time—his sternum.

The sound was dull, inward, but the effect was catastrophic.

He felt it—like glass shards through the lungs, into the heart, along his spine.

His vision swam.

He puked bile.

He dragged himself forward with bloody fingernails clawing the stone.

He screamed again, then bit his tongue to keep from screaming—only for the pain to become worse.

"I have to... I have to... make it..."

His mind whispered. No faith in gods. No prayers to the Goddess. Only raw desperation.

Each step was torture.

Each breath was like swallowing molten needles.

But he kept going.

Because the only other option was to stop.

And to stop meant...

More.

Bones.

Would.

Break.

5:30

Pop

His shoulder.

He hit the ground again, twitching, sobbing without dignity. His voice sounded inhuman.

"I regret it..."

"I regret everything..."

He dragged himself again.

One hand. One inch. One whisper of breath.

Blood soaked his robes.

"I regret it all..."

"The Goddess... forgive me..."

"Forgive..."

"Forgive..."

"Just make it stop..."

The Cathedral loomed at the end of the hall—

A vast chamber where the marble opened into divine sanctum.

He was close.

So close.

But one more pop—

5:40

His other leg.

He screamed and couldn’t breathe.

He heard someone whispering—it was his own voice.

"Why was I even born...?"

The doors opened.

He fell in.

And for one brief, blessed moment...

The pain stopped.

He lay there, motionless, twitching slightly, like a crushed insect.

The golden white glow returned.

Cedric stood before the altar, hands folded calmly.

A ripple of divine heat lingered in the air, soft, like warm breath.

The High Priest, shaking like a leaf in a storm, dropped the spatial rings at Cedric’s feet.

His lips trembled.

He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

And then Cedric looked at him.

With eyes hidden in soft shadow.

And said, in a quiet voice that echoed through the cathedral like thunder behind silk—

"Well done."

-To Be Continued