Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 105: Lothar (2)

"I—I don't know, boss. But he's young, and he has this scar… over his right eye."

For a moment, the room fell silent. Lothar's expression darkened as he leaned forward, clearly irritated by the vague description. "Why should I give a damn about some punk with a scar?" he growled, his voice rising.

The subordinate swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Because, boss… he's already killed Ruckus, Jake, and Ronan."

Lothar froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. The weight of those names hung in the air for a moment as if it were impossible for him to comprehend what he had just heard.

"He... killed my men?" Lothar repeated slowly, his voice barely contained as rage began to bubble beneath the surface.

The subordinate nodded quickly, taking a step back as if expecting Lothar's wrath to erupt at any second. "Yes, boss. Ruckus, Jake, and Ronan—he took them out. We found their bodies outside the village."

Lothar slammed his fist down on the table, sending the mugs and plates clattering. "You're telling me some scarred-up kid just walked in and took out three of my best men?" His voice was a roar now, his face flushed with anger.

Before the subordinate could respond, the door to the tavern suddenly creaked open. All eyes turned to the entrance, where the dim light from outside cast a long shadow across the floor. A figure stood in the doorway, his lean frame silhouetted against the fading daylight.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the figure stepped forward, revealing the cold, calculating gaze of a young man. His right eye was scarred, a jagged line that cut through his face, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips as he locked eyes with Lothar.

"Ohh… You've got quite a setup here," the young man said, his tone light and casual as he took a slow look around the room. His gaze swept over the scattered mugs, the discarded food, and the half-drunken men who were now frozen in shock. He smirked, taking in Lothar's seething expression before his eyes landed on the two women hanging on either side of the bandit leader.

"Not bad," the young man continued, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Looks like you were really enjoying yourself, huh? This place isn't half bad. Nice little den of indulgence you've got going here. Good food, good drink…" His eyes flicked to the women, "and clearly, good company, too."

Lothar's face twisted in anger, his fists clenched on the table, but the young man seemed unfazed. He took a few more steps forward, moving with an unsettling ease, his gaze never leaving Lothar's. The room remained silent, everyone watching the scene unfold as if waiting for the explosion of violence that seemed inevitable.

The young man stopped at the edge of Lothar's table, his fingers brushing casually against a plate of fruit. With a slight lean to the side, he plucked a single grape from the plate and tossed it into his mouth, chewing slowly as if savoring the taste.

"Mmm," he said, his tone still light, almost playful. "Not bad at all. You've really set yourself up nicely here. Shame it's all about to come crashing down." His smirk widened slightly as he locked eyes with Lothar once more, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

Lothar's rage was barely contained, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Who the hell do you think you are, walking in here like you own the place?"

The young man raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his face deepening as he chewed thoughtfully on the grape. "Who the hell am I?" he echoed, his tone almost mocking. "Is that really important?"

Lothar's eyes narrowed, his fists tightening on the table. The men around him shifted uneasily, the tension in the room palpable. Lothar's gaze never wavered from the young man's face, his pride and rage mixing into a dangerous cocktail.

"It is important," Lothar growled, his voice thick with menace. "Because if I'm feeling generous, I might just put your name on your grave. That is if you catch me in a good mood."

The young man chuckled softly, shaking his head as if Lothar's threat was more amusing than intimidating. "Your humor's not bad, I'll give you that," he replied, the playful edge never leaving his voice. "But we both know this isn't going to end with you being in a generous mood."

Lothar couldn't make sense of the situation. The arrogance of this kid, strolling in here as if he had no care in the world, throwing out casual insults, eating his food as if this was just a game. But more than that, something was off—Lothar couldn't sense anything from him. No cultivation, no aura, nothing.

As a 3-star Awakened, Lothar was used to being able to size up his opponents to gauge their strength. But this young man? He was a blank slate, a complete void. That could only mean one thing—he was at least a 4-star Awakened, far beyond Lothar's level. But that couldn't be right. Someone with that kind of power and this young?

There was no way someone like that would be here in a backwater den like this.

Lothar's mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening, but the longer he stared at the calm, confident smile on the young man's face, the more unsettled he became.

'There is something…..There is something about this bastard….'

An unsettling feeling.

It was as if there was something dark about this bastard before him, something that he could not quite make sense of.

While he could not see anything or sense, something about this bastard was giving him chills.

Before Lothar could act on his rising rage, one of his men, a burly bandit standing just behind the young man, snarled in frustration and drew his sword. Without hesitation, he swung the blade in a wild arc, aiming for the young man's neck.

But the moment the sword began its descent, the young man moved. His hand flicked to his side, and in one fluid, almost impossibly fast motion, his own blade was drawn. The sound of steel slicing through the air was crisp, followed by the wet, sickening noise of flesh being severed.

SHING!

The bandit's eyes widened in shock as the young man's sword carved cleanly through his neck. Blood sprayed into the air in a violent arc, painting the tavern walls in crimson as the bandit's head tumbled from his shoulders and hit the floor with a dull thud.

For a moment, the tavern fell into absolute silence, the only sound the soft drip of blood hitting the floorboards. The young man stood in the center, his sword still gleaming with fresh blood, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

"Well," he said, his voice calm and unbothered by the carnage. "I think that's enough talk, don't you think the same?"

Lothar stared at the headless body of his man, his mind struggling to process the sheer speed and precision of the kill. Around the room, the rest of his men tensed, their hands instinctively moving to their weapons, but there was hesitation—fear even—after what they had just witnessed.

"FUCK YOU!"

But the tension snapped a moment later as one of the other bandits, driven by rage or panic, let out a battle cry and lunged at the young man, followed by two more of Lothar's men. Their swords flashed as they charged, determined to overpower the stranger.

The young man's smile widened just slightly as he sidestepped the first attack with effortless grace, his sword a blur of motion.

CLANG! CLANG!

Steel met steel, but the strikes were parried with such ease it seemed almost mocking.

SLASH!

In the span of a heartbeat, the young man cut through the first attacker, his blade slicing cleanly across the bandit's chest. Blood sprayed once more as the bandit crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

STAB!

The second attacker barely had time to react before the young man's long sword pierced through his abdomen, skewering him in a precise thrust.

SLASH!

The third bandit hesitated, fear flickering in his eyes, but it was too late. With a swift, almost playful flick of his wrist, the young man brought his sword down in a lethal arc, severing the man's arm.

"AAAAAAARGHK!"

The bandit screamed in agony, but the sound was cut short as the young man's blade found his throat, silencing him forever.

In the span of mere seconds, three more bodies lay lifeless on the floor.

The young man stood still, his expression unchanged, almost as if none of this had required any effort at all. He glanced at the remaining men in the room, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Well?" he asked, his voice casual, almost bored. "Anyone else?"

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