CHAPTER 62: 62

Hidden Site – Secure Chamber, 7,300 Meters Away

Thirteenth Dusk Operations Cell

The room pulsed with artifact glow. Seven masked figures stood before the gate controller, built into the floor like a silver altar. The artifact hummed with dormant power, primed for anchor reception.

Suddenly—Caldrith’s image shimmered into view inside the linked communication crystal.

"Abort the strike,"

He said, his voice flat.

Khin stepped forward.

"What?"

Ergon grunted, already tightening his gauntlets.

"We’re within range. Anchor lock is almost complete."

Valesca’s eyes narrowed.

"We move in twelve minutes. You’re pulling us now?"

Caldrith’s image remained calm, unshaken.

"The Hostess is [Rank 5]."

"We planned for that,"

Ergon muttered.

"She’s [Peak-Rank 5],"

Caldrith clarified.

"And more importantly—she’s fast. Faster than the gate’s ripple phase."

He paused.

"And she’s a slave."

Silence.

Valesca’s eyes flicked sideways.

"So she’s not our enemy."

Caldrith’s voice hardened.

"She belongs to someone. Someone who made her kneel. Someone who collared that level of power. And that someone is here. Watching."

Khin spat.

"You’re saying we’re facing a monster."

"I’m saying we’ve been standing in his shadow this entire time."

They all stared.

"And our plan?"

Valesca asked softly.

"Ruined,"

Caldrith said.

"If we steal the crystal now, she intercepts. If we open the dungeon gate, we die before the surge starts. If we assassinate the royals, he may move. And if he moves, none of us leave with our souls intact."

The gate controller’s lights dimmed as Valesca slowly powered it down.

"...Then what?"

Ergon asked bitterly.

"All this for nothing?"

Caldrith’s gaze sharpened.

"We adapt."

He leaned slightly toward the projection.

"We stage a false attack. Our operatives—yourselves included—create chaos. Short, sharp, not lethal. Make it believable."

"And then?"

Khin asked.

Caldrith’s smile returned—cold and clean as glass.

"Then we stop it."

Valesca blinked.

"You want us to betray our own? Let the others fall?"

"If need be,"

Caldrith replied.

"You only need to fail convincingly. I will act. Noble, proud, loyal. I will stop the attackers. And if I succeed in being the face that ’saves’ the auction... he cannot ignore me."

"And if he does?"

Khin whispered.

Caldrith placed a palm over his chest.

"My trait tells me failure is likely. But I’ve lived my life on the edge of the blade. And if I die now..."

He paused.

"At least I won’t die forgotten."

***

Auction Hall – Seventeen Minutes Remain

The seventh item gleamed on stage. Murmurs filled the air.

Caldrith sat back. His goblet of wine remained untouched. One finger traced a sigil hidden beneath his sleeve.

Not to open the gate.

Not anymore.

Now, it would send a pulse to the others.

A single signal: Begin the chaos.

He smiled faintly.

The heist was dead.

But the gamble?

The gamble had only just begun.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

Alaric remained seated in his usual spot—alone, elevated, detached. The second half of the auction had already begun, the crowd below stirring with whispers and bids like a sea of shifting masks. But he heard none of it. Not really.

He was restless.

No matter how many layers of silence he cloaked himself in, Aurevia refused to leave his thoughts. Her image lingered like a prayer unanswered, like a stain in his mind’s eye. He needed a distraction—something, anything to draw his mind away from her.

Then, something—someone—caught his attention.

A man among the general audience. Not noble enough to stand out. Not common enough to be dismissed. His aura was rehearsed calm, but his eyes betrayed calculation.

He was trying to win something.

Alaric observed him, unmoving.

And then—a shift.

A glimmer of understanding.

"At first... I wanted to kill them all."

"The moment they stepped out of the portal, I planed to crush them."

But that desire cooled into something sharper.

"What if... I didn’t kill them? What if I controlled them instead? What if I played the long game?"

A new impulse stirred. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t duty.

It was distraction—refined into strategy.

His Divine Heart Core pulsed once, slow and deliberate. And from the stillness of his chest, a thin, golden-white thread unfurled.

Divine power woven into threadlight. It curved, whispered, and danced until it reached the man’s heart—piercing it gently, binding it with no more weight than a sigh.

Alaric still didn’t know his name. But that was a trivial thing.

He opened his Divine Eyes.

Reality folded.

He saw the man’s bloodline. His memories. His ambitions. His sins. In a heartbeat, everything was known.

Caldrith Veinos Varn.

A name heavy with rebellion, stained with loyalty once lost.

Alaric didn’t expect the thread to function. Until now, this communion had only worked with those bonded by blood—Aurevia, Cellione, Serineth, Virellen. But here it was... working.

The divine thread was more versatile than he had realized. It mimicked telepathy, connecting not just soul to soul, but will to will.

He wove a thought into the thread and sent it down like a whisper into Caldrith’s chest.

"Don’t flinch.

Don’t move.

I’m speaking to you through telepathy.

No one can hear us but you.

You may respond by thought—I’ll hear everything."

Caldrith stiffened.

The blood drained from his face.

He nearly looked up in panic—but mastered himself, just barely. His fist clenched. Sweat streamed cold and heavy down his forehead.

’Who are you?’

He asked in his mind. Although he already knew the answer.

The answer was calm.

"I’m the one whose item you were trying to steal."

Caldrith flinched. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"You seem to have some sense. You backed out in the end.

But do you really think your little scheme to gain my favor was subtle?

You want to rebel against the Velmoran royal family, don’t you?"

Silence stretched.

Then:

"I’ll give you an offer, Caldrith.

Give me a reason. One reason strong enough to see the Velmoran royal line disowned.

And I will help you. Not passively. Actively. Visibly."

The thread pulsed.

"But first, call off your forces. There’s no need for them to act.

You’ve already been caught.

And if you’re worried about being seen—don’t be.

Even if you danced naked on this stage, no one would see or hear a thing."

Caldrith was shaking.

He had been outplayed from the very beginning.

The man he feared most hadn’t stopped him—because he hadn’t needed to.

He swallowed his pride and quickly retrieved a communication crystal from his pocket. Tapped the base once. Whispered.

"Abort the mission. We’ve been compromised. Don’t ask questions.

Don’t come near the venue. He knows.

He knew all along."

There was a pause, then a voice from the other end.

"Is he going to kill us?"

"No,"

Caldrith whispered back.

"If he wanted to... we’d already be dead."

"Then what? Is he—"

"He wants to talk. I don’t know why. He offered to help me...

If I give him a reason to destroy the Velmoran monarchy."

The other side went silent. Then a strained breath.

"Then... hear him out."

Caldrith ended the connection, tucked the crystal away, and wiped the sweat from his brow with a folded napkin.

He tried to steady his breathing.

But the divine voice returned.

"Are you done?"

Caldrith looked ahead, lips dry.

"Yes. I’m ready."

"Good. Then speak. What reason do you offer me, Caldrith Veinos Varn?"

"Before that..."

Caldrith whispered aloud, bowing his head slightly,

"I don’t know your name my lord . How should I address you?"

"Call me Aurelion."

"Yes, Lord Aurelion,"

Caldrith said reverently.

"As for my reason..."

He inhaled deeply. This was his only chance.

"The Velmoran royal family betrayed this kingdom.

Not through war or tyranny...

But through subservience."

Alaric said nothing.

"They disowned the previous monarchy by conspiring with the Empire.

Sold their honor for power.

The people were never told.

They spun a tale of reform.

But it was a quiet coup."

"So you serve the previous royal bloodline?"

Alaric asked.

"No, my lord. I serve no king.

I serve the people—and the truth.

And the truth is this: Velmora is no longer sovereign.

It is an ornament dangling from the Empire’s wrist."

Alaric’s divine thread pulsed. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Caldrith continued, voice low but filled with fury.

"Every major decision is rubber-stamped by imperial envoys.

The Grand Council is a façade.

Only houses favored by the Empire prosper. The rest—cast aside.

Taxes, trade permits, mana crystal allocations—all dictated by foreign lords.

Our heroes are forgotten. Our traditions rewritten.

We are made to thank our occupiers and smile."

His voice trembled.

"Even the nobles who once stood against this were silenced. Assassinated, bribed, or ruined.

I know this because my family was among them.

My older brother—executed in the night.

My estate seized. Our legacy erased."

"And now?"

Alaric’s voice was quieter.

"Now... I am told to kneel and call it mercy.

But I will not.

I want Velmora to belong to itself again—even if it burns in the process."

There was a long pause. The divine thread trembled faintly in Alaric’s hand. For the first time since the auction began, the restless fog in his mind cleared.

Perhaps... this rebellion could be sharpened into something worthwhile.

A dagger. A puppet. A storm.

A distraction.

And in Alaric’s hands—a tool.

-To Be Continued