Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The city of Halvath was a living, breathing beast of stone and flesh. Its streets pulsed with life, from the clatter of hooves on cobblestones to the shouts of merchants hawking wares in the bustling marketplaces. Smoke from blacksmiths' forges mingled with the aroma of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread, creating a scent uniquely Halvath's—a mix of industry, trade, and survival.

Through the winding streets walked a young man named Kaelen Drast, his footsteps steady but unhurried. At twenty, he was fresh to the world of mercenary work, his armor still bearing the polished sheen of newness, his sword strapped to his side a little too perfectly positioned, betraying his inexperience. Yet his strides carried determination, a hint of the fire that had driven him to leave his quiet village and seek his fortune among the hardened fighters and hired blades of Halvath.

The city had drawn him like a moth to a flame. Halvath was famous for its mercenaries, a hub where warriors, adventurers, and sellswords converged. The low taxes on mercenary contracts, the constant flow of trading caravans, and the near-endless demand for protection and muscle made it the perfect breeding ground for a young hopeful like Kaelen.

As he passed through the crowded streets, Kaelen couldn't help but marvel at the sights around him. Mercenaries of all shapes and sizes loitered at taverns, their mismatched armor and weapons a testament to their many battles. Veterans sat at tables, swapping exaggerated tales of heroism, their laughter booming over the din of the street. Others sharpened blades, their faces grim and focused, while younger mercenaries like him hurried to guild postings, eager to secure their next job.

"Watch it, boy!" a grizzled dwarf barked, nearly spilling his tankard of ale as Kaelen sidestepped a cart laden with barrels. The young man mumbled an apology, his cheeks coloring slightly, and continued on his way.

The Mercenary Guild loomed ahead, a large, fortress-like structure with banners fluttering in the wind, each marked with the sigil of a sword crossed with a quill. The building was Halvath's pride, a testament to its unique role as a haven for mercenaries. Inside, contracts were drawn, disputes settled, and reputations made—or broken.

Kaelen adjusted the strap of his satchel and straightened his back as he approached the guild's grand doors. Carved from heavy oak, the doors bore intricate reliefs of famous mercenaries locked in battle, their deeds immortalized in the wood. With a deep breath, he pushed one of the doors open and stepped inside.

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The interior was bustling, filled with the sounds of voices, the clink of coins, and the faint scratch of quills on parchment. The guild hall was vast, with high ceilings supported by thick wooden beams. A massive board dominated one wall, covered in notices and contracts ranging from caravan escorts to monster subjugations. Mercenaries crowded around it, some pointing at postings, others arguing over who had the right to claim a job.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Kaelen hesitated for a moment, taking it all in. He had been here only once before—to register as a member. Today, however, he was here for his first real contract.

"New blood, huh?" A voice cut through his thoughts. He turned to see a tall, lean man leaning casually against a pillar. The man's armor was scratched and battered, his short-cropped hair streaked with gray despite his youthful face. "You've got that wide-eyed look about you. First job?"

Kaelen nodded, trying not to let his nerves show. "Yeah. Any tips?"

The man chuckled, his sharp blue eyes gleaming. "Plenty, but you wouldn't listen to half of them. Just make sure you read the fine print on those contracts. Guild won't save your skin if you sign up for something beyond your ability."

"Thanks for the advice," Kaelen said, offering a small smile before moving toward the board. He scanned the notices, his heart pounding as he read each one. Some were straightforward—guarding caravans or delivering messages. Others were more dangerous, involving hunting down bandits or dealing with beasts that plagued the nearby forests.

Finally, his eyes landed on a posting that seemed manageable: Escort needed for a merchant caravan heading to Valford. Seven days' travel. Pay: 20 silver pieces upon safe arrival. It wasn't glamorous, but it was a start.

Kaelen reached for the notice, only to have his hand intercepted by another—a burly man with a thick beard and a scar running down his cheek. The man's lips twisted into a smirk as he plucked the posting off the board.

"Sorry, kid. Too slow."

Kaelen clenched his fists but forced himself to stay calm. "I saw it first."

Kaelen's jaw tightened as he stared at the burly man, who now held the contract smugly in his hand. His first instinct was to argue, to demand his right to take the job he'd already chosen, but his eyes drifted to the tattoo on the man's forearm, partially visible beneath his rolled-up sleeve.

A snarling dog's head, inked in black and red, marked his skin—a symbol as infamous as the man himself. It was the sign of the Mad Dogs, the most troublesome mercenary group in Halvath.

They were notorious for their ruthlessness and their complete disregard for any sense of law or order. While most mercenaries operated independently, the Mad Dogs worked as a tightly knit group, their strength and unity allowing them to dominate jobs, intimidate rivals, and get away with actions that would see others cast out of the guild—or worse.

Kaelen's resolve wavered. He knew their reputation. Everyone did. These weren't the kind of people you crossed unless you wanted your life to take a very sharp turn for the worse. Even the guild, with all its rules and regulations, seemed reluctant to rein them in. Rumor had it that each member of the Mad Dogs was strong enough to lead a team of their own, but they chose to band together, making them a force few dared challenge.

The burly man, noticing Kaelen's hesitation, grinned. It was the grin of someone who knew exactly the effect his presence had on others. "What's the matter, boy? Something caught your eye?"

Kaelen glanced down at the tattoo, and then quickly looked away. His heart was pounding, a mix of anger and frustration boiling in his chest. He wanted to say something, to stand his ground, but his practical side screamed at him to back off. Starting a fight with a Mad Dog over a simple escort job wasn't just foolish—it was suicidal.

"Nothing," Kaelen muttered, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

"Good," the man said, his grin widening as he folded the contract and slipped it into his belt. "Keep it that way. Wouldn't want you biting off more than you can chew."

Kaelen stepped back, swallowing his pride as the man walked away, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor. Around them, other mercenaries watched, some with curiosity, others with knowing smirks. It wasn't the first time a new recruit had been pushed around by the Mad Dogs, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

The lean man from earlier—Dain—approached Kaelen again, his expression sympathetic but wary. "Tough break, kid. But you did the right thing."

Kaelen turned to him, his frustration bubbling over. "How is backing down the right thing? That was my contract!"

"Because you're still breathing," Dain said bluntly, crossing his arms. "The Mad Dogs don't play fair. If you'd pushed it, you'd be lucky to leave here with just a broken nose."

"But why does the guild let them get away with it?" Kaelen demanded, his voice low but heated. "They're supposed to enforce the rules."

Dain sighed, glancing around to ensure no one was listening too closely. "Look, the guild's not blind. They know exactly what the Mad Dogs are like. But here's the thing—they get results. When a contract's too dangerous for anyone else, they take it. When a job's a mess and needs someone who doesn't care about collateral damage, they're the ones people turn to."

"That doesn't justify letting them do whatever they want," Kaelen argued, his fists still clenched.

"It doesn't," Dain agreed, his tone softening. "But power talks, kid. And they've got plenty of it. The guild doesn't want to risk losing them, so they turn a blind eye as long as the Dogs don't push too far."

Kaelen looked back toward the board, now feeling the weight of his inexperience more keenly than ever. He had come here to prove himself, to take his first step as a mercenary, but already the world of Halvath's hired blades was showing its teeth.

Dain clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. "Don't let it get to you. This city's tough, but there's always another job. And next time, maybe don't pick the same posting as one of them."

Kaelen forced a small nod, though his frustration remained.

'I wish...I wish someone would one day show them their place!'

Just as he wished, the door opened.