Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The bartender eyed the pouch of coins briefly before grabbing a slate from under the counter and slapping it down. Written on it in chalk were the menu items, along with their prices—most of which were hefty by common standards.

"Two ales, four silver. Add some stew? Eight silver total. If you want a proper meal, roasted fish with crusty bread, that'll run you a whole gold coin per plate." He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning sly. "We've got pickled squid and smoked clams, local specialties. Don't know if you folks can handle the taste, though."

The robed man's hand hovered near the pouch as he glanced at the slate. "We'll take two stews, two ales, and bread."

"Eight silver," the bartender said, his tone neutral. "And for an extra silver, I might have something better than the stew's thin broth." His lips curved into a smirk as if challenging them.

The robed man dropped a gold coin onto the counter, sliding it forward. "Keep the extra. And if you've got something better than the stew, bring it."

The bartender nodded, swiping the coin into his apron pocket. "Good choice. I'll have the kitchen whip up something fresh." He grabbed two tankards and filled them with ale from the cask behind him, sliding them across the counter.

The robed man caught one and handed it to his companion, who took it silently, her hood still concealing her face. The faintest trace of blonde hair peeked out again as she raised the tankard to her lips, sipping quietly.

The bartender busied himself for a moment, speaking casually as he worked. "You don't look like the types to wander into a place like this for the food. What brings you to Stormhaven?"

"Work," the robed man replied curtly, his tone guarded but not dismissive.

The bartender snorted. "Work, huh? Lemme guess—you're here for the Duke's expedition. Like half the people in this city."

The robed man tilted his head slightly, his posture relaxed but alert. "Maybe."

"Figured as much." The bartender set down a loaf of crusty bread and some butter alongside the tankards, leaning on the counter. "You're not the first to come sniffing around for information. I can tell you where the captain's setting up, the kind of people he's hiring, and the rumors swirling around the monsters out there. But information's not free."

"How much?" the robed man asked evenly.

"Depends on what you want to know," the bartender said with a shrug. "A silver for the basics. More if you want specifics or anything... extra."

The robed man exchanged a glance with the woman, who gave the barest nod. He slipped a silver coin from the pouch and slid it toward the bartender. "The basics, then."

The bartender pocketed the coin with a practiced motion. "Captain Edran's down at the docks, near the western pier. He's running interviews and picking the strongest adventurers for his team. Word is, the Duke himself ordered him to handpick only the best. You show up without something to prove your worth—skills, experience, whatever—you're wasting his time."

"Adventurers? Only adventurers can join?"

The bartender threw the robed man a peculiar look, his scarred face creasing into a wry smirk. "It's not only adventurers, kid. But let's face it—only adventurers are crazy enough to throw themselves into a sea swarming with monsters for the sake of some coin. Even mercenaries, who usually aren't shy about danger, tend to steer clear of this kind of job."

The robed man raised an eyebrow. "Mercenaries avoid it?"

"Most of 'em, yeah," the bartender said, leaning his weight onto the counter. "They prefer more predictable work. Escorting caravans, guarding noble estates, that sort of thing. Going up against whatever's been tearing ships apart? That's another level of risk entirely. Adventurers, though…" He gestured toward the lively room with his thumb. "They're a different breed. Half of 'em are chasing glory, and the other half are too desperate—or stupid—to say no."

The robed man nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm. Is a license necessary?"

The bartender scratched at his chin, considering the question. "I doubt it. This ain't exactly the kind of thing where they check your papers at the door. But Captain Edran is a knight of the Thaddeus household, so don't be surprised if they expect some kind of credentials. Could be a letter of recommendation, proof of past achievements, or maybe just your word and your sword. Formal documentation? Maybe. Maybe not. But if you show up looking like you don't belong, you'll probably be turned away."

"Or worse," the bartender added with a chuckle. "Heard the captain's not the most patient man. Doesn't take kindly to time-wasters."

The robed man exchanged a brief glance with his companion, her hood still hiding her expression. "I see. Thanks for the tip."

"Don't thank me yet," the bartender said, sliding another mug to a patron down the bar. "You're paying me, remember? If you want more, it'll cost you."

"I'll keep that in mind," the robed man replied, standing and taking the bowl of stew the kitchen boy had brought over. His companion followed silently, her movements graceful and precise as she carried her own meal back to their table in the corner.

The bartender watched them go, his smirk fading into a contemplative expression. "Another pair of fools," he muttered under his breath, before returning to wiping the counter.

At their table across the room, Lianne and her brother observed the scene with interest. "Do you think they're here for the same thing we are?" Lianne whispered.

"Most likely," her brother said, his gaze sharp as he studied the robed duo. "They seem focused, prepared. But they're not sharing much, which means they're keeping their cards close. Smart."

"What should we do?" Lianne asked, glancing nervously between the strangers and her brother.

"We watch," he said simply, tearing a piece of bread in half. "Stormhaven's full of competitors. You learn more by listening than you do by asking. Finish your food, and don't draw attention. We've got a lot of ground to cover before we even think about heading to the docks."

Lianne nodded, though her eyes lingered on the mysterious pair in the corner. She couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were destined to cross—and when they did, she hoped she and her brother would be ready.

Her eyes lingered on the robed duo as they sat quietly in the corner, eating their meals with an air of detached calm. Her curiosity gnawed at her, and she leaned closer to her brother, lowering her voice.

"Why do you think they're hiding their faces?" she asked. "Do you think they're criminals? Or… something else?"

Her brother smirked faintly, tearing another piece of bread. "I don't think they're hiding their faces to avoid notice. My guess? They're just used to keeping hidden. Travelers like them probably attract too much attention otherwise."

"Maybe," Lianne murmured, her gaze still fixed on the woman's faintly visible blonde hair. "But what if it's something more? What if the woman is… beautiful?"

Her brother chuckled, his smirk widening. "Ah, that's a fair guess. A woman like her, with that kind of presence? I'd wager she's hiding more than just power."

"Or," Lianne countered, her tone playful, "what if the young man is the handsome one? Maybe he's the one keeping a low profile."

At that, her brother laughed softly, shaking his head. "Lianne, my little sister, you've got a lot to learn. Let me tell you something—there isn't a man in this world who'd willingly hide his handsome face. No, it's far more likely the woman is the beauty in this equation."

Lianne rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "You sound awfully confident about that."

He grinned, shrugging. "Experience, Lianne. Men flaunt what they have. If he's hiding, it's not for his looks."

"..." Lianne didn't reply, her cheeks puffing slightly in mock annoyance.

Her brother cleared his throat, perhaps realizing he'd pushed his teasing a little far. "Ahem. Anyway, let's focus on our food. We'll need our strength for tomorrow."

As Lianne and her brother finished their meals, the robed duo stood from their table in the corner. The man adjusted the clasp of his cloak while the woman moved with the same quiet grace she had displayed earlier. Together, they began making their way toward the door, their steps purposeful and unhurried.

Lianne's gaze followed them, her curiosity undiminished. Her brother, noticing her distraction, nudged her elbow gently. "You're staring," he murmured, smirking. "I thought I told you—don't draw attention."

"I wasn't staring," Lianne whispered back, though the slight pink tinge in her cheeks suggested otherwise. She tore her eyes away, reluctantly focusing on the last piece of bread on her plate.

The robed woman reached the door first, her hand lifting to push it open. As the door swung outward, however, she collided abruptly with a young man.

The impact was minor, but enough to make the young man stumble back a step. He was perhaps in his early twenties, with unruly dark hair and a confident, almost roguish air about him. His robe was scuffed but well maintained, with a long estoc hung loosely at his side.

A white cat was on his shoulder, lying there, comfortably.

"Whoa, sorry about that!" the young man exclaimed, quickly steadying himself. His expression was open and friendly, but as his eyes met the robed woman's, his demeanor shifted ever so slightly.

In a split second, his deep black eyes widened.