Don't Want to Be Ordinary Even Though I'm an Extra Character-Chapter 132: [] Unexpected guest

In the midst of the bustling preparations enveloping Grey Castle, Arkan stood firmly before the ranks of elite troops poised to be dispatched to the conflict zone. The midday breeze drifted gently, carrying the metallic scent of freshly sharpened weapons and the rhythmic sounds of soldiers inspecting their gear. Among the crowd, Kael stood calmly, his sharp eyes observing the situation without uttering a word.

After delivering a brief yet impactful speech—emphasizing honor, caution, and the hope of returning as a united force—Arkan descended from the podium. His steps led him toward a figure waiting slightly apart from the others. Rainer, with shoulder-length blond hair and bright blue eyes reflecting determination, stood silently, as if already aware that his time had come.

Arkan halted before him, locking eyes in a silence understood only by those bearing significant burdens. No smiles or pleasantries—just the gaze of a leader upon a soldier about to undertake a mission too crucial for ordinary words.

"Rainer," Arkan began, his voice low yet firm, "I trust you understand the gravity of this task."

Rainer nodded once, his expression unwavering. "I do, Lord."

Arkan narrowed his eyes slightly, ensuring no doubt lingered in Rainer’s voice. "When you arrive," he said softly but decisively, "seek out someone named Ethan Marshal."

Rainer furrowed his brow slightly, one eyebrow arching halfway. "Who is he?"

"He..." Arkan paused, choosing his words carefully. "Is someone who will be of great assistance to you there. He was once our liaison, and I recall he now works at an eatery in the central eastern district."

Rainer bowed his head slightly, committing the name to memory. "Understood... If he comes recommended by you," he said resolutely, "then I will seek him out."

They walked side by side through the corridors of Grey Castle, their footsteps in sync with a conversation easing from tension. The midday sun streamed through tall windows on the left, casting their elongated shadows on the gleaming marble floor. Arkan, hands clasped behind his back, glanced at Rainer with a faint smile.

"By the way," Arkan said, his tone shifting to a more relaxed one, "I heard you turned someone down again last week?"

Rainer scoffed, his face tinged with a subtle blush. "She was too... intense. And—you know—I’m not the kind of guy who’s good with sweet talk."

Arkan chuckled softly, his laughter echoing lightly. "Ah, Rainer. You’re like a sharp spear placed on a rack. Everyone knows its capability, but no one can touch it."

"I prefer to stay focused, that’s all," Rainer replied, though his eyes narrowed in amusement. "Besides, even if I were interested in someone, she wouldn’t be a noblewoman who measures our breaths by etiquette."

"Oh? Then what’s your type? Don’t tell me... a tavern girl?" Arkan teased, raising an eyebrow while stifling a laugh.

Rainer raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever you say, Lord. But if I return with a wife from the borderlands, don’t be surprised."

Before Arkan could respond with another jest, their steps halted as a deep, heavy voice sounded from ahead.

"Ah, so you two are relaxing during work hours?" Lucian, head of the finance department, appeared from around the corner with his characteristic stoic face, though a slight smirk played at the corner of his lips. Papers and thick books were tucked under his left arm, suggesting he had just emerged from an audit room.

Arkan turned casually, acknowledging with a slight nod. "Lucian, don’t tell me you’re here with this week’s expenditure report?"

Lucian sighed, his eyes scanning the two men now standing stiffly like schoolboys caught sneaking off. "Unfortunately, yes. And it seems your budget for the ’communication device’ project has... inflated."

Rainer quickly turned to Arkan, grinning. "In that case, I’ll take my leave before I’m dragged into a budget meeting."

"Coward," Arkan muttered, but his smile remained.

###

As expected, just a few days after the departure of the Hongward and Rainer delegation to the imperial capital, an unexpected guest arrived at Grey Castle. Her presence was not only surprising—it disrupted the carefully maintained balance of daily routines.

At that moment, Arkan was in his study, as usual. The large window behind him was half open, allowing the spring breeze to carry in the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. Spread across his dark wooden desk were sheets of reports on public satisfaction, rough hand-drawn graphs, and notes on complaints from landowners to small artisans.

Arkan held a quill pen that hovered lightly over the statistics. His eyes narrowed as he read line by line, carefully evaluating the state of his territory. He was trying to balance the food needs of the eastern villages with the delayed logistics from the west.

But the calm didn’t last long. A firm three-knock pattern echoed from the door—not rushed, but clearly not from one of the usual staff. Arkan raised his head, leaned back in his chair, and gave a subtle nod.

"Enter," he said flatly, though his tone carried cautious alertness.

The door opened slowly, and in walked Marcel, a bespectacled man with neatly slicked-back brown hair. His long coat was slightly dusty, a sign that he had just returned from field inspection, not from behind a desk. In his hands were several documents neatly clipped in a leather folder.

"Sorry to interrupt, Lord Arkan. But there’s a development from the southwest region that requires your immediate attention," he said as he approached, placing the folder carefully on the desk.

Arkan gave a slight nod, opened the folder, and began reading. His brow furrowed by the second line.

"Another request to revise the dam construction?" Arkan murmured, his voice low but tense. "This is the third time they’ve submitted revisions in two months. What is it this time?"

Marcel took a breath before answering. "According to the field supervisor, the soil structure shifted after last week’s heavy rain. The original foundation won’t be able to hold if water levels rise as projected."

Arkan leaned back in his chair, tapping the tip of his pen against his lips. "If we approve this, we’ll have to divert funds from the eastern irrigation project. But if we don’t, and the dam fails..."

"The resulting flood could damage three small villages and shut down trade routes for weeks," Marcel finished, not waiting for permission.

"Fine. Approve the revision. Divert the funds from the irrigation project, but make sure an independent oversight team from Florence goes down there. I won’t have this happen again due to basic calculation errors," Arkan ordered briskly, then signed the authorization sheet.

Marcel nodded, his expression relieved but still composed. "I’ll see to it immediately, sir."

Before Arkan could move on to the next document, the telephone in the corner rang—a direct line, not part of the usual internal network, but connected to the main reception desk.

Arkan glanced over, then picked up the receiver. "Arkan speaking."

The voice on the other end was calm yet firm, with the tone of a receptionist trying to remain composed under pressure. "Sir, there’s a guest claiming to be sent directly by the Royal Palace of Lutharia... She identifies herself as Princess Marie."

Arkan froze, his body straightening in his chair as though jolted from deep thought. His gaze sharpened—not with anger, but with shock that he couldn’t conceal.

"What did you say... Princess Marie?" Arkan’s voice was soft, nearly a whisper, yet enough to make Marcel pause in his tracks. The man’s eyes shifted—not only in surprise, but as if an old weight buried long ago was slowly resurfacing.

"Princess Marie of this kingdom... is here?" Marcel muttered to himself, trying to grasp the oddity of a high-ranking noble arriving without any prior notice.

Still holding the receiver, Arkan quickly asked, "Wait. Did she bring an official letter?"

"Yes, sir," the receptionist replied. "I’ve checked the seal. It’s genuine. Definitely from the royal court."

There was a brief silence before Arkan nodded, even though the person on the other end couldn’t see it. "Very well... Escort her to the reception room. Don’t overlook a single detail in the security."

"Understood, sir. I’ll guide her there right away."

Once the call ended, Arkan slowly placed the receiver back down, then looked at Marcel, who was still waiting—his expression alert, but not panicked.

"So it begins..." Arkan finally said, his tone calm again, though still shadowed by the weight of unspoken questions.

Marcel crossed his arms and let out a heavy breath. "Haaah... Not a single day without surprises. Alright, I’ll step out for now. We can resume discussion on the irrigation matter later."

Arkan gave a slow nod, his gaze already drifting to the window overlooking the castle gates. "Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into something bigger."

###

Soft, measured footsteps echoed through the long corridor leading to the meeting room, resonating like the chime of spring winds slipping into a hall long filled with the bustle of governance. A few servants and guards standing along the corridor instinctively bowed as the silhouette of a long gown layered in soft purple lace passed by, accompanied by a faint scent of lavender and rose lingering subtly in the air.

Princess Marie of Lutharia was not a stranger to the court—yet her presence in a border region like this still felt out of place. Her long golden hair flowed neatly beneath a semi-transparent veil, glinting under the evening light filtering through stained-glass windows. Her gaze was calm, yet every movement carried a sense of determination, as if each step had been calculated long before her arrival.

Clutched tightly in her hand was a leather scroll tube bound with silver thread—every gesture she made declared she had not come as a mere guest, but as an envoy with purpose. Her face looked youthful, but there was a maturity etched into the firmness of her jawline and the way she regarded the guards who greeted her politely, yet cautiously. She might not have reached the age of twenty-five, but her reputation among the capital’s political circles had long preceded her name.

Marie entered the meeting room without hesitation. As the doors opened wide, she stepped inside without waiting for invitation. A soldier held the door open with a bow, and as she crossed the threshold, her eyes met Arkan’s—already seated at the far end of the large wooden table, several documents still open in front of him.