I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra

In the end, I was dragged all the way to the end of the street leading to the inn, a very specific sweet spot where foot traffic existed just enough to be profitable but not enough to attract guards with too much free time.

It was the kind of place where shady deals, suspicious vendors, and people who definitely "forgot" to pay taxes naturally gravitated toward.

Dagur and Thorne finally stopped and unceremoniously plopped me onto a wooden chair.

"Sit," Dagur said, pointing like I was a misbehaving child.

I crossed my arms, legs, and possibly my soul, sulking as they began setting up a table and a tent with efficiency. A folding table appeared, then a tent, then a banner that looked like it had survived at least three explosions and one fire.

Clearly, this was not their first time doing something illegal in broad daylight.

"Wait here," they said in unison.

"Wait here for what?" I snapped. "For destiny? For regret? For—"

Too late. They were already walking away.

I stared after them, incredulous. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. I hate both of you."

With a heavy sigh, I reached into my inventory and pulled out my Jester’s Mask, slipping it over my face. The familiar weight settled over my face, obscuring my identity. At least no Players would recognize me and start screaming about bounties or revenge or that one incident that was totally not my fault.

I looked up just in time to see a group of seven very unpleasant-looking men swaggering toward me. Scars, tattoos, mismatched armor, and expressions that are unpleasant to look at.

"Oh?" one of them said, cracking his knuckles. "A new vendor?"

Another leaned in too close. "Hey, who gave you the guts to set up a stall here?"

A third sneered. "Do you even know who owns this area?"

The fourth tilted his head, squinting at my face. "And what’s with the mask? You trying to be funny or something?"

I rolled my eyes so hard I wanted to remove my mask again just to show it to them. "This isn’t even my stall," I said lazily. "But yes, I got permission to sell here."

The thug in front laughed. "Oh yeah? And whose permission did you—"

"Mine."

The voice was deep, calm, and cold. The kind of voice that made people reconsider their life choices.

The thugs froze.

Slowly, they turned around.

Behind them stood Thorne—except not Thorne. He was taller and broader. His appearance had completely changed—older, broader and scarred in different places.

"B-Boss?" one thug squeaked.

"Boss?!"

In perfect, synchronized terror, all seven dropped to their knees and bowed so fast I thought they might snap their spines.

"S-Sorry, boss!"

"We didn’t know!"

"Our mistake!"

I blinked. ’Wow. That Gift was unfair.’

Thorne—Boss Edition—stepped forward, hands behind his back. "I gave this person permission to sell here," he said calmly. "Is there anyone who objects?"

"N-No boss!"

"None at all!"

"Absolutely not!"

Heads shook violently like bobble dolls in an earthquake.

Thorne hummed. "Good." Then he tilted his head slightly. "Instead of apologizing to me... why don’t you buy from that person instead?"

He pointed at me.

I frowned behind the mask.

’What is he saying? There are literally no items on the table—’

I glanced down.

The table was now fully covered with a thick cloth.

Then I glanced to my side.

Dagur stood there, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up like this was all part of a perfectly normal business plan.

My eye twitched. ’...These men are going to be the death of me.’

"Well," I said, standing up and placing both hands dramatically on the cloth. "Since fate has dragged you all here—"

I yanked the cloth away.

"Behold!"

The table was instantly revealed to be stacked to the heavens.

Weapons gleamed in the sunlight—swords, daggers, bows with enchanted strings. Armor pieces neatly arranged, potions bubbling softly in glass vials, bundles of rare herbs tied with twine, even a few suspiciously glowing items I decided not to question.

"From weapons to armor," I announced grandly, "potions to herbs—"

The thugs stared.

Eyes wide. Mouths open.

"We sell everything," I continued, sweeping my arm dramatically, "and anything!"

One thug whispered, "Boss... are these legit?"

Thorne crossed his arms. "Does she look like someone who sells fake goods?"

The thug shook his head so hard his hood fell off.

One of them whispered, "...That’s actually some good stuff."

Another nodded. "Yeah, boss-level quality."

The thugs immediately started closing in around the table, hands reaching out like greedy raccoons who’d just discovered an unattended picnic. Fingers hovered over sword hilts, potion vials, and shiny trinkets, eyes glittering with poorly concealed desire.

Before any of them could actually touch something, I snapped.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

I smacked hands left and right with the precision of someone who had spent way too much time dealing with idiots.

"Ow—what the fuck was that for?!" one of them yelled, clutching his wrist.

"You can look," I said calmly, folding my arms, "but no touching. These are all valuable."

The group glared at me.

"How are we supposed to check if the items are in good condition then?" another thug demanded.

"Buy it first," I replied without hesitation.

Silence.

Pure, stunned, brain-buffering silence.

The seven of them exchanged looks, mouths opening and closing like fish experiencing their first existential crisis.

Then I smiled behind the mask.

"Special deal," I added cheerfully. "Fifty percent off to the first buyer who purchases any item from my stall."

The thugs immediately started fighting.

"MOVE—"

"OUT OF THE WAY!"

"DO YOU EVEN HAVE MONEY?!"

"I DO, FUCKER!"

"HEY, STOP STEALING MY COINS!"

The group instantly devolved into chaos. Elbows flew. Someone got shoved. Another nearly face-planted trying to dig through his coin pouch. One of them was actively biting a coin to make sure it was real.

Music to my ears.

"HEY!" one of them shouted, pointing wildly. "How much is this?"

I followed his finger and raised an eyebrow. It was an enchanted bow—sleek, well-crafted, mana lines glowing faintly along the limbs. Definitely high-grade.

"That’s ten thousand GP," I said. "But if you’re the first buyer, I’ll give it to you for five."

His eyes went feral.

"I’LL TAKE IT—"

"Six thousand!" another thug yelled, shoving forward.

"I’ll give you eight thousand!" someone else barked.

Oh, this was beautiful.

Before I knew it, the stall had transformed into a full-blown auction house.

"Eight thousand five hundred!" I shouted, slamming my hand on the table.

"What?! Since when was this an auction?!"

"Nine thousand!" a passerby suddenly yelled, having finally realized what kind of item was on display.

More footsteps followed. Curious murmurs. People slowed down, then stopped entirely. A small crowd began forming, eyes lighting up as they took in the merchandise.

"Ten thousand!" someone shouted from the back.

"Eleven!"

"Twelve thousand!"

"Sold!" I declared, pointing dramatically at the final bidder.

The passerby handed over the coins with trembling hands, inspecting the bow afterward like he’d just won the lottery. When the enchantment flared to life under his touch, his face split into a grin so wide it bordered on unhinged.

"It’s real!" he exclaimed. "An absolute steal!"

I nodded modestly. "Pleasure doing business."

Unfortunately, that only made things worse.

Instead of dispersing, the crowd pressed closer.

"Hey, what about this dagger?"

"Is this armor fire-resistant?"

"Does that potion cure poison or paralysis?"

"Can you make a discount if I buy three?"

Questions started flying at me from every direction. Thugs, passersby, and random street lurkers all began clutching items they’d clearly already decided they wanted.

I glanced up just in time to see Dagur leaning against a wall nearby, arms crossed, grinning like a proud menace.

Thorne, still in disguise, gave me a subtle nod.

I sighed inwardly.

"Hey, what about this dagger?"

"Is this armor fire-resistant?"

"Does that potion cure poison or paralysis?"

"Can you make a discount if I buy three?"

Questions started flying at me from every direction. Thugs, passersby, and random street lurkers all began clutching items they’d clearly already decided they wanted.

I glanced up just in time to see Dagur leaning against a wall nearby, arms crossed, grinning like a proud menace.

Thorne, still in disguise, gave me a subtle nod.

I sighed inwardly.

While I was busy dealing with the customers, a familiar voice rang out all of a sudden.

"What’s going on here?"

I looked up—and immediately regretted it.

A man was peeking over the crowd, clearly drawn by the noise. He stepped closer, eyes scanning the stall.

"Oh? Merchandise?"

My stomach dropped.

Cypher Knoxx.

My brain short-circuited.

Before I could stop myself, I lowered my head instinctively—then realized a second too late that I was wearing a mask. Which meant lowering my head was suspicious instead of helpful.

I stayed frozen as he walked closer, boots stopping right in front of my stall.

"Ummm, excuse me," he said politely. "How much is this?"

He pointed at an enchanted sword resting on the table—mid-tier enchantment, balanced weight, and clean mana flow. Worth at least several thousand GP.