Coin’s Edge: Reincarnated as a Extra

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"Damn! I never wanted to use it in a place like this!" Hector slightly gasped, struggling to breathe as he poured all his strength into running away.

In truth, he rarely used the power of the B-Rank Artifact, even though it could shift the very tide of his battle at the right moment.

Still, he would only use it in very specific cases—he had plenty of reasons to avoid relying on it directly.

One of them was that he lacked the strength and authority to wield it as though it were an ordinary weapon, so he always used it in secret.

More importantly, he didn't like showing that special skill of his… He wanted it hidden—as deeply as possible.

After all, the advantage it granted him was enormous.

A prime example of that was the outcome he had just achieved.

He always hoped no one would ever find out. Ideally, anyone who experienced this skill would die instantly, allowing him to keep his trump card hidden.

However, Berrey was far too powerful, especially as she used the rhythm's corruption. He didn't want to make the same mistake he had made during that fight with the skeletal prisoner. Besides, he had already gathered a great deal of information from Berrey at that moment.

She had revealed all her skills.

He had a hunch why she kept her distance—to trigger the skill known as Dimensional Slash.

And he wouldn't let her use it so easily again.

He had used all his strength—just in time.

But now, he had to run, because the commotion would surely draw attention to this area, where there were many prisoners and Jailers.

And this was bad. Really bad.

"I hope she's gone to hell."

He ran, burning through his remaining mana, glancing back toward the place where the battle had just ended.

Yet, a trace of regret and disappointment clung to him.

Basically, he had lost his only chance to finish her off.

Naturally, he should have killed her right then—Berrey had clearly lost the ability to fight back or even resist—but there were too many other things he had to deal with to pour all his focus into that.

"Lucky bitch!" he hissed through gritted teeth, biting down on his regret as he turned his gaze forward again and ran as if he'd never run before.

And that's how it went—for the next thirty minutes.

He had covered a good distance through the massive prison, but the trail he left behind was nothing short of a massacre.

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At last, he was nearing the location his group had marked as their escape route.

He hadn't stopped for even a moment since he began fleeing.

However, his steps began to slow as a dreadful sensation crept into his senses.

"Oh man… This just freaking sucks."

The corner of his dry lips curled helplessly as he took in the scene before him.

He came to a full stop—completely frozen in place.

And at that moment, a cold, metallic voice cut through the air.

"Well… Behold the little rat~~"

A jailer grinned with measured confidence, his eyes locked on Hector.

Beside him, another muscular jailer gave a slight nod, arms folded behind his back, and spoke politely:

"You have my respect… You put up a good effort."

But before he could finish, yet another jailer interrupted him bluntly.

"Come on, buddy. Don't waste your words on someone like this filthy rat. He doesn't deserve respect."

A young jailer with bare head, called Lesley, stepped out from the shadows, joining the two standing ahead, letting out a mocking chuckle toward Hector.

He added,

"And now, what makes you think you can fight us? Huh?"

Everything grew still—eerily quiet—before the young jailer tilted his head, speaking with a teasing tone:

"Oh, I almost forgot. If you're looking for your friends… they're over there!"

The two other jailers simply smiled after his words.

All of them turned their focus toward a specific area—one filled with a chilling, gruesome tension.

It wasn't just disturbing. It was horrifying.

There were rivers of blood and a grotesque mass of corpses scattered everywhere.

Hector wasn't even sure if what he was seeing... was really his team.

All the bodies were torn into chunks—limbs, torsos, and heads strewn about like trash across a butchered battlefield.

But as he stared, certain things started to register—familiar items, fragments of armor, or bits of clothing.

One body in particular seemed to have suffered the most—countless blades impaled it in a twisted spiral, as if they had danced around the poor soul before ending his life.

His head… was smashed into pulp by a savage, unrelenting blow.

At that point, there was only one thing Hector could say.

"FUCK!"

And deep inside, he could only curse at himself.

…

"Hmm... You don't seem too emotional about your friends, huh?"

Right then, the muscular jailer shook his head slightly, muttering as if answering his own question.

"Haizz… Yeah. Why would lunatics like him ever care?"

"All you fucking rats have been corrupted, plain and simple."

…

"In the end, they were never comrades, just a toxic relationship, leeching off each other."

Hector glared at the muscular jailer—the one who always muttered things that had nothing to do with the situation.

Of course, he didn't dare say it aloud. He just cursed him silently in his mind.

"Well, my senior, I think he's insulting you right now,"

The jailer, who looked like a mature guy, said, eyes sharp as he studied Hector's expression.

"Hahaha, isn't that right? Where are you cursing me in your head right now?"

The muscular jailer threw his head back, laughing loudly…

But the laughter didn't last long.

A sudden silence spread over the group like a dark veil.

Hector sensed it first—But what came next was far worse than anything he had imagined.

An unbearable pain tore through his body, radiating from his abdomen.

He slowly looked down, trembling in disbelief.

"Ah!"

A long sword had impaled his gut—clean and deep, with agonizing precision.

He grabbed at the blade with shaking hands, trying to keep it from cutting any deeper.

His knees buckled beneath him as he fought to stay upright, grimacing, eyes locked on the muscular jailer ahead.

"I hate it when people insult me… My reputation matters!"

The jailer leaned forward, his gaze filled with mockery and sadistic delight.

He twisted the blade inside Hector's abdomen, slowly—intentionally.

Blood burst from Hector's mouth and poured from the wound in his belly.

"Don't worry. A privileged prisoner like you, one simple stab won't kill you. You're gonna survive… not like that trash."

The two other jailers nodded in agreement, glancing casually toward the mangled corpses of the common prisoners nearby.