Reborn as an Extra with the SSS-Divine Debt System and my Past Skills

After the first hint of attack, the security around Dawn Village was tightened. Patrols doubled, guard shifts lengthened, and even the wolves prowled the borders with restless energy.

But despite the sudden reinforcement, no further assault came, not even a whisper of it, and a full day passed in uneasy calm.

The villagers, blissfully unaware of what had happened to the patrol, continued their daily lives in peace. To them, nothing was amiss.

But Lucian knew better.

He could feel something stirring just beyond their reach. Shadows didn't strike once and vanish without reason—they lingered, waited, and planned.

For now, he couldn't afford to pour all his attention into unseen enemies. An urgent matter had already landed in his hands.

A mission.

"So the time has finally come. I cannot afford for things to go wrong at such a time."

Not just any mission, but the first one that fate itself had marked as belonging to the so-called "hero."

A supply request from another settlement in desperate need of food and medicine. The timing was too perfect, too deliberate—as though the world itself was testing them.

The mission request contained no name, no exact location until now, but Lucian had made arrangements with what little information he was given—preparing supplies, assigning guards, and planning routes to avoid the most dangerous areas.

Only now that he had the letter did he know where he actually needed to go.

But the sudden emergence of shadow threats the night before left him uneasy.

He could not shake the feeling that whoever was targeting Dawn Village wanted Verus, the hero, above all else.

And if demons were indeed behind it, then this "urgent request" might be little more than bait.

Lucian leaned back in his chair, the wooden letter still clutched in his hand, his expression unreadable.

His instincts screamed that this was a trap. But delaying was not an option either—if the letter was genuine, people were suffering even as he sat here thinking.

He glanced toward the window. Snow drifted down in a quiet curtain, but something moved beyond the flakes.

A flicker of black, cutting across the pale sky. His eyes narrowed.

Not a bird.

Not anything natural.

Lucian stood, reached into his desk, and pulled out a piece of wood—ordinary at first glance, but infused with his mana.

He flicked his wrist, and the sliver of enchanted wood shot out like an arrow. It sliced through the cold air, struck the shadow overhead, and burst into a sharp explosion of light.

"Tsk."

Lucian's expression hardened.

So it was as he feared. The same enemy that had attacked the patrols was now spying on them, creeping closer with each attempt.

The World Tree's massive branches, the very shield that sheltered Dawn Village from the endless blizzard, had become a blind spot.

He tapped his desk with a finger, already reaching a decision.

"It seems I can't delay any longer. I should get this mission started before things change even more. But first, I should take care of the village's safety."

Among his many projects, there was one untested prototype—a mana barrier designed to envelop the entire village.

If activated, it would form a translucent dome, cutting off prying eyes and fending off lesser intrusions.

It wasn't complete, not by any stretch, but even in its imperfect state, it might be their best line of defense.

Lucian picked up the pieces of the device scattered across his desk and began fitting them together.

"If they want to test us, then let's see if they can withstand this."

Lucian placed the final piece into the half-finished prototype. His hands pressed against the carved runes, feeding mana into the formation.

Lines of light raced across the wood, humming in response.

The faint outline of a dome shimmered briefly over the rooftops, before fading from view. To the ordinary eye, it was gone.

But Lucian could feel it—the barrier was in place, subtle but strong. Enough, at least, to warn him of another intrusion.

He exhaled slowly and leaned back, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

"This should hold up for now."

For every move he made, the enemy would make another. And with Verus now under his protection, the game had become even more dangerous.

Lucian's gaze lingered on the horizon. Somewhere beyond the endless snow, an enemy was waiting. Watching.

And he would be ready.

Far away, the hooded figure who had unleashed the shadows felt a sudden ache in her chest. Her connection to the familiar severed, the link breaking with a final jolt.

Her red lips curled downward.

"So… my little bird is gone."

She murmured, tilting her head as though listening to the echoes of the destroyed creature. Her voice was soft, but every word dripped with venomous amusement.

"Humans once trembled before my children. At the mere flutter of their wings, they would scatter like frightened prey."

She raised her hand, black smoke curling around her fingers before fading into the cold wind.

"But now? They destroy them without fear. As if shadows are nothing more than pests."

Her hood shifted slightly, revealing the pale curve of her jaw and the cruel smile etched there.

"Perhaps I've been away too long. Perhaps it's time to remind them… what it means to cower in true darkness."

But she didn't act on impulse. No, her orders were clear, and she had no intention of disobeying—not yet.

She had a mission, and her master's will came before her own hunger for destruction.

The human named Verus.

The so-called "fate breaker."

She tapped her chin, golden eyes glinting beneath the hood.

"They've hidden you well in that quaint little village… but nothing escapes me forever. For Lord Silvanus, I will find you. I will drag you back screaming if I must."

Her gaze lifted toward the sky, the falling snow dissolving against the heat of her aura.

"And once my master has made use of you, everything will bow to us demons."

For now, she stepped back into the storm, vanishing as though she had never been there. Only the whisper of her laughter lingered in the air—low, mocking, and filled with promise.