Don't Want to Be Ordinary Even Though I'm an Extra Character-Chapter 50: [49] Author

-Arkan Lawrence-

I floated in an endless expanse, as though suspended among the stars. My body felt weightless, but my mind was heavy with confusion.

"Where... where am I?" I muttered, my voice vanishing into the cosmic silence.

The skies around me glittered with countless stars. Galaxies swirled in a chaotic dance, and auroras painted the void with vivid hues of blue, green, and pink. It felt as though I had stepped into the very heart of the universe itself.

"Kukukuku~"

A soft, unsettling chuckle echoed from somewhere near me—close, too close.

I spun around instinctively. "Who’s there?!" I shouted, my eyes darting frantically in search of the voice’s source.

And there it was.

A figure began to materialize in the starlit void. Its humanoid form defied logic. It had no discernible face, only a void of darkness reflecting the glittering expanse of stars within it. Long, shimmering hands—like strands of the cosmos—floated ethereally by its sides.

"Who are you?" I demanded, voice trembling as I fought against the chill of fear creeping up my spine.

The figure grinned—or at least it felt as though it did, even though it had no mouth. "Heh, there’s no need to be startled. You already know who I am," it said smoothly.

"I know you? That’s impossible. I’ve never seen anything like you before!" I shot back, my voice louder to mask my unease.

Its laughter resonated once more, light yet ominous, like whispers carried by the wind across a desolate plain. "Ah, is that what you believe? Allow me to remind you."

Before I could respond, the scene around me shifted.

Suddenly, I was no longer drifting in space but standing in a small, familiar room. On a desk before me lay stacks of novels—books whose covers I knew all too well.

"This is..." I murmured, picking up one of the books. Its title glared back at me in bold, embossed lettering: Warrior Destiny.

"This..." The words left my lips in disbelief as I turned to face the strange figure.

"Do you see now?" it asked, its tone a mix of condescension and amusement.

I stared at it, realization hitting me like a bolt of lightning. "You... You’re..."

The figure inclined its head, or so it seemed. "Yes. I am the writer. The author of Warrior Destiny, and the creator of this world."

The book fell from my hands. The weight of those words bore down on me.

The author. The writer of Warrior Destiny.

My pulse quickened, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming bewilderment flooding my mind. Meeting the author of a novel I loved and now lived within was beyond comprehension. What kind of creator stands before their creation like a god among mortals?

"You’re the author?" I muttered, barely keeping my thoughts straight.

It nodded again. "Correct. The architect of this reality, the weaver of its tapestry, the hand behind the pen."

For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. My thoughts raced faster than I could process, whirling like galaxies in chaos. Questions—dozens, hundreds—bubbled to the surface of my mind.

Finally, I found the strength to voice the one that mattered most: "Why am I here?"

The figure tilted its head, the absence of its face making its intentions unreadable.

"Ah, the fundamental question," it said, tone calm but with an undercurrent of intrigue. "But just because it’s a simple question doesn’t mean I can give you a simple answer."

"Then make it simple," I demanded, frustration creeping into my tone.

The author laughed, its voice echoing again, neither malevolent nor kind. It folded its arms, and the starlit patterns on its body swirled in response.

"Very well. If you insist. I’ll explain as plainly as I can."

The being paused, as though savoring the weight of its next words.

"You are here because you are an anomaly. A thread not meant to be in the tapestry. This world needed something—or someone—different. A deviation from the script. Somehow, for reasons even I did not foresee, you fit that need."

I frowned, my heart racing at the implications of its words. "An anomaly? So... what? I’m just some kind of mistake?"

The figure let out a small, amused sigh, and while its expression didn’t change—because it had no face—it exuded an air of pity.

"Mistake? Fate? Serendipity? Call it whatever you wish. The truth is, you are here because the story required your presence. This world demands you."

Its cryptic answer irritated me further, filling my veins with a new surge of defiance.

"Why should I care?" I shot back, clenching my fists. "I never asked for this. I never wanted to be part of your world!"

The figure remained silent for a moment. Then, with a voice calm yet unyielding, it replied:

"Arkan, you weren’t chosen. You appeared on your own," the figure explained, its voice calm yet resonant with authority. "Something about your personality, your knowledge, and the way you confront life made you different from any ordinary character. You slipped into the cracks of this story, entirely by accident."

I exhaled deeply, trying to process the explanation. "So... I’m basically a glitch in your story’s system?"

The figure let out a loud, lively laugh. "That’s one way to put it. But yes, you’re the ’glitch’ that changed everything. And do you know what? That makes the story even more interesting."

I stared at it, searching for some hint of ulterior motives behind its words. "Then, what about your role? You call yourself the author, but from my perspective, you’re more like a deity overlooking this world. Isn’t that a contradiction?"

It folded its ethereal arms, and the glowing stars within its form dimmed slightly. "I play different roles. Sometimes I’m the author, sometimes the observer, and occasionally the mischievous meddler in the tale. This world is my canvas, and I take great joy in watching how it unfolds—especially when anomalies like you come into play."

"So, you just sit and watch?" I asked skeptically.

"Sometimes. Other times, I intervene, like now. But that doesn’t mean I control everything. Even I don’t know how this story will end, especially now that you’re in it."

For a moment, I was silent, mulling over its words. The space around us grew even quieter, as if the very fabric of this cosmic realm was paying attention to our conversation.

"So," I said softly, "there’s been a butterfly effect, and you’re here to try to straighten things out, right?"

The figure chuckled, a sound like ripples spreading across a calm lake. "Ah, Arkan. Now you’re catching on. Exactly! There’s been an unavoidable deviation in fate. This story... it’s no longer what I originally designed. It all began when you, a transmigrant, chose to veer off the monotonous path you were given."

It stepped closer, its luminous form radiating a nearly divine presence. Raising one shimmering hand, it conjured a holographic display in the air between us.

Scenes from the story began to unfold. I saw Clara, her cheerful smile lighting up her face as she handed bread to the village’s children—a moment I clearly remembered reading about.

But then, the image twisted. Clara’s radiant smile darkened, contorting into a sinister grin. She stood amidst the ruins of the village, laughing with cruel satisfaction as fires engulfed the homes around her.

"See?" the figure said, gesturing toward the vision. "Clara, who was meant to be a guiding light for Rainer, has become a shadow haunting this story."

I swallowed hard, a strange pang of guilt welling up within me, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

"Why?" I asked, desperate to divert my thoughts from that guilt. "Why did Clara change? Was that my fault?"

It shrugged, a motion that looked like a dance of light. "Fault or not, you are the catalyst. Clara may have always had the potential to change, but your presence accelerated the process. Your choices, Arkan, are the new threads woven into this narrative’s tapestry."

Closing my eyes, I recalled Clara’s face before she was revealed as a villain. Her kind demeanor, her gentle smile—now all of it felt like a distant memory.

"So," I said finally, my voice quieter but steadier, "are you here to offer me a way out?"

It laughed again, but this time, the sound was softer—less mocking and more... encouraging.

"No, I’m not here to give you answers. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? And you’re not the type of character who likes easy solutions, are you?"

I snorted faintly. "So you just showed up to tell me everything’s spiraling out of control, and now I have to deal with it on my own?"

I stared at him with furrowed brows. His presence in front of me was completely messing with my logic. Shouldn’t an entity like this appear at the climax of the story, when the protagonist was on the verge of victory?

Or at the very least, in the middle of the tale, to provide an emotional push or some monumental clue.

But now?

"I can read your thoughts, you know," he said suddenly, cutting through my mental rambling.

"Huh?" I flinched, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible.

He sighed deeply, the movements of his radiant form reminiscent of someone growing tired of handling a child. "Don’t overthink this, Arkan. I’m not here to make things more complicated than they already are."

I swallowed hard, feeling a pressing curiosity bubbling in my chest, but before I could open my mouth, he continued.

"Alright, let’s get straight to the point. The reason I’m able to communicate with you like this... is because of that ring."

My eyes widened as I immediately looked down, staring at my left hand where the ring fit perfectly around my finger.

"This ring?" I asked.

He gave a small nod. "Yes, that artifact is one of the oldest remnants of the ancient civilizations of this world—a relic from an era when humans and deities interacted far more closely."

My brows knit tighter, struggling to recall whether there had been any mention of this ring in the novel. But there was nothing. This object had never appeared in the story I had read.

"Wait... You’re saying this ring comes from an ancient civilization? What does that have to do with me?"

He chuckled, the sound echoing like a gentle breeze sweeping through an open field. "This ring isn’t just any artifact, Arkan. You’ve heard of Solomon, haven’t you?"

I froze, my gaze locking onto him in complete shock. "Solomon? You mean King Solomon? The one from Earth’s legends?"

He nodded again, this time with an expression that felt like a faint, knowing smile. "Yes. The Solomon of your world. The wise king who controlled 72 demons, who wielded unparalleled power. This ring was inspired by his legend. The ancient civilizations of this world created it as a symbol of both power and wisdom."

I was speechless, trying to process what he had just said. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"So... this ring is the reason I can talk to you?" I asked hesitantly, my voice dripping with doubt.

He shrugged. "More than that. The ring connects you to the core of this world. And because I am part of that core, we can communicate."

I bit my lip, utterly out of my depth. The implications of his words were far beyond anything I’d prepared for.