Don't Want to Be Ordinary Even Though I'm an Extra Character-Chapter 82: [81] The Infiltrators

-Third-Person POV-

Following Arkan’s orders, Florence wasted no time. Within three hours, she had already identified several individuals exhibiting suspicious behavior. Her sharp observation skills, combined with her expertise in infiltration and intelligence gathering as a former Sarasota assassin, allowed her to work efficiently without raising suspicion.

By the next day, rumors began spreading throughout Lawrence Castle—several staff members had suddenly resigned from their positions. The remaining servants and administrative workers were confused, unaware of the true reason behind these sudden departures.

But for Florence and Arkan, this was no surprise.

The term "resignation" was merely a polite cover-up for what had actually occurred. Three individuals had been captured in Florence’s silent operation and were now being held in the castle’s underground chambers.

No one knew where they had disappeared—except for a select few who could be trusted.

In the damp and dimly lit underground chamber, the three prisoners sat bound to wooden chairs, their expressions a mix of fear and defiance. The flickering light of torches along the stone walls cast eerie shadows, making the room feel even more suffocating.

Across from them, Arkan Lawrence sat calmly, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocked. His piercing gaze scanned over each of them, his expression unreadable.

Behind him, Florence stood silently, her cold eyes watching every movement, every breath they took.

Arkan let out a slow breath before offering a small, almost amused smile.

"Alright... I won’t waste time here. So let’s do this the easy way."

The three captives remained silent, either keeping their heads down or feigning indifference.

Arkan glanced at Florence. "Bring me some paper and a pen."

Without hesitation, Florence retrieved a notebook and a quill from a small table in the corner, handing them to him.

Flipping open the first page, Arkan tapped his fingers lightly on the wooden table, his voice smooth yet laced with authority.

"You see, I’m a very busy man," he mused. "And nothing is more irritating than being forced to deal with unnecessary distractions... like this."

One of the captives—a frail older man with graying hair—stole a nervous glance at Arkan but remained silent.

Leaning back into his chair, Arkan continued. "So let’s make things simple. You talk, and maybe... I’ll consider a lighter punishment."

Still, no one spoke.

Florence took a step forward, her voice calm yet threatening. "Lord Arkan is known to be a fair man... but I am not. If I start asking the questions, my methods will be far less merciful."

A younger man with a scar running down his cheek scoffed. "You think we’ll just spill everything?"

Arkan chuckled, his expression unreadable. "There are two kinds of people in this world."

His eyes hardened, gaze sharp as a blade.

"Those who can withstand pressure, and those who start doubting their choices the moment fear creeps into their minds."

His voice dropped slightly, sending a chill through the room.

"So... which group do you belong to?"

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Arkan turned to Florence. "Tell them something, Florence."

Florence stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper—but sharp as a dagger.

"You might think death is the worst punishment... but I can assure you, there are things far worse than dying."

The older man’s fingers trembled slightly on his lap.

Arkan gave a small, knowing smile, before snapping the notebook shut with a soft thap, the sound echoing in the chamber.

"Alright. Let’s make this even easier."

He leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Who sent you?"

The scarred man let out a forced chuckle, though there was a hint of unease in his eyes. "You really think we’ll—"

SRAAK!

A dagger embedded itself into the wooden table, mere inches from his hand.

Florence had moved faster than the eye could track, her icy glare unyielding.

The scarred man froze, sweat forming on his brow.

Arkan let out a disappointed sigh. "Tsk... I almost thought you were smarter than this."

Finally, the older man cracked, his voice trembling.

"W-We... We only received orders from someone... Not directly from the Marquis... Just a middleman. A man in a black cloak... He paid us to monitor this territory."

Arkan raised an eyebrow. "A name?"

The man shook his head weakly. "I... I don’t know... He never said his name..."

Arkan fell silent, deep in thought.

This information wasn’t enough, but it confirmed something—Marquis Arleon was indeed keeping a close watch on him... and possibly planning something bigger.

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at Arkan’s lips.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

He stood from his chair and turned to Florence.

"Keep them locked up. I want to investigate further before deciding what to do with them."

Florence nodded. "Understood."

Without another word, Arkan left the underground chamber, his mind racing with possibilities.

As Arkan walked through the dimly lit corridors of his castle, his fingers absentmindedly tapped against his forearm, deep in thought.

A middleman.

Someone unknown. Someone cautious.

Marquis Arleon had always been a political strategist, but why take such a roundabout approach?

Why use a third party instead of directly confronting me?

What is he waiting for?

One thing was clear—Marquis Arleon wasn’t the only one watching.

There was another force at play.

Arkan exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.

Then, his usual smirk returned, this time tinged with a dangerous glint.

Fine, then.

If they want to play games in the shadows...

Then I’ll burn their shadows down.

###

The soft scratching of a quill against parchment filled the quiet night within Lawrence Castle’s study. The glow of lanterns flickered along the stone walls, casting shadows over a desk cluttered with reports—harvest yields, construction updates, and economic summaries.

But Arkan’s mind was elsewhere.

His eyes scanned the documents, yet his thoughts spiraled beyond mere numbers. The information Florence had uncovered in the underground chambers still lingered heavily in his mind.

"Arleon is watching me..."

He had always known that dealing with Marquis Arleon was a double-edged sword. The man was not just an ally or a trade partner—he was a ruthless political strategist. His support came at a cost, and now that cost was becoming clear.

If spies had infiltrated his domain, it meant Arleon was waiting for something—a weakness, a mistake, an excuse to seize control of Lawrence.

Arkan set his quill down, his fingers interlocking as he leaned forward. His expression darkened.

"Damn it... this is too soon."

Lawrence was still growing—its military was newly established, its economy still stabilizing, and its infrastructure far from independent. If Arleon withdrew his support or turned against him, a direct confrontation was impossible.

"I can’t fight him head-on... Not yet."

But doing nothing wasn’t an option either. If Arkan continued playing along, he would eventually be reduced to a pawn—one easily sacrificed in the grand game of nobility.

A slow, measured breath left his lips. Acting rashly would be foolish, but he couldn’t allow his enemy to dictate the pace.

"I need to be the one controlling this game."

Arkan’s mind quickly outlined a three-step plan to counter the looming threat.

1️⃣ Securing Internal Stability

Every remaining spy must be rooted out. Florence had already proven her capability, but her work wasn’t finished. A network of informants needed to be established throughout Lawrence. No one—not even a servant or merchant—could move unchecked.

2️⃣ Building Military Strength in Secrecy

Not just conventional forces—firearms production under Gunnar was progressing. If he could accelerate the process and train an elite unit in their use, within six months, he could protect his land without relying on Arleon.

3️⃣ Expanding Influence Beyond Arleon’s Reach

Trade with Bastian was growing, but Arkan needed more than merchants. He required political allies—a noble independent of Arleon’s control or a financial backer with no loyalty to the Marquis.

"I need to look beyond this kingdom. Perhaps it’s time to reach out to independent nobles in the South or tap into international trade guilds."

The game had changed. This wasn’t just about developing Lawrence anymore—this was now a battle for survival.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," he said without turning.

Florence entered, silent as a shadow. Her expression remained stoic, but her piercing gaze suggested she had uncovered something significant.

Arkan leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Well?"

She placed a document on his desk. "I’ve investigated further. Two of the three prisoners were indeed spies—connected directly to Arleon’s network. They carried coded messages commonly used by Northern intelligence circles."

Arkan raised an eyebrow. "And the third?"

Florence’s voice dropped to a whisper.

"He’s... different."

Arkan’s fingers tapped against the desk. "Explain."

Florence’s expression hardened. "He has a mark beneath his wrist—a circle with three intersecting lines."

Arkan froze.

He knew that symbol.

This wasn’t Arleon’s work.

This was something far worse.

The Order of the Black Hand.

A covert organization—its influence stretching through politics, assassination, and the downfall of monarchs.

"So this isn’t just surveillance... I’m a target for something much larger."

Arkan’s expression darkened.

Closing his notebook, he stood and walked toward the window. The outside world seemed peaceful, as if nothing had changed. But Arkan knew better.

Beneath the surface, a storm was brewing.

"We can’t let this continue," he muttered.

Florence nodded. "Orders?"

Arkan’s gaze remained on the night sky.

"Track every merchant who has recently entered this land. Find who they’re meeting, where they go, and what they’re after."

Florence’s response was immediate. "Understood, Lord Arkan."

As she vanished into the night, Arkan remained deep in thought.

This wasn’t just about protecting his territory anymore.

It was about ensuring he wasn’t the one being played.

And if Arleon and the Black Hand thought they could manipulate him like a pawn...

Then he would burn their entire board to the ground.