Chapter 1 Reincarnated As An Extra

  Owen braced against the desert winds, his armour stained with blood. His black cape billowed behind him, stretching his shadow across the war-torn battlefield, giving him an almost demonic presence amidst the chaos. Facing the thousand Lords, a single thought weighed on him—was any of this truly worth it?

  "Do you ever feel sorry for main characters?"

  Owen's voice cut through the office's rhythm—keyboards clacking, half-hearted TV talk, phones ringing.

  Louis, from the adjacent cubicle, barely looked up. "What?"

  "I was just thinking," Owen said, glancing up from the page on his phone, "these characters—they go through so much. Constant battles, world-saving missions, never-ending struggles… doesn't it just seem exhausting? I mean, wouldn't it be kind of miserable? Sure, you'd be strong. But man, holding that kind of responsibility… I couldn't imagine that."

  Louis sighed, still staring at his screen. "I can hardly imagine that I'm still working here." Louis leaned back and cracked his fingers. He met Owen's gaze. "You're reading that titan story again?"

  Owen grinned at his phone. "Chapter 3000. It's getting good."

  "3000? I'm shocked you haven't been fired yet."

  "Please." Owen rolled his eyes. "Caroline's playing Candy Crush. At least I'm reading. It's educational."

  Louis finally glanced over at Caroline and his gaze brightened. He ripped his eyes away before saying, "Educational, huh? Isn't it a webnovel? What can you possibly learn from that? I hear they're all written by amateurs."

  "Well…" Owen coughed. He didn't really have much of a defence. The story wasn't exactly Shakespeare. He'd found it buried in the webnovel archives like some forgotten relic. By chapter 3000, he was probably its last reader. No, he was its last reader. But there was something about it—a strange popcorn attraction in the endless loop of a guy trapped in time, fighting monsters, levelling up, building empires—destroying them, and doing it all over again but… quicker.

  It was his escape.

  After a moment's thought, he said, "Not giving up, even when everything's against you? That no matter what, he keeps going, forging ahead."

  Louis chuckled. "Right."

  Owen smiled, but lately, that same comfort was fading. A vague restlessness had begun gnawing at him. Reading helped him escape the monotony of his life, but even that wasn't enough anymore. His eyes flicked toward the window, the city's skyline stretching far into the distance. He sighed.

  There's gotta be more to life than this.

  "Psst," Louis nudged him again.

  Owen barely had time to shove his phone under his thigh before Chris, their boss, walked over, tapping his foot against the carpet. "How's that project coming along, Owen?"

  Owen forced a smile. "Almost there."

  "Well, I need it on my desk tomorrow. You've got nothing else on, so stay late if you have to. Just get it done." Chris shot him a curt nod before retreating back to his office.

  Owen caught Louis's smirk and resisted rolling his eyes. Asshole, he thought.

  He turned back to his computer, trying to refocus. Then a notification popped up: You've received an email.

  Weird, Owen thought. It had come through his secondary email—the one he used for signing up to random sites. Plus, he'd disabled notifications for it. Curiosity piqued, he clicked on the pop-up.

  To: Dragonslayerlord69420@gmail.com

  Yeah, that's embarrassing, Owen thought, cringing.

  Subject: A Titan's Journey — An Author's Thanks.

  The author… emailed me? Owen straightened up, narrowing his eyes as he opened it.

  Content:

  Dear reader, you've almost completed my story, and for that, I give you my sincerest thanks. Writing has been a long journey with its trials, but knowing you've been my, well, only reader... warms my ancient heart.

  As a token of my gratitude, I offer you a gift. Something special. Something just for you.

  Choose wisely.

  Reverend Storycrafter.

  Owen blinked. What the hell? He reread the message, a strange chill creeping up his spine. Before he could process it, three choices appeared on the screen, each represented by an image of a piece of parchment, covered in old, scrawled writing.

  The Lord Extra: Pitiful talent, but a godlike Lord Emblem.

  Owen leaned in, curious. Was this like one of those build-a-character sheets like from Dungeons and Dragons? The Lord Emblem was the cornerstone of power for any new Lord—They were a gift of sorts, for all new Lords. Some gained personal power-ups, while others gained mighty bonuses to their summoned units.

  But low talent meant barely any attribute growth. Still… a godlike emblem sounded tempting.

  The Hunted Lord: High talent, great skills… but many enemies.

  Owen frowned. Being hunted? That sounded like a nightmare. No thanks. If he was given a new life, he'd want it nice and easy. Give him some grassland and a farm and chicken. At the silly thought of retiring early in a magical world, Owen forged on.

  The Forsaken Lord: Gifted with immense strength, but cursed by fate.

  Owen's eyes shifted between the choices, weighing them in his mind. There was no "safe" option—each came with dangerous drawbacks. After a long pause, he clicked on The Lord Extra. Sure, the attribute growth would be terrible, but at least he'd have no enemies chasing him down. He didn't need that kind of stress. Plus, A God-Like Emblem sounded awesome.

  He tapped the screen, locking in his choice. Nothing happened. No pop-ups, no ads for some low-budget game, no virus. Just… Just the office hum—the sound of keyboards, the soft murmur of voices. Owen sighed. "Figures," he muttered, about to turn his attention back to work.

  Then he noticed something odd.

  Jock, from accounting, burst into the office, slamming the door behind him. Owen's brow furrowed. Jock's face was pale, his hands trembling. His shirt was splattered with something dark… something red.

  Blood?

  Owen stood. "Jock, you alright—"

  From the corner of his eye, he saw something outside the window. Thick, dark smoke billowing into the sky, twisting upward like it came from burning tires. The acrid stench of it hit his nostrils—sharp and suffocating.

  The office around him buzzed on, oblivious.

  But Owen couldn't shake the feeling that something, somewhere, had just gone very wrong.

  Owen wrinkled his nose and approached the window, about to shut it.

  "God damn," Louis spat and walked over. "What's that smell?"

  "I think a building is on fire, or something," Owen guessed as he watched the smoke rise further. "That sucks. That's probably someone's business or home."

  "Who cares," replied Louis, rolling his eyes. He massaged his neck. "Management should really invest in better chairs. Feel like my spine is going to snap." He turned and noticed Jock. "What's up with Jock?"