Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Varen Drakov stepped out of the Sword Hall.

Morning light reached him almost immediately.

It caught along the exposed edge of the greatsword rising above his shoulder, ran across the dark metal for a brief instant, then disappeared as Varen descended from the entrance platform into the wider courtyard.

Lucavion watched.

The young man had clearly finished training only moments ago.

A dark fitted shirt clung closer around his shoulders and chest where sweat had dampened the fabric, while the sleeves had been drawn up toward his forearms. A leather brace covered one wrist. His trousers carried the plain reinforcement common among martial students, and his boots bore several thin streaks of pale dust from the Sword Hall floors.

His greatsword rested across his back.

Even sheathed, it possessed enough size to pull the eye.

Varen carried it with none of the stiffness Lucavion usually saw from people trying to make a heavy weapon look effortless. The sword belonged there. His shoulders had already learned its weight, and the slight angle of his upper body accommodated the weapon with the quiet familiarity of years.

More interestingly, heat still moved around him.

Lucavion felt it before he properly examined the mana.

Silvery-red traces lingered close beneath Varen’s skin, concentrated around his arms, shoulders and chest. They carried the residual circulation of somebody who had spent enough time forcing mana through the body that the pathways had yet to fully settle. Every few breaths, another faint wave escaped with the warmth rising from him.

The control had sharpened.

Lucavion’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Back during the tournament, Varen’s fire had possessed extraordinary refinement, yet refinement had also served as its cage. Every movement had been disciplined until even fury seemed required to pass inspection before emerging.

Their final exchange had broken part of that arrangement.

Now the mana beneath Varen’s skin felt denser.

Alive.

Its restraint resembled the patience of a flame waiting for fuel rather than a flame pressed beneath a lid.

Lucavion pursed his lips.

"Fiuu."

The whistle crossed the courtyard.

Varen’s next step stopped.

Lucavion’s mouth curved.

"You’re looking sharp."

For a moment, Varen remained facing away from him.

Then his head turned.

His gaze found Lucavion immediately.

Sharpness entered the courtyard with it.

Lucavion felt the change through his skin before Varen’s posture moved by any meaningful amount. The residual heat around the young man gathered closer, while his shoulders settled beneath the greatsword strap and his weight shifted through his feet.

Such a small adjustment.

Most students crossing nearby would probably have seen a swordsman recognizing an acquaintance.

Lucavion saw the opening of a stance.

His smile widened.

Varen’s eyes travelled across him once.

Face.

Shoulders.

Hands.

Estoc.

Then they returned to his eyes.

Something stirred behind that stare.

Fighting spirit.

Clean and immediate.

Lucavion almost laughed.

The man had just walked out of a training hall, sweat still drying against his skin, and apparently seeing Lucavion had convinced some part of him that the morning might contain another round.

’As expected from him.’

Lucavion slipped one hand into his pocket.

’He is a betrayed CEO archetype, after all.’

Powerful heir.

Cold temperament.

Beautifully packaged emotional damage.

A woman had betrayed him somewhere in the backstory, and the resulting tragedy apparently granted permanent permission to stand beside windows while looking as though love itself had personally offended his bloodline.

Varen had certainly qualified on paper.

Then the story had committed the irritating act of writing him rather well.

His resentment had teeth. His pride carried genuine responsibility beneath it. Even his distrust had grown from something uglier than wounded romance, because Varen had hated the man who betrayed his trust almost as much as he hated the younger version of himself who had offered that trust so freely.

Lucavion had liked him for that.

After meeting him, the feeling had become considerably less abstract.

Varen had taken everything Lucavion threw at him during their duel.

Mockery.

Pressure.

Pain.

Questions he would have preferred to leave buried.

Then he had done something useful with all of it.

At the entrance banquet, Lucavion had seen the result directly.

"You’ve changed."

Varen’s faint smile had survived the observation.

"I had to. The last time we crossed blades... you made sure I couldn’t stay the same."

Lucavion remembered his own answer more clearly.

"I didn’t do anything."

Because he hadn’t.

People oftentimes did not listen to him when he said this at all.

Perhaps the problem came from how easily people confused influence with ownership.

Lucavion could place a question in front of someone. He could strike where their form bent strangely, laugh when they clung too stubbornly to an answer, or force them into a situation where whatever they had carefully hidden became difficult to ignore.

Afterward, however, the choice belonged to them.

Varen had trained.

Varen had changed his sword.

Varen had taken whatever he found inside their duel and carried it farther than Lucavion ever asked him to.

Claiming that result for himself felt strangely dishonest.

’People really enjoy handing out responsibility when the result happens to be good.’

His eyes returned to the young man before him.

Varen had finished turning by then.

The fighting spirit within his gaze remained clear, though his posture gradually settled from that instinctive readiness. A faint line of sweat travelled from his temple toward his jaw, catching the morning light before disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

His eyes moved over Lucavion once more.

Then Varen spoke.

"You look idle."

Lucavion blinked.

Of all the greetings available to a civilized man—

His lips curved.

"Good morning to you too."

Varen’s expression shifted.

"Ah."

He seemed to consider the matter for a breath, as though Lucavion had reminded him of a social requirement he had temporarily misplaced somewhere between training and the courtyard.

Then he gave a small nod.

"Good morning."

Lucavion’s smile deepened.

Much better.

Varen glanced toward the Sword Hall behind him before looking at Lucavion again.

"What are you doing here?"

"Exploring."

"At the Sword Hall."

"Yes."

Varen’s brows lowered by a fraction.

Lucavion could almost hear the thought forming.

Where else would a swordsman explore?

He spared the man from asking.

"I finally have some free time. I thought I should see what this place actually offers before the Academy finds another examination to throw at me."

That earned the slightest movement at the corner of Varen’s mouth.

"You finished yours?"

"Everything until tonight."

"Etiquette."

Lucavion sighed.

"People keep saying that word like a threat."

Varen’s gaze lingered on him for a second.

Perhaps he was imagining Lucavion inside an etiquette examination.

His expression remained remarkably disciplined.

Lucavion respected the effort.

"What about you?" he asked.

Varen shifted the strap of the greatsword against his shoulder.

"Oral Examination."

"When?"

"Soon."

That explained why he had already begun walking away from the hall despite the energy still sitting beneath his skin.

Lucavion glanced toward the direction of the central academic buildings.

"You trained before it?"

"I had time."

Naturally.

Lucavion looked at the sweat drying along Varen’s forearms, then at the lingering silvery-red heat around his body.

Varen’s definition of having time appeared rather productive.

"Preparing your mind through violence?"

"My mind is fine."

"Then perhaps preparing the examiner?"

Varen’s gaze flattened.

Lucavion raised one hand.

"Good luck."

"I’ll manage."

Wehn the answer arrived, Lucavion did not have any reason to not believe Varen at all. He certainly appeared to be competent enough to manage it thoroughly.

Varen had never struck him as someone who struggled when questioned directly. He might speak sparingly, but silence and ignorance were entirely different things.

For several breaths, the two remained near the entrance while students continued moving around them. Somewhere inside the Sword Hall, steel struck against a warded target with a deep metallic THUMM, and the formation lines along one of the outer walls brightened in response.

Varen’s eyes shifted toward the sound.

The regret appeared quietly.

His fingers moved once near the strap across his chest, while his attention dropped toward Lucavion’s estoc.

"I would’ve preferred to stay."

Lucavion followed his gaze.

His eyebrows rose.

"For the Hall?"

Varen looked directly at him.

"To cross blades."

Ah.

That made considerably more sense.

The fighting spirit from earlier had remained after all.

Lucavion’s smile softened into something more genuine.

"I figured."

Varen’s eyes sharpened again.

He had always been easy to understand once swords entered the conversation.

Lucavion tipped his head toward the Academy around them.

"We’ll have time."

Varen remained quiet.

"I’ll be here for a while," Lucavion continued. "Unless the Academy discovers some wonderfully creative method of throwing me out before then."

Varen stared at him.

The silence stretched.

Then his gaze became almost severe.

"Indeed."

There was enough weight behind that single word to make Lucavion wonder which part Varen had agreed with.

That they had time?

Or that Lucavion possessed a realistic chance of being expelled?

He decided both were probably fair.

Varen turned slightly toward the Sword Hall.

"If you’re going inside, start with the movement grounds."

Lucavion’s attention sharpened.

"The movement grounds?"

"Past the main drill floor. The Sword Hall has several reserved training spaces with formation tracking built into them." Varen gestured with two fingers toward the interior. "The basic grounds record foot placement, balance changes, attack lines and recovery."

Now that sounded promising.

Lucavion glanced through the entrance again.

Earlier, he had noticed pale suspended lines beyond one of the partitions.

So that was what they were.

"They show mistakes?"

"They show movement."

Varen’s answer came immediately.

Lucavion looked back at him.

Varen continued.

"The formation gives you the path your body actually took. Whether that path was a mistake depends on what you were trying to do."

Lucavion’s eyes brightened.

A much better answer.

He already liked the place.

"If you want weapon-mana integration afterward, use the Martial Cultivation Chambers. They measure circulation through the arm and weapon separately."

Lucavion’s smile grew another fraction.

Now the Academy was beginning to justify its reputation.

Footwork mapped by formation.

Attack lines preserved.

Balance transitions recorded.

Mana circulation measured through both body and blade.

Gerald would probably have called half of it expensive nonsense.

Then he would have spent six hours testing every function.

Lucavion knew the type.

"I appreciate the recommendation."

Varen nodded.

Then he began to turn.

Two steps carried him away before he stopped once more.

His head shifted enough for Lucavion to catch the side of his face.

"Lucavion."

"Hm?"

"Don’t leave before we spar."

Lucavion stared at him.

A faint warmth stirred through his chest.

That request carried very little ceremony.

It needed none.

His hand settled against the pommel of his estoc.

"I’ll try to survive the etiquette examination."

Varen’s mouth moved.

Barely.

Then he continued across the courtyard toward his Oral Examination.

Lucavion watched him go for several breaths.

Afterward, his gaze returned toward the Sword Hall.

The formation lights inside pulsed once.

His curiosity immediately took over.

’Movement grounds, was it?’

It certainly was interesting.

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