Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

“Pfffft…”

The laugh slipped from the smoke like a crack in reality.

Light at first.

Mocking.

Then—

“Haha…”

A pulse of unease rippled through the crowd.

Even Seran froze. Just for a moment.

The golden light of his blade shimmered above the dust, his breath still heavy from the last strike. The air still reeked of scorched mana and blood—but that sound didn’t match it.

Didn’t belong here.

“Ahahahaha…”

The laugh swelled. Low. Wild. Like something snapping not from pain—but from pleasure.

And then—

—FWOOOOOSH!

The smoke tore open as a windless force blew it away, revealing the figure standing at the center of the crater.

Lucavion.

Coat in tatters.

Shoulder bloodied.

His ribs—yes, definitely cracked—shifted slightly beneath the fabric, rising and falling with sharp, deliberate breaths.

But his face—

That smirk.

Half-mad. Half-beautiful. Eyes wide with fire and delight.

“Finally…” he whispered.

His estoc dragged once along the ground, leaving a black smear of heat-seared stone.

Then he raised it—slow, deliberate, the point locking straight onto Seran’s heart.

“This is what I like to see.”

His voice didn’t yell.

It didn’t need to.

It commanded.

Lucavion tilted his head, lips curled just slightly, voice dropping to something quieter. Sharper.

“You finally quit the bullshit.”

He took one step forward—casual. Tensionless. But the pressure returned.

That impossible pressure.

No aura flaring, no burst of light.

Just intent.

“Hero. Helper of the commoners. Savior of the weak.” He rolled the words off his tongue like they tasted foul. “Blah, blah, blah.”

Another step.

The fire returned—not just behind him.

But in his eyes.

“You spoke of a technique the likes of me could never dream of.”

The black fire on his estoc re-ignited—

But it wasn’t flickering now.

It breathed.

It shimmered with threads of impossible color—cold and hot all at once. Flame that didn’t burn. Flame that remembered.

And then—

—FWOOOOOM!

The blade exploded in radiant black flame, stretching out from the hilt like the core of a dying star. Starlight shimmered within it. Not the gentle glow of night.

But the devouring silence of what lay beyond the stars.

Lucavion’s smirk widened.

“Then let me show you—”

He drew the blade into stance, the ground beneath him fracturing in spiderweb cracks.

“…what a real sword is.”

****

What… is this feeling?

Seran’s grip tightened unconsciously around the hilt of his sword as Lucavion stepped forward through the settling smoke, that damned smirk still curling on his bloodstained face. His estoc burned with black flame, crackling with mana that didn’t just oppose his—it ignored it. Like his golden aura was nothing but noise in the presence of something far older, far quieter.

Something hungrier.

A chill.

Down his neck.

Across his spine.

Into the marrow.

His lungs felt tight. Not from exhaustion. Not even from pain.

From instinct.

From danger.

That wasn’t right.

‘Why do I feel… threatened?’

His thoughts tangled, jaw clenching as the unease spread.

‘From a commoner? From him?’

It was absurd.

Impossible.

And yet—he felt it. That wild pressure. That devouring force of presence that Lucavion wore like a second skin. Not trained. Not noble. Not refined.

Real.

And Seran hated it.

He hated the way Lucavion stood there, bloodied, laughing, not even trying to win the crowd’s favor, not trying to be admired—just enjoying the fight.

He hated the way those black eyes looked straight through him—not with awe. Not with fear. Not even with anger.

Just certainty.

Like the outcome was already decided.

And worst of all—

He hated that for the first time in years, he wanted something more than to follow the Crown Prince’s orders.

He wanted to kill this man.

Right now.

Rip him apart.

Tear that expression off his face and shatter whatever insane illusion let this nobody believe he could stand on even footing with a Velcross.

With him.

Lucavion took one more step.

And Seran snapped.

His blade rose again, his mana surging out in a flash of gold, fire and fury spilling from every pore.

He opened his mouth to speak, to challenge, to command—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Lucavion’s voice sliced the silence.

And then—

He was there.

—FWOOOOOSH!

No flash. No warning.

Just speed.

Lucavion moved faster than Seran had ever seen him move. Faster than during the first exchange. Faster than when he activated [Twin Cinders]. Faster than when he invoked the Withering Lotus.

And suddenly—

The world tilted.

Lucavion was right in front of him.

Too close.

Too fast.

“Wha—”

He barely got the word out before the estoc was already crashing down.

—CLAAAANG!

Seran blocked. Barely.

But the weight behind it—was different now.

He slid back, boots screeching against stone. A shallow line of blood cut across his cheek where the estoc had grazed during the descent.

His heart thundered.

‘What…?’

What is this?!

Lucavion was moving like gravity forgot him. Fluid. Merciless. Untethered from the logic Seran had built his style around.

—FWOOOSH!

Lucavion blurred again—gone from sight, gone from reach—and then reappeared, not behind, not above—

Right in front.

His estoc gleamed—not with raw power, but with perfect intent.

A thrust.

—SHHHNK!

Seran twisted his blade just in time—

—CLANG!

The estoc veered off, sliding against his sword’s flat edge, grazing the plating at his shoulder.

Lucavion didn’t pause.

Another thrust.

—THWIP!

Seran spun his blade again, pivoting into a defensive turn.

—CLANG!

Two.

His arms were starting to ache now. The weight of those thrusts wasn’t normal. It wasn’t brute force—but velocity, precision, like Lucavion was driving that estoc through air, blood, and bone in one motion.

Seran tried to reposition.

But Lucavion was already there.

The third thrust came low, deceptive.

Not at the chest. Not at the core.

The waist.

—SKRNNNK!

“Tch—!”

The blade sank through his side armor, shallow but clean. Blood hissed against the heat of the black flame. Seran stumbled half a step back—

But Lucavion’s fourth thrust came without delay, aimed at the throat.

—FWOOOSH!

Seran ducked, breath catching as the tip of the estoc sliced past his cheek—millimeters from his eye.

Too close.

He turned on instinct, blade flaring—

But the fifth thrust was already incoming, drawn back not like a fencer, but like a predator.

A sharp, sudden step forward—

—SHHNK!

The blade pierced just under his right shoulder, digging beneath the clavicle. Not deep enough to end the fight—

But deep enough to break form.

Seran’s knee buckled, breath shuddering.

And Lucavion?

He didn’t stop.

He was already raising his blade again.

Seran’s eyes widened—his breath hitched.

No.

Not like this.

He couldn’t keep dodging. Couldn’t keep falling behind. If he didn’t reset—if he didn’t stabilize—

He’d lose.

And so—

With a burst of golden mana, he roared.

「Crescent Crown – Fifth Arc: Pillar of the Sun」

—BOOOOOOM!

Golden energy erupted from beneath him like a rising column, slamming upward in a spiraling burst. The sheer force launched Lucavion back—just a few feet—but enough.

Seran stood, blood trailing from his side, shoulder scorched, ribs throbbing. But his blade was up again.

He gasped for breath, chest rising and falling like a bellows—but his feet were grounded.

His mana burned.

But he now understood something crucial.