Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 909: Background

Aldren’s tone shifted slightly, from light to more informative, as he gestured toward the nearest row of reinforced glass windows.

“Now, you should also know… everything in this block is monitored and measured. The quality of your work here isn’t judged solely on whether you succeed, but on how efficiently you use your materials, how safely you conduct your trials, and how consistently you can replicate results. That’s why there are so many requirements just to apply to the Alchemy Department—minimum cultivation stage, confirmed fire affinity, foundational alchemical theory exams…”

He shrugged, a spark of humor creeping back into his voice. “In short—if you make it in, you’ve already proven you can survive here. Well… survive the entrance, anyway.”

A few smiles flickered among the group.

“That said,” he went on, “it’s not all smoke and bubbling cauldrons. While we spend a lot of time in our labs, we also work closely with both combat departments. Field testing is a big part of what we do. That means we’re often outside—seeing how our concoctions perform under real conditions, not just in controlled environments. Which, I’ll admit, is far more exciting than staring at simmering mixtures all day.”

He gave a final, easy grin. “So, if any of you ever end up in this block—whether for study or just to pick something up—I hope you enjoy your time here.”

And as if the building wanted to punctuate his words—

BOOM!

A thunderous blast shook the ground, followed by a ribbon of bright orange flame curling briefly against the sky before vanishing behind the wards.

Aldren didn’t even flinch. His eyes flicked toward the source, then back to the group.

“…And that,” he said dryly, “is either someone inventing a groundbreaking new combustion method… or someone forgetting to remove their stir rod before adding frostvine extract.”

A pause.

“Statistically speaking… it’s the second one.”

A couple of students snorted into their sleeves, though Elara suspected he wasn’t joking.

Selenne inclined her head toward Aldren, her tone even but not without the faintest thread of genuine regard.

“Thank you, Aldren.”

He gave a small nod in return, the faintest hint of a grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth, before turning back toward the building he’d emerged from. The faint scent of burnt frostvine followed in his wake as he disappeared inside, the heavy door closing behind him with a muted thud.

Selenne faced the group once more, her violet eyes sweeping over them in silent command. “Come. We have one more stop.”

They fell in line behind her as she led them out of the Alchemy block, the air gradually clearing of the heady mix of herbs and metal. The cobblestone path curved northward, the sounds of distillation hums and muffled explosions fading into the distance until only the muted wind between the Academy’s taller structures remained.

The next complex came into view slowly—a far quieter, almost solemn set of buildings compared to the others they’d toured. The architecture here was sharp-edged but restrained, walls inlaid with faint, glowing lines of magic that pulsed at a steady rhythm. It felt… still, yet charged, like the air before a storm.

And it was nearly empty.

Only a handful of students moved between the long halls—most in plain, fitted robes without embellishment, their hands clutching stacks of tablets, books, or crystalline tools. Compared to even the sparsely populated Alchemy block, this place was all but deserted.

Selenne slowed her pace just enough for her voice to carry without strain.

“You will notice,” she said, “that there are even fewer students here than in the Alchemy Department.”

Her gaze slid briefly toward the nearest rune-inscribed wall, the light catching the edges of the glyphs like fine silver.

“The reason is simple: the criteria to become a rune mage—or to work in rune research—are more difficult to meet than any other discipline in this Academy. Rune magic is fundamentally different from swordsmanship, elemental casting, or alchemical craft. It is closer in nature to the work of scholars than to direct combat.”

They passed a courtyard where two students hunched over an open array etched into a slab of blackstone, adjusting the angle of a crystal with slow, deliberate precision. The glow shifted faintly, like a heartbeat under stone.

“That is why,” Selenne continued, “the Scholars and Rune-Researchers are housed in the same complex. Scholars focus on the theory of magic—dissecting principles, constructing models, refining understanding. Rune-Researchers, on the other hand, take that knowledge and apply it to devices, formations, and the infrastructure you rely on every day.”

She gestured subtly toward the ground beneath their feet. “For example—the cultivation rooms you’ve all used, or will soon. Those exist because of rune research.”

There was a quiet hum of acknowledgment from a few students, their eyes drifting to the patterned grooves in the stone walkways as if seeing them differently now.

“As for the name,” she said, her tone shifting to something closer to a lecture, “it comes from the origin of their craft. The first knowledge we had of such formations came from the runes of a lost civilization—fragments of symbols carved into ancient ruins, preserved when even the walls had turned to dust. From there, the work grew… and continues still.”

One of the students toward the back—tall, with an almost careless tone—raised a hand slightly.

“So… if rune magic came from an ancient civilization, but what you’re doing now has moved far past that… isn’t there no point in still calling it ’rune’ research?”

A few others murmured in agreement, eyes flicking toward the intricate glyphs carved into the hall’s outer walls.

Selenne’s gaze shifted to the speaker, her expression calm but unyielding. “You are not wrong. The field has evolved far beyond deciphering the original runes. What we practice now is a fusion of many disciplines—magic theory, crafting, material science, even aspects of alchemy.”

She turned slightly, the sunlight catching the faint silver embroidery along the edge of her cloak.

“In fact,” she continued, “the change in name has been considered for some years now. Among the younger generation of researchers—particularly those working with large-scale formations and integrated devices—a new term has been gaining traction.”

Her voice carried clearly across the courtyard.

“’Magic-Engineering.’”

A few students straightened at the term, the weight of it clicking into place in their minds.

“It is not yet official,” Selenne added, her tone lighter now, “but you will hear it more and more as the Academy embraces projects that require interdisciplinary work. Still, the old name remains—for tradition, and for the history it represents. Those first runes were the foundation. Without them, there would be no magic arrays, no cultivation chambers, no barrier wards protecting this Academy.”

Her gaze moved deliberately over the group, as if to make sure they understood that what looked like quiet work in these halls was nothing short of essential.

The path curved northward, and soon the Rune-Researchers’ halls came into view.

Even from the entrance, it was clear this was no ordinary wing of the Academy. The building’s facade gleamed with inlaid silver and gold tracing the lines of ancient glyphwork, each one softly pulsing with a restrained magical light. Tall arched windows revealed glimpses of intricate mechanisms and shimmering arrays within—spinning rings of etched crystal, latticework frames humming faintly, and formation plates the size of banquet tables suspended midair.

It wasn’t simply well-kept—it was eye-catching in a way that commanded attention. Every detail felt intentional, from the precise spacing of the glowing sigils along the floor to the perfectly polished brass fittings on the double doors.

Elara caught the faint murmur of awe from one of the freshmen beside her. She understood it—this was not just a department. It was a display. A statement.

Selenne didn’t slow her pace. “This,” she said, her voice even, “is the Rune-Research and Scholar Division. Much of what you see here is restricted. Most of you will not be allowed inside beyond the public archives.”

She gestured briefly toward the great display cases lining the outer hall, where fragments of ancient stone engraved with the original runes rested under protective wards. “You will have opportunities to study the theory behind their work in your general classes. But entry into the inner research chambers requires clearance, sponsorship from a faculty member, and… a great deal of patience.”

Her eyes swept over the group. “For now, there is no need to linger. We are not here to waste your time—or theirs.”

The tone made it clear: this place wasn’t about idle curiosity. It was about precision, purpose, and the kind of prestige that didn’t bother advertising itself—because it didn’t need to.