Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 946: Don’t waste my time (2)

“I said,” he murmured, not unkindly, “don’t waste my time.”

Lucavion’s blade didn’t move.

“If that’s the performance you’re going to show,” he said flatly, voice neither sharp nor soft, “then do it on your own next time.”

He pulled the estoc back with one clean motion and turned his back on her again.

Elara didn’t move.

Her hands trembled slightly as the rush of mana cooled, scattered by failure. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breath. Pain gnawed beneath her ribs where she’d taken the brunt of his last strike—not enough to bruise bone, but deep enough to burn.

She didn’t wince.

But her jaw tightened.

A flicker passed through her—somewhere between shame and fury. Not because he’d overpowered her. No. She’d expected that. Had known from the start this wouldn’t be fair.

But he had said it.

Lucavion.

’You of all people—’

Her face twitched. Just a small pull of the muscles around her mouth. It felt like the skin was too tight. Like even the cold air pressing into her cheeks couldn’t numb what was building beneath.

The edge of her cloak dragged on the stones. Her fingers curled into it—not out of drama, but to keep them from shaking.

’That’s it?’

’That’s all I could do?’

She’d come out here to fight—to clear her head, like he said. Like he said. And instead, she got dissected. Disarmed. Laid bare with words quieter than any sword.

Her pride hadn’t just cracked—it had splintered.

And of all people to be standing there, not even looking at her now, shoulders turned like she didn’t even matter—

’You.’

Her eyes snapped to his back. The same stance. The same cloak. The same careless posture he always wore like armor.

’After everything you did.’

’After what you took.’

Her breath hitched in her throat.

’Is this your revenge, Elara?’

The thought sliced cleaner than any of his strikes.

’Is this what you wanted?

The thought coiled in her mind like a snake too long ignored. She’d called him out, threw her spells, poured her instincts into every movement—not to win, not really, but to prove something.

And she had failed.

’You came here for revenge… but you can’t even stand up to him?’

Her breath was shallow now, her heart pounding behind her ribs with a pulse that felt louder than anything else in the silent morning.

’What was all that supposed to mean then?’

All her planning. All her strategy. All the quiet, desperate nights where she told herself she could do this.

She wanted to face Isolde. Burn her down.

But if she couldn’t even push past him—the one who didn’t even lift a finger of his flame against her…

’How am I supposed to reach Isolde if I can’t even get past her hound?’

Lucavion hadn’t even used magic. Not even once.

And she was here—sprawled in pain, wounded and humiliated, with frost still dying on her fingertips.

’No.’

Her hand dug against the stone, palm stinging as she forced it beneath her.

’That’s not it.’

She wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Her eyes burned. Not from tears. From focus.

’You’ll be better. You have to be better.’

And as the pressure behind her ribs knotted tighter, as Lucavion’s figure took another step away—

His words echoed again.

“Don’t waste my time.”

Fine.

Then she’d make it worth his time.

A hiss escaped through her teeth as she lifted one hand to her ribs. Mana flared again, this time controlled, tight and deliberate.

[Crystal Patch. Rank 1-star.]

Thin, glass-like frost bloomed beneath her palm—lacing over the forming bruise with a shimmer of healing ice. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t painless.

It hurt.

Like hell.

But it slowed the blood. Stabilized the strain. Focused the pain into something useful.

Her legs trembled, but she pushed herself upright.

One knee. Then the other.

Then fully standing.

Cold air kissed her face, and this time, it was welcome.

Across the path, Lucavion paused.

Not turning. But sensing.

She stared at his back.

And for some reason—no strategy, no long-game plan—just one thing curled in her chest like a glowing ember:

She wanted to wipe that expression off his face.

That look he always wore. Detached. Unbothered. Like nothing touched him.

“Elowyn?” he said, not quite looking back.

Elara took a step forward.

Then another.

And raised her hand again—ice lacing her fingertips like silver claws.

“Come again,” she said, voice clear.

No anger. No desperation.

Just a quiet demand.

Lucavion paused at the sound of her voice—flat, steady, and sharp enough to draw a line through the morning mist.

He turned halfway, brow lifting in that familiar, skeptical arc. His eyes swept over her—bruised, breathless, standing with magic still laced across her palm.

Then he blinked once, slowly.

“…Going to waste my time again?”

Elara didn’t flinch. Her hand remained raised, mana quiet but ready.

“We’ll see about that.”

Lucavion stared.

And then—

“Pfft…”

He snorted once, short and abrupt—shoulders shifting as if caught off guard.

“Damn,” he said with a half-laugh, that rare smile finally tugging at the edge of his lips. “You got me there.”

Elara frowned, confused. “What are you—”

“Fine,” he cut in smoothly, stepping forward again. His estoc hung loosely at his side now, casual—but not careless. His gaze rose to meet hers fully this time, and the grin that followed was less teasing, more amused.

“Your eyes,” he said, head tilting just slightly. “They look kind of sexy now.”

Elara blinked.

“…What?”

“I’m speaking what I think.” He shrugged. “Any problem with that?”

“You’re—” she started, then stopped, sputtering. “You’re just… whatever.”

Lucavion’s smirk widened.

“Heh. There it is.”

He lifted his blade again—not in threat, but with new energy in his posture. Looser. Sharper. Like the fire in him had sparked back to life.

“Now you brought my mood back.”

He rolled his shoulder once.

“Come.”

His tone was low, almost gleeful.

“Let’s make this round count.”

The moment Lucavion said, “Come,” Elara moved.

Not with aggression—there was no time for that.

Just instinct.

A shallow breath filled her lungs, mana coiling beneath her skin as her body surged forward. She didn’t think about speed-to-impact ratios, nor frost-to-air density differentials. She didn’t calculate the distance between her spell and his blade. Not this time.

Instead—

’Just move.’

The frost rose beneath her boots as she surged into motion.

[Glacier Vein. Rank 2-star]

The familiar spell bloomed underfoot again—but she didn’t force it into range this time. She didn’t overextend. She let the mana spill naturally, the ice forming like a breath exhaled. A push, not a pull. She didn’t command the ice. She asked.

The ground slid beneath her in a swift, controlled burst, momentum carrying her in a crescent arc around Lucavion’s stance.

He followed.

Of course he did.

His blade came around, quick and precise as before—he had no reason to expect her to change. No reason to be cautious. Not yet.

But Elara was already shifting.

[Snowbind Thread. Rank 1-star]

This time, she didn’t throw it forward. She pulled it behind her—looping it through the path she’d just taken, timing it so that Lucavion’s step clipped the edge as he turned.

It didn’t hold him.

But it made him adjust.

Just a stutter of weight.

That was enough.

’Don’t overthink. Just feel. Let the mana move how it wants.’

[Ice Needle. Rank 1-star]

A classic. Small. Precise. But instead of launching it like a projectile, she tossed it sideways—off course, angled to miss on purpose.

Lucavion didn’t even look at it.

But as the needle passed his right shoulder—it burst.