Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The second day of the tournament dawned with the same electrifying energy that had filled the city on the first. As the morning sun rose, casting a warm glow over the arena, the grounds were already bustling with fighters and spectators alike. The early rounds, designed to thin the crowd, were set to continue at a relentless pace, as scores of hopefuls sought to prove their worth before the eyes of Andelheim.

While the atmosphere in the arena buzzed with anticipation, the absence of Marquis Ventor was keenly noted by the crowd. His seat in the private lounge remained empty, a quiet reminder that, though he had organized the tournament, his attention was not wholly dedicated to these preliminary bouts. There were matters of state that required his presence, and he'd left the early rounds to proceed under the watchful eyes of his advisors and attendants.

The matches began as soon as the sun cleared the horizon, the clashing of blades and bursts of mana filling the air. Fighters from across the empire stepped forward in quick succession, each eager to carve out a name for themselves if only to earn a chance at the main stage where true glory awaited.

Among the contestants, the disciples from both the Cloud Heavens Sect and Silver Flame Sect garnered special attention.

Each fight they entered drew murmurs from the crowd, the underlying rivalry between the sects adding a layer of tension to even the simplest bouts.

Younger disciples, inspired by their seniors, fought with fervor, eager to secure wins not only for themselves but as symbols of their respective sects' honor.

But these early rounds were brutal and unforgiving.

Many contestants barely had a moment to prove themselves before they were dispatched, the thinning of the crowd merciless and efficient.

The officials were strict in their pacing, allowing little time for recovery between bouts. Only those who truly excelled in skill or resilience would survive these grueling trials.

In the absence of the Marquis's observant gaze, the arena became a crucible where raw strength, skill, and reputation were tested. For some, it was a mere stepping stone. For others, it was the end of the line.

Lucavion's eyes scanned the crowd, the intensity of the arena's energy seeping into him like heat from a blazing fire. He felt Vitaliara's presence within his mind, her voice calm yet curious as she observed the scene alongside him.

'Quite the spectacle, isn't it?'

he mused, his thoughts directed inwardly.

[Indeed. Though it hardly seems worth it for most of them. So many come here hoping to make their mark, yet they're barely noticed beyond a single moment,] Vitaliara replied, her tone thoughtful. [Do you ever think about that? About how quickly people can forget?]

A faint smile crossed his lips, though he kept his face unreadable to those around him.

'If I let myself worry about being remembered, I'd be no different than these hopefuls. Greatness doesn't concern itself with validation, only with victory.'

Vitaliara's agreement was almost a hum, resonating in the quiet of his mind. [True enough. Only those who stand at the peak will be remembered, and the rest will fade as quickly as they rose.] She paused, a hint of mischief creeping into her voice. [But in your case, greatness or not, it seems you already have some admirers—or perhaps rivals—watching your every move.]

'Indeed.'

Lucavion thought as he spread his senses slightly. There were certain people who were observing him from a distance.

'As expected, it worked.'

Yesterday's show seems to have worked, as now he was seeing the benefits of what he did with Valeria.

Lucavion's gaze remained steady as he took in the movements around him, his senses heightened. He felt the pointed stares from the Cloud Heavens Sect members, their intent sharp as a blade's edge. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought,

'Two-faced parasites.'

There had been a reason for provoking them, after all. It wasn't merely about stirring up tension—it was about drawing their attention and observing who couldn't resist taking the bait. As expected, yesterday's display with Valeria had done the trick, and now, he could see the fruits of his effort. Every look, every sidelong glance from their disciples, only confirmed their interest.

Vitaliara's presence shifted as she curled herself comfortably around his shoulder, her gaze sharp as she observed the arena floor. [It seems they're not alone in watching you,] she murmured, her tone lightly disdainful.

Some of the younger female disciples were indeed watching him, their expressions torn between curiosity and calculation.

Vitaliara sniffed delicately, her tail flicking against his shoulder. [They don't smell good,] she said, her distaste evident.

'Why do you think so?'

Lucavion asked, an amused curiosity in his voice.

Vitaliara sniffed again, turning away with a small, dignified

humph

. [They reek of males,] she replied, her tone layered with distaste. [And no, I won't elaborate.]

He didn't press further—he understood what she meant. Beneath the subtle charms and calculated glances of the Cloud Heavens Sect disciples, there was a familiarity in their airs, a practiced sweetness masking intentions that were anything but pure.

Glancing up, he caught sight of the clock hanging above the arena floor, its hands ticking toward his match time. It was close, and he could feel the mounting energy as the next round drew near.

'I will be on my way then.'

[Humph.]

Without another word, he turned from the crowd, weaving his way toward the arena's preparation rooms.

The male fighters' room was filled with competitors, each preparing in their own way. The air was thick with tension and the clink of armor, punctuated by the low murmur of hushed conversations. The room was crowded, as he'd anticipated. Even with his usual calm demeanor, Lucavion had little patience for the restless noise that hung thick in the air.

Though knowing this would happen, he came prepared.

Instead of lingering in the cramped room, he took a place in the corridor just outside, resting his hand lightly on the sheath of his estoc.

"CONTESTANT LUCAVION!"

His name echoed, and then he readied himself.

At the sound of his name echoing through the corridor, Lucavion's posture shifted, his focus sharpening. With a final, calm breath, he pushed open the door and stepped into the arena. The roar of the crowd crashed over him, a wave of excitement and anticipation, but he paid it no mind. His gaze was already fixed on the figure waiting for him in the center of the battleground.

His opponent was a middle-aged man, sturdy and composed, his stance solid as he held a classic longsword in hand. The man's presence was understated yet palpable; he radiated the calm confidence of someone well-versed in the ways of battle.

Lucavion's senses quickly honed in on his energy, estimating it to be that of an early 3-star fighter—a feat not easily achieved, and he allowed himself a brief flicker of respect.

'A 3-star,'

Lucavion mused inwardly.

'Impressive. A disciplined man with experience.'

The middle-aged man squinted, his gaze sharpening as he studied Lucavion. "Hmm? Someone without a core?" he mumbled, a hint of surprise coloring his tone. It was a typical reaction, Lucavion knew; his unique constitution prevented others from sensing his cores directly, even if they attempted to probe with mana. This had served him well, allowing him to blend seamlessly when needed, even concealing his Awakened status in the army.

Without missing a beat, Lucavion raised his estoc, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Old man, use your brain a little bit. If I weren't strong, how would I have passed the first round?"

The man's eyes widened briefly, but then they were narrowed.

"I am not old."

"This is what old people say."

The man's eyes flashed with a glint of irritation at Lucavion's taunting. His stance tightened, and he gripped his longsword with renewed fervor, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

"Who are you calling old, boy?" he growled. "The younger generation seems to lack a proper sense of respect these days. If that's the case, then it falls to us to instill that respect into our juniors."

Lucavion's smirk deepened, unfazed.

'So easily provoked,'

he mused inwardly, keeping his gaze steady on the man. "Well then, old man, by all means," he replied, his tone laced with mocking courtesy. "Show me what the experienced generation can do."

–SWOOSH!

The man's face hardened, and without another word, he lunged forward, his longsword gleaming as it arced through the air.

The man lunged forward, his longsword arcing through the air in a powerful strike, brown mana rippling along the blade. Lucavion's eyes narrowed as he studied the attack, and in a fraction of a second, he saw through it all.

'Experienced… but unrefined.'

The man's swordsmanship, though familiar with the basics, was riddled with weaknesses. His stance, while solid, carried too much tension, his movements lacked fluidity, and his strike, though powerful, was easy to read.

CLANK!

As their weapons met, the man's longsword clashed against Lucavion's estoc with a resounding clang. Mana surged from the man's blade, spilling over in an attempt to overwhelm him with raw power. But Lucavion's instincts were sharp, his reflexes honed. He evaded the mana with ease, sidestepping smoothly without even summoning his own. With a graceful pivot, he rotated his body 90 degrees to the side, slipping out of the direct path of the attack.

And in that fluid motion, he made his move.

As he rotated, Lucavion subtly applied pressure with his estoc, tilting the man's sword just slightly, creating a small opening in his guard. It was all he needed. The man's technique was full of openings due to his excessive reliance on strength, leaving him vulnerable to someone like Lucavion who immediately deciphered the swordplay.

"What?"

Before the man could even register the shift, Lucavion repositioned himself, his footwork quick and light.

SWOOSH! STAB!

With one smooth thrust, he drove his estoc forward, the thin blade piercing the man's shoulder with deadly precision.

"Argh!"

The man grunted in pain, retreating back instantly with mana channeled into his legs. For a 3-star Awakened, while that injury was definitely painful, it was not an end to the fight.

SLASH!

His eyes flashed with determination as he swung his sword, unleashing a slash of brown mana to keep Lucavion from closing in on him.

But it didn't go as planned.

The slash of mana flew toward Lucavion, only to be cut down midair in a single, effortless movement. Lucavion's estoc glinted as he deflected the mana with precision, the energy dissipating harmlessly around him. The man's eyes widened in disbelief, his breath catching as he watched the impossible unfold.

'You can do that?!'

Before he could even process it, a glint of grey caught his eye, slicing through the air with lethal grace. In the blink of an eye, Lucavion was upon him, his estoc poised at the man's neck, the cold, unwavering blade pressing gently against his skin.

The man froze, his pulse racing as he felt the icy edge of the blade. The sheer speed, the absolute control, and the effortless precision with which Lucavion had moved left him stunned.