Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The weight in the room was unbearable.

Lucavion sat there, utterly at ease, while his mana crushed everything around him.

The black starlight that swirled from his body wasn't just powerful—it was dense, overwhelming, consuming. The pitch-black flames that interwove with it carried a force that felt wrong—not in the sense of corruption, but in the sense of sheer, unnatural dominance.

For the first time, the gathered men weren't just assessing him. They were acknowledging him.

Soren exhaled sharply, his usual scowl tightening into something more serious. No more mockery. No more doubt. He wasn't reckless enough to ignore what was right in front of him.

Marciel, ever the composed one, had gone completely still. His calculating eyes flicked between Lucavion and Draven, the gears in his mind turning rapidly. This wasn't just strong. This wasn't just impressive. This was something they hadn't accounted for.

Vyrell's fingers twitched against the table, his cold gaze sharpening. Now it made sense.

At first, when they had met Lucavion, they hadn't been able to feel anything from him. His mana had been completely undetectable, and that was unnatural for an Awakened.

That left them with only two possible conclusions.

Either—

One: He was a non-Awakened using some kind of trickery to make himself seem stronger than he was. But that didn't make sense—Draven wouldn't be foolish enough to stake his credibility on someone like that.

Or—

Two: He had already reached the 6-star realm, and his mana was so far beyond theirs that they had been unable to perceive it properly.

They had discarded that second idea at first.

Because it was insane.

Because it didn't make sense.

Because it shouldn't have been possible.

And yet—

Here they were.

Watching as the air itself bent under the weight of his power.

Feeling as their own mana—mana that should have been **strong enough to defend against anyone in this city—**was pushed back effortlessly.

And for the first time in years, they felt something they hadn't experienced in a long time.

A 6-star Awakened.

A true monster.

Draven leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening. "You starting to believe me now?"

Soren exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Tch… You really found a crazy bastard, huh?"

Marciel sighed, rubbing his temple. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… it makes sense now." His sharp eyes flicked to Draven. "No wonder we couldn't sense him before."

Vyrell was still staring at Lucavion, silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he exhaled.

Vyrell's gaze hardened, his cold eyes locking onto Lucavion like a predator sizing up an unknown beast. His fingers curled slightly against the wood, but his voice remained smooth, measured.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked. "Where did you come from?"

Lucavion met his stare without hesitation. His smirk remained, lighthearted, almost lazy. "Is that important?"

Vyrell didn't blink. "It is."

Lucavion exhaled softly, tapping a single finger against the table. "We're all working toward the same goal, aren't we? Is it really important who I am?"

Vyrell's expression didn't shift. "It is." His voice was colder now, more pointed. "What if you're just like that Aldric bastard? What if we're replacing one problem with another?"

A fair question.

Soren grunted in agreement, crossing his arms. Marciel was watching carefully, silent, but not dismissing the possibility.

For a moment, Lucavion said nothing.

Then, his smirk widened slightly.

"Do you have a choice, Mister Vyrell?"

His voice was smooth, teasing, carrying that same infuriating ease he had maintained since he entered the room.

But then—

In the span of a breath, it changed.

The air froze.

A pulse of something dark, something suffocating, swept through the space.

Lucavion's eyes, once half-lidded with amusement, became voids of black starlight. The playful flicker in them vanished, replaced by something cold. Empty.

And then came the bloodlust.

Vyrell's entire body stiffened.

The room—once filled with tension, with wariness—became still.

The feeling that washed over them was nothing like before.

This wasn't just mana.

This was something darker.

Vyrell had seen countless killers in his time. Assassins, mercenaries, men who had spent their lives in the shadows of death. He had trained alongside them. Fought beside them. Killed with them.

But this?

This was not the presence of a mere killer.

This was the weight of someone who had already walked through rivers of blood.

Cold sweat formed at the back of Vyrell's neck before he could even register it. His fingers twitched—an instinctive reaction, an unconscious movement that his body made when it felt the need to defend itself.

And then—

Lucavion spoke.

"I am only here to kill that man," he murmured, his voice carrying the same weight as a blade resting against one's throat. "I don't care about anything else."

His tone was even. Not angry. Not forceful.

Just stating a fact.

Vyrell didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Because for the first time in a long, long time…

He felt that if he did—he would die.

Draven sighed loudly, running a hand down his face. "Alright, alright. That's enough, kid. We get it—you're crazy." He leaned back, smirking. "No need to make it this obvious."

The moment the words left his mouth—

Lucavion's bloodlust vanished.

Completely.

Like it had never been there at all.

One second, the room had been drowning in suffocating killing intent, an invisible blade resting against everyone's throats. The next—calm.

Lucavion smiled.

Not a forced smile, not a sinister one. Just the same damn smirk he always wore, like nothing had happened.

The shift was so unnatural, so instant, that even hardened men like Vyrell and Soren felt their bodies twitch involuntarily.

Soren gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply as he ran a hand over his face. "...Tch. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Marciel let out a slow, measured breath, his fingers tightening slightly against the edge of the table. He prided himself on keeping a composed demeanor, but this? Even he couldn't hide the flicker of unease that crossed his features.

Vyrell—who had been frozen just moments before—slowly exhaled through his nose, regaining his composure. His mind was still catching up to the fact that his body had reacted before his thoughts could.

That alone told him everything he needed to know.

This man—Lucavion—was dangerous.

Not just because of his strength.

But because of the way he controlled it.

To unleash such overwhelming, suffocating killing intent—only to retract it in an instant, slipping back into that carefree smirk like he had simply been stretching?

It wasn't normal.

It wasn't human.

Draven chuckled, shaking his head. "You're gonna give these poor bastards a heart attack, Lucavion."

Lucavion tilted his head, looking entirely unbothered. "I was just answering his question."

Soren clicked his tongue, looking at Draven. "You're actually trusting this lunatic?"

Draven grinned. "Oh, absolutely."

Silence settled again.

And that was when everyone in the room realized the truth.

They weren't just dealing with some ambitious swordsman.

They were entangled with a man whose mind didn't work like a normal person's.

Soren exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the lingering unease. Then, he turned to Draven, voice rough with frustration. "I have to ask—what the hell is your reason for putting your faith in this lunatic?"

Marciel nodded, his usual composed demeanor returning, though there was still a sharp glint of caution in his eyes. "We get that he's strong. We get that he's not normal. But strength alone isn't enough to bet everything on, Draven. What's your real reason?"

Vyrell didn't speak, but his cold gaze was fixed on Draven, waiting.

Draven didn't answer immediately.

His smirk faded just a little, his sharp features relaxing—just for a second.

His gray eyes grew distant, lost in something older than the moment they were in now.

Then—

"Word from someone of the past."

The room paused.

For all their suspicion, that was an answer none of them had expected.

Soren groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Tch. Fuck." He shot Draven an annoyed glare. "Don't tell me you're bringing your love life into this."

Draven blinked.

Then, his face twisted in sheer disgust.

"The fuck?" He scowled, sitting up straight. "First of all—never say that shit again."

Marciel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So it's her, then."

Vyrell tilted his head slightly. "Corvina?"

Draven's lips twitched, but he didn't confirm or deny. He simply exhaled through his nose.

Lucavion, who had been watching this entire exchange with mild amusement, finally chuckled. "She does have a way of persuading people."

Draven rolled his eyes, clearly done with the conversation already. "Tch. You people act like I just blindly follow orders. I make my own choices."

Marciel gave him a look. "Do you?"

Soren snorted. "Not when it comes to her."

Draven groaned, rubbing his temple. "You all can shut the fuck up now."

Lucavion smirked, resting his chin on one hand. "It's sweet, really."

Draven turned to glare at him. "Not. Another. Word."

Lucavion simply grinned.

The tension in the room was still there—undeniable, unshaken—but for the first time, it had shifted into something a little lighter.

A temporary moment of ease—before the real war began.