Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 559: Varenthia

The morning air was crisp, cool against Lucavion's skin as he rode through the gates of Stormhaven. The towering walls loomed behind him, their familiar presence fading into the distance as Aether's hooves struck against the dirt road in a steady rhythm.

Stormhaven. The city that had—briefly—been his playground.

Now, just another place he was leaving behind.

Lucavion exhaled, adjusting his grip on the reins, his dark coat billowing slightly as the wind carried the scent of damp earth and fresh foliage. Ahead of him, the road stretched long and open, leading toward the borderlands and, eventually—

Varenthia.

[Hah. You really made a mess back there,] Vitaliara's voice echoed in his head, smooth and bemused. [Three days, and you managed to break the adventuring economy.]

Lucavion chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "I was efficient."

[You were excessive.]

"Ah, but isn't that part of my charm?"

[No.]

Lucavion smirked, unbothered, as Aether picked up speed beneath him.

Vitaliara let out a low, exaggerated sigh. [You really don't know how to leave a place quietly, do you?]

Lucavion scoffed, his grip on the reins tightening slightly. "Where's the fun in that?"

[Right, right. The great Lucavion can't possibly exit a place without causing a scene. It's against your nature.]

"Exactly."

Vitaliara's voice remained dry, but then—just as the wind shifted—her tone did as well.

[Still…]

Lucavion raised an eyebrow at the sudden change.

[You didn't stay. Even after that girl confessed to you.]

His fingers twitched slightly against the reins.

Vitaliara hummed knowingly. [If I were a betting spirit, I would've said she'd try to tie you down. But she didn't.] A pause. [And you left anyway.]

Lucavion exhaled slowly. "You expected me to stay?"

[No,] she admitted. [But I did wonder if you'd hesitate.]

Lucavion didn't respond.

Because he had hesitated.

Not long enough to stop him. Not long enough to change his path.

But just enough to linger.

And he hated that.

Aeliana had shattered something in him. Not completely—but enough to leave cracks he wasn't sure how to mend. Enough to make him second-guess, if only for a breath, if leaving was the right thing to do.

But he had left. That was what mattered.

And now—

[So,] Vitaliara continued, her voice shifting. [This man you're looking for.]

Lucavion's smirk twitched slightly, the humor fading from his face.

[What exactly are you after?]

Lucavion's voice was smooth when he answered, but there was an edge to it. "An unfinished business from the past."

Vitaliara didn't let up.

[That's what I'm asking. What business?]

Lucavion exhaled sharply, tilting his head toward the sky as if the answer might be hiding somewhere in the drifting clouds.

Lucavion's fingers traced the scar along his right eye, his touch slow, deliberate. The memory was etched into him, not just in flesh but in something deeper—something far beneath skin and blood, beneath even rage itself.

The scar was old. He had carried it for years. And yet, every time he ran his fingers over it, he could still feel the sharp bite of that blade, the cold amusement in the knight's voice, the weight of his own helplessness pressing him into the dirt.

That was the day he learned what true powerlessness was.

That was the day he swore he would never feel it again.

[Lucavion.]

Vitaliara's voice was quieter this time, lacking her usual playfulness.

[Lucavion.]

A call. Faint. Distant.

[Lucavion.]

Sharper this time. Closer.

[Lucavion.]

His fingers stilled against his scar. His breath, slow and steady, pulled him back from the depths of his memories.

"…What?"

Vitaliara exhaled through her nose. [You dozed out.]

Lucavion clicked his tongue, adjusting his grip on the reins. "Did I?"

[Obviously.] She huffed, tail flicking in irritation. [You looked like you were about to sink into some tragic monologue. Again.]

Lucavion chuckled, shaking his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Vitaliara narrowed her golden eyes at him, unimpressed. [Right. Because you never have dramatic moments.]

He smirked, but didn't take the bait. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, guiding Aether along the winding road. "When we meet him," he said smoothly, "I'll tell you the story behind it."

A pause. Then—

[Sigh…]

Vitaliara flopped onto her side, looking thoroughly exasperated. [Why do you always choose the most dramatic moments?]

Lucavion only grinned, his fingers tightening slightly around the reins.

Because he wasn't ready.

Not yet.

Not until that man was dead.

His mind drifted back to the battlefield, to the suffocating weight of powerlessness—

And yet, this time, he was smiling.

One ghost of the past…

One by one…

******

The sun was a vengeful god, beating down on the sandstone streets of Varenthia with an unrelenting fervor. Caius had long since stopped wiping the sweat from his brow—there was no point. The heat soaked into his leathers, into his skin, until it felt like he was wearing the damn sun itself. And yet, somehow, the fat bastard in front of him wasn't sweating nearly enough.

"Pick up the pace, mercenary," groaned Halvor, the merchant Caius had been unfortunate enough to be hired by. "I'm paying you to protect me, not to drag your feet like some peasant in the fields."

Caius tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword, resisting the overwhelming urge to stab the man in the back of his thick, bejeweled neck. The only thing stopping him was the fact that Halvor had yet to pay him for this job. And coin, as much as Caius hated to admit it, was the only reason he was here.

They trudged through the winding market streets, past spice vendors who shouted in foreign tongues, past mercenaries sizing each other up like wolves in a narrow den. The scent of grilled meat, sweat, and sea salt hung thick in the air. Caius had been to a dozen cities across the continent, but Varenthia had a pulse unlike any other.

It wasn't lawless, but it was damn close. And if Halvor thought his fat purse was enough to keep him safe, he was a bigger fool than Caius had assumed.

"Watch the left," Caius muttered.

Halvor scoffed, but he did as he was told. A group of street urchins had been circling them for the past five minutes, slipping between stalls, their dark eyes tracking the merchant's heavy coin pouch like jackals eyeing a wounded deer. Caius caught one of them staring too long and gave him a sharp glare. The kid vanished into the crowd.

Halvor, oblivious as ever, huffed. "Thieves. Pests, all of them." He patted his coin purse. "Let them try. My new bodyguard will be happy to remove their little hands if they so much as think about it."

Caius gave him a slow, flat look. "I'm here to stop trouble, not start it."

The merchant snorted. "That's what I'm paying you for."

No, you're paying me to keep you alive, Caius thought grimly. If it weren't for the contract, I'd leave you to the vultures.

They reached a spice stall, where a wiry man with tattoos curling up his arms leaned lazily against a wooden beam, chewing on something pungent. "Halvor," he drawled, spitting a seed into the dirt. "Thought you were still licking your wounds from that deal gone bad in Othra."

Halvor's smile was a greasy thing, like oil floating on stagnant water. "Bastards tried to cheat me. I came out richer for it in the end." He flicked a coin onto the table. "A pound of redfire pepper. And a vial of sand viper venom."

Caius tensed. "Venom?"

Halvor shot him a smug glance. "A merchant must always be prepared for treachery, dear mercenary. You of all people should understand that."

Caius said nothing, but his fingers twitched near the hilt of his blade. If there was one thing he hated more than arrogant merchants, it was merchants who dabbled in poison.

The deal was struck, and they moved on, Halvor practically humming to himself as if he hadn't just purchased enough venom to kill a dozen men.

Then Caius heard it—the slight change in the crowd, the subtle shift in movement, like a ripple on still water. He knew the signs. Someone was coming for them.

He caught a glimpse of dark leather moving too quickly through the throng. A hand reaching toward Halvor's belt.

Caius moved before he could think.

His sword came free in a whisper of steel, catching the would-be thief's wrist mid-motion. The man hissed, jerking back, but it was too late. Caius had him by the throat in an instant, dragging him into the narrow alley beside the market.

"Mercenary!" Halvor barked in protest. "What are you—"

Caius slammed the thief against the wall. The man—young, lean, and reeking of sea brine—gasped, his eyes darting between Caius and the blade pressed against his ribs.

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"You're not some street rat," Caius murmured, studying him. No, this one moved with too much purpose. "Who sent you?"

The thief only grinned, showing a row of sharp, gold-capped teeth. "Does it matter?"

Caius twisted the blade just enough to bite.

The thief gasped, but his grin didn't fade. "You might want to turn around, mercenary."

Caius barely had time to register the words before he felt it—a shift in the air, the presence of more bodies moving toward the alley's entrance.

Damn it.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see them. Three figures, blocking the way out. One had an axe slung over his shoulder. Another twirled a curved dagger between his fingers. The last one, taller than the rest, simply cracked his knuckles.

Caius exhaled sharply through his nose.

Halvor, the fool, was still standing there at the mouth of the alley, gawking. "Mercenary, deal with them."

Caius glanced at the gold-toothed thief still pinned against the wall. "Is this really worth your trouble?"

The thief's grin widened. "In Varenthia? Trouble is how we get paid."

Caius sighed.

He really, really hated this city.