Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 662: Anger

The day bled into twilight.

Lucavion stood still at the center of the ruins, the once-lush garden-temple now marred with the evidence of endless conflict. Cracked stones, broken weapons, craters gouged from desperate spellfire. The scent of scorched mana and churned soil hung thick in the air.

And bodies.

Not dead—this wasn't that kind of bloodsport. But the number of contestants who lay disqualified by his hand… well, it was beginning to look like a battlefield all the same.

More than one hundred.

He had counted loosely, somewhere between dodging a flame-slinger's barrage and snapping the mana core of a would-be champion with one thrust of his estoc.

Each wave had been the same—desperate, hopeful, vicious. Contestants drawn to the pillar's bounty, unwilling to recognize the inevitability that awaited them.

And Lucavion?

He had carved through them, one by one.

By now, his coat was torn at the sleeves, his gloves cut along the fingers, faint trickles of blood seeping through shallow wounds along his arms and neck. His breathing was even, but heavier than usual—not from pain. From exertion.

Even iron wears thin after so many strikes.

[Finally,] Vitaliara murmured, her voice edged with concern and amusement both, [you look like you fought an army.]

He flexed his hand once, rotating his wrist, feeling the dull ache ripple down his tendons.

"I did fight an army," he muttered.

And at last—

The sky shifted again.

From above, a soft shimmer descended like falling petals. A mana barrier—circular, translucent, pale gold—enveloped him, sealing him inside a protective dome that shimmered with intricate runework.

He tilted his head back, letting the cool pulse of the barrier wash over him. It wasn't aggressive. It was... acknowledgment.

The system had recognized it.

Lucavion— Zone Lord of the Verdant Sanctuary.

A subtle pulse of mana thrummed through the earth at his feet, and the pillar that had anchored the relic dimmed slightly, stabilizing into a soft, controlled glow. The chaos had ended—for now.

A new ripple of energy unfurled inside the barrier. At the center of the garden, atop a pedestal of stone knotted with ancient roots, a small, crystalline seed hovered in the air, spinning slowly. It radiated vitality so pure that even breathing near it made his exhausted muscles tighten in response.

The reward.

[Vitaliara's ears perked sharply.] [That's…]

He stepped lightly toward the relic, boots pressing softly into the moss-laden ground, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the crystalline seed that spun lazily above the gnarled pedestal.

It pulsed—once, twice—each beat releasing a ripple of energy so pure it felt like the forest itself sighed with it. Every breath Lucavion took around it seemed sharper, cleaner, more awake.

And yet—

He frowned.

He didn't recognize it.

No fragment of memory stirred from the novel. No lines of ancient lore whispered in the back of his mind. Whatever this was, it wasn't something he could call by name.

Vitaliara's claws flexed slightly on his shoulder. [It smells like... life itself,] she whispered, almost reverently. [But not like me. Different. Denser. Wilder.]

He said nothing, just tilted his head slightly, studying the delicate structure as it spun. The crystalline edges shimmered with veins of emerald and gold, and within its heart, something moved—like a seed of flame wrapped in vine.

Then—

—zzzt—

Mana threads coiled into existence before him, as if plucked straight from the air. Thin strands of condensed aether twisted into neat, glowing script, forming words just an arm's length away.

[Verdant Core Seed]

Classification: Domain Relic Fragment

Origin: Verdant Sanctuary Zone Heart

Properties: High-density life essence; grants accelerated recovery, enhanced vitality circulation, and permanent core refinement potential.

Warning: Requires stabilization before absorption. Failure to meet core expansion thresholds may result in internal rupture. Recommended for users approaching or beyond the 4-star to 5-star transition.

Lucavion's brows lifted slightly, a rare flicker of real intrigue flashing across his face.

"Well," he muttered, folding his arms, "someone put effort into the presentation."

Vitaliara leaned closer, reading along. [Mana threads woven into written guidance... the mages managing this space are thorough.]

He tapped his gloved fingers against his arm, thoughtful.

The Verdant Core Seed. A relic fragment meant for core evolution. A treasure of true rarity, even outside of controlled trial spaces. Yet...

Lucavion exhaled slowly, letting his senses extend inward.

He could feel it—the vast, pressurized reservoir now sitting within him after the Life Origin Seed's earlier absorption. His mana channels had expanded, deepened, but they were still heavy with unused potential. His core shimmered at the peak of 4-star rank, dense and flexible, on the cusp of a breakthrough.

On the cusp... but not there yet.

And the Verdant Core Seed wasn't something you used lightly.

If he absorbed it now—without first pushing his core to the very threshold of collapse—it would be wasted, leaking through the cracks like pouring fine wine into a fractured glass.

Vitaliara's gaze flicked up at him. [You're not taking it now, are you.]

Lucavion smiled faintly, shaking his head. "No point."

[Good.] Her voice softened. [It would've hurt to watch you squander it.]

He chuckled under his breath and turned from the relic, the mana threads dissolving silently into the air once more.

Instead, he crossed back to a smoother patch of moss, settling down with deliberate slowness, his coat pooling around him like a shadow stitched to the earth.

He let the hum of the Verdant Sanctuary's life-mana lull his body into stillness. His hands rested lightly on his knees, sword laid across his lap—not in readiness for battle, but in quiet acceptance.

Tomorrow…

Things were bound to change.

"Fourth-day, huh…..Shall we…"

He closed his eyes, his breathing evening out, his pulse slow and deliberate, merging with the soft, rhythmic beat of the sanctuary around him.

For tonight, he would rest.

******

The chamber was dim, lit only by a cluster of hanging mana-crystals that flickered irregularly—cheap enchantments, bought from back-alley artificers too proud to admit their wares were flawed. The air was stale with the sour scent of frustration, and the heavy curtains drawn against the afternoon sun made the place feel smaller, more suffocating.

Reynard paced across the cracked marble floor, his boots scraping in agitated rhythm.

"Find him," he growled, voice low, sharp. "Find the little bastard who ruined everything."

His lackeys—three boys in House Crane's colors, all wearing the same anxious stiffness—stood at attention near the far wall, avoiding his gaze.

"We… we tried, sir," stammered one, barely older than sixteen. "But—he vanished after the terrace. No records. No retainer claims him. No one knows his name."

Reynard stopped pacing.

Turned.

His gaze—cold, pale, and brittle—pinned the speaker in place.

"Tried?" Reynard echoed, the word dripping contempt. "Tried is for dogs and beggars. We had him under our thumb! The princess humiliated—right before the whole court—and now nothing?"

The lackeys shrank back, exchanging nervous glances.

Reynard exhaled sharply through his nose, struggling for control.

They were supposed to have left her bleeding—politically and publicly. A royal disgrace, easy to dismiss, easy to shove aside when the academy term began. That was the plan.

Instead?

The terrace had erupted into silence and doubt, and Reynard had walked away with nothing but questions buzzing around his ears and his uncle's whispered disappointment searing into his skull.

The scry-projection across the room flickered. A new update rolled across its surface, drawing his attention.

Reynard's eyes narrowed.

The academy entrance trials.

Zone Twelve.

He turned toward it fully, more to distract himself than out of any real interest. Another cluster of candidates, another round of posturing and petty fights.

Until—

He saw it.

The clearing.

The relic tree.

The black coat.

The cat.

For a moment, Reynard didn't move. Didn't even blink.

Then, slowly, his fingers curled into a fist at his side.

"That's him," he said, voice low, hoarse.

His lackeys jolted to attention, startled. "What—?"

"That's him!" Reynard barked, jabbing a finger at the image where Lucavion stood, sword glinting cold under the fading light.

The camera orb zoomed closer, capturing the scene unfolding—Elayne Cors, the prodigy assassin-in-training, launching a masterful assault.

And the boy—

No, Lucavion—

Meeting it without so much as blinking.

The fight played out in a few brutal heartbeats. Counters perfect. Movement effortless. And then Elayne retreating—the mighty Elayne Cors, fleeing into the trees.

The projection shuddered slightly, the mana-crystals dimming and flaring in awe.

And under the victorious silhouette, the name burned itself into gold-light script.

Candidate – Name: Lucavion.

Reynard's jaw tightened so hard his teeth creaked.

"Lucavion…" he spat the name like poison.

One of the lackeys swallowed audibly. "Sir… he's… he's participating in the entrance trials."

"No house," another noted, almost relieved. "No title, no backing. Just a stray."

Reynard's eyes gleamed, predatory.

"A stray who needs to be put down," he said softly.

The lackeys stiffened, sensing the shift in his tone—the way a storm built before the first crack of thunder.

He couldn't touch Lucavion now. Not during the trials. Not while the eyes of the Academy and the Empire both were watching.

But afterward?

Afterward, there would be no rules to shield him.

Afterward, the academy would become his hunting ground.

And Lucavion—

He would learn exactly what it meant to humiliate a son of House Crane.

Reynard turned back to the screen, watching as Lucavion sheathed his blade with slow, casual grace—completely at ease.

The sight made his blood boil.

"Enjoy your little victories while you can," Reynard murmured, voice cold enough to crack glass. "Because when the games truly begin…"

He smiled.

And it wasn't a nice smile.

"…I'll make sure you never walk these halls again."