Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1004: Written that

Lucavion exhaled slowly, almost soundless, and turned the page.

The second question spun into place with that same smug shimmer, as if the paper thought itself clever for testing people under time-lock conditions. Which—fine—it was clever. Annoying, but clever.

The scroll glowed faintly as Lucavion read the question.

Question:

You are shown a four‑symbol array, arranged in a diamond shape. Each symbol has a role: one initiates the mana flow, one channels it, one triggers the output, and one stabilises its path. Using the diagram, identify which symbol is the trigger interface and explain how its placement affects the system under normal mana load.

He stared at the diamond: four nodes connected by arrows that flowed into the bottom node then up, a loop back to the top. One corner pulsed just a little after input, another almost immediately, another delayed. His mind went back to simpler forms.

’…..This is kinda….’

Not everything went in his way.

****

Lucavion finally set the quill down for a moment, let the ink settle.

That worked too.

He glanced around the hall—other students scribbling, frowning, tapping their pens. He exhaled quietly.

Four questions solved in this section of six; two left blank (they looked like deeper rune‑theory, more than his comfortable “paths and geometry” market). Not bad.

He leaned back and thought: Why was this exam made like this? Why include non‑mana‑users in a test with magic terms?

It made sense: The exam wasn’t just for mages. Some students here were warriors, engineers, tacticians. They might never cast spells—they might evade them, manipulate resources, plan logistics. So the test measured reasoning, pattern‑recognition, and structural logic. Not pure magical power.

He looked up at the ceiling again—the arches above, carved with runes old enough he guessed their meaning might have been forgotten. Watching.

Then he cracked his knuckles lightly….and came the silence again.

Not in the hall—no, there were still shifting chairs and scratchy quills and the faint, rhythmic tap of nerves against stone—but in him. That weird lull that happened when your mind caught up with your hands and realized, huh, you’re actually doing this.

Lucavion let his gaze drift lazily toward the upper edge of the scroll, where the shimmer of the section divider was just beginning to fade. His head tilted. The next part hadn’t loaded yet.

He took the moment.

And, for some reason, thought about the novel.

There had never been a scene where the details of the test was described.

No breakdown. No five-page tactical exam. No geometry-disguised-as-magic nonsense.

’Seriously? Not even one line about the format?’

He huffed lightly through his nose, amused.

Of course she aced it. She trained under an archmage since she was what—ten? Had personal lessons from someone whose robe probably had more runes stitched into it than this entire building.

Still, he thought, letting the edge of his boot tap once against the leg of the desk, would’ve been nice to know what kind of hell I was walking into.

His eyes returned to the scroll just as it rippled open again, like a curtain drawing back in slow, deliberate motion.

SECTION THREE: ETHICAL APPLICATIONS IN PRACTICE

’Why is there even something like this in the first place?’

He thought as he opened the section….

And then he blinked.

Once.

Then smirked.

“…Bullcrap.”

*****

The moment the final shimmer on the scroll dimmed, Elara’s quill stilled.

For a few seconds, she didn’t move. The faint whine of residual enchantments faded from the air, leaving only the soft scrape of chairs, the rustle of robes, and the half-relieved sighs of students rising around her.

The exam had ended.

She lifted her hand slightly and watched as the mana ink faded off her fingers—a pale, silvery residue dissolving into the light. It left behind that faint static feel that all academy enchantments seemed to have, like the aftertaste of too much mana compressed in too little air.

“…That’s it?” she murmured under her breath.

No one heard her.

The scroll rolled itself up neatly, ribbons sealing with a soft click before vanishing into the collection glyph hovering at the front of the hall.

Elara exhaled, leaning back for the first time in what felt like hours. The tension that had coiled behind her shoulders finally began to unwind, but it didn’t feel like relief. More like confusion wrapped in fatigue.

’Was that really it?’

The questions had been simple. Too simple. Tactical hypotheticals with one-word answers. Spellform diagrams she could’ve solved half-asleep. Even the so-called “ethical case studies” at the end were the kind of thing first-year apprentices debated for fun between lectures—no real substance, just moral theater dressed up in elegant phrasing.

She frowned faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

Back when Eveline had tested her, there had been no scrolls. No guidelines. No reassuring glows or safety seals.

There had been a candle, a single question, and the expectation that she would understand without being told.

If you had to kill one to save many, how would you ensure the one dies willingly?

That had been one of Eveline’s first “exam questions.”

Not ethics—alchemy. Because in Eveline’s mind, mana manipulation and moral compromise were part of the same discipline.

And if you couldn’t handle that, you weren’t meant to hold power.

Elara remembered the way Eveline had watched her that day—arms crossed, expression unreadable, the flicker of candlelight mirrored in her eyes.

“Knowledge without confrontation,” Eveline had said, “is just vanity in better clothing.”

Her lips curved faintly now—an echo of a smile, dry and humorless.

Compared to that, this exam felt like… paperwork.

As she rose from her seat, the hall’s enchantments dimmed fully, dissolving the illusion of walls that had enclosed them during the test. Students were already filing out through the double doors, voices overlapping in uneven rhythm.

“Did you get the second spellform question? The one with the stabilizer glyph?”

“I think it was the left one—no, the left from the bottom!”

“Dearest first flame, I swear—”

Elara adjusted her coat quietly and stepped into the stream of movement. The voices around her rose and fell like waves—nervous laughter, muttered curses, one or two triumphant boasts from those who clearly didn’t know how badly they’d done.

She didn’t join in.

Not out of arrogance, but because there was nothing to say. The exam hadn’t challenged her; it had only reminded her how much she’d already left behind.

How much she’d learned before she ever came here.

Elara’s steps were slow at first—careful, quiet, the way they always were after too much stillness. Her fingers brushed absently against the side of her skirt, tracing the faint pattern of embroidery there as if to remind herself she was back in her body.

The exam hadn’t been difficult. It had simply been… dull. Predictable in a way that made her wonder if the academy wanted to cultivate intellect or obedience. And yet, despite the simplicity of it all, despite her faint irritation—

—she was smiling.

A small, unguarded thing.

She didn’t even notice it until she caught her reflection in one of the hall’s mirrored columns: lips curved, eyes lighter than they had been all morning. Strange. She hadn’t smiled like that in months. Maybe longer.

Her brow furrowed faintly, as if realizing it was somehow inappropriate. But the expression didn’t fade completely.

’Ridiculous,’ she thought. ’I’m actually in a good mood after that.’

The thought alone made her want to laugh, quietly, at herself.

The Grand Lecture Hall A was emptying in scattered currents now—students pouring toward the exits, robes swaying, voices echoing against the vaulted stone. The space itself was a monument to extravagance: high-arched ceilings gilded with runic filigree, massive chandeliers pulsing faintly with stored mana, and those absurdly oversized double doors that looked like they’d been made for giants, not scholars.

As she walked, she caught faint glimpses of light dancing on marble—reflections shifting along the floor like restless spirits. It all felt too grand for what it contained.

Her boots clicked softly as she reached the main exit, a pair of ivory-inlaid doors that towered almost three times her height. The air beyond them shimmered faintly with the afternoon’s heat, the open courtyard bathed in sunlight.

Yet then her eyes narrowed at the sight that she had seen of a certain someone….