Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1037  A Knight’s Glance, A Mage’s Echo (3)

“Before we go,” Elowyn said, her voice soft but clear, “I wanted to say… it was good fighting with you.”

Valeria blinked. For a heartbeat she wondered if she had misheard. Compliments aimed at her were usually stiff, political, or accompanied by an ulterior motive. This one felt… simple. Genuine. Too effortless to be rehearsed.

“Oh,” Valeria answered, far more quietly than she intended. She cleared her throat. “Likewise. You were… reliable.”

Elowyn’s lips curved, not into a smile exactly, but into something close. “I’d like to work with you again. If the Academy throws us into another group assessment.”

Valeria stared for a moment, caught between composure and surprise. Of all the outcomes she had prepared for—a formal acknowledgment, a polite parting, even a follow-up question about the technique she used against the Strider—this wasn’t one of them.

Most people hesitated around her. Stepped back. Tried too hard. Or avoided her entirely once the Olarion name settled in their minds. Elowyn, however, seemed unaffected by any of that. She spoke to Valeria the way Ren and Liliana had spoken to each other: naturally, comfortably, as if Valeria’s presence wasn’t something to be navigated but simply acknowledged.

It caught her off balance in a way the trial hadn’t.

‘She’s… trying to befriend me?’

The realization struck with a disarming kind of clarity. She wasn’t used to being approached without motive. Jesse Burns had been the first exception—sharp, intense, someone who confronted Valeria without hesitation. Now Elowyn, in a completely different manner, stood as the second.

Valeria’s reply came slower than intended. “If that happens, I wouldn’t object.”

Elowyn raised her brows slightly, amused by the careful choice of words. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t even particularly weighty.

But for Valeria, the moment sat strangely warm in her chest.

Elowyn gave a small nod, almost courteous, then adjusted the strap of her satchel. “We should go before the next group crowds the hall.”

“Yes,” Valeria managed, regaining her footing. “We should.”

Elowyn shifted her satchel onto her shoulder and lingered a moment longer. “Where are you heading now?”

Valeria took a second to recall her schedule. She wasn’t someone who forgot it—just someone whose mind was still half in the dome. “I don’t have any other exams today,” she answered. “My next assessment is tomorrow morning.”

Elowyn hummed softly as if filing that away. “I have my oral exam at noon.”

Valeria’s gaze flicked toward the nearest wall-mounted sconce-clock. It was barely past ten-thirty. “That gives you an hour and a half,” she noted.

“Exactly.” Elowyn’s expression eased into something thoughtful before she spoke again. “If you’re free… would you like to get a meal?”

Valeria hadn’t expected that. Not today. Not minutes after an exhausting trial. And not from someone who had no practical reason to spend more time with her. Her instinct was to respond with polite acceptance—but something tugged at her first. A quiet, heavier thought.

She hesitated.

The banquet.

Elaris’s silent warning.

The rumors already circulating.

Her name, marked in subtle ink by the Crown Prince’s faction.

Associating with her wasn’t wise. Not socially. Not politically. Not for someone who was trying to keep a low profile. And Elowyn, hidden behind a crafted noble identity, should have been exactly the sort of person who avoided unnecessary attention.

Valeria drew a breath, prepared to say something measured. “You should be aware that—”

Elowyn cut in gently, as if she’d predicted the sentence before it formed. “I don’t mind.”

Valeria blinked.

“…Really?”

“Yes.” Elowyn’s tone remained soft but certain. “If you’re willing, I’d like the company.”

There was no calculation in her voice. No careful weighing of political consequences. No subtle probe into Valeria’s status or past. It was unmistakably sincere.

Valeria wasn’t used to sincerity directed at her without hesitation.

She searched Elowyn’s face for any sign of apprehension. Any flicker of uncertainty. She found none.

‘She knows the risk?’

‘And she doesn’t care?’

Something loosened inside her chest—some tight, dormant part of her that hadn’t been touched since before the academy, before Andelheim, before the investigations that taught her how quickly alliances turned into weapons.

“…Alright,” Valeria said quietly. “I’m free.”

Elowyn smiled—not wide, not showy, but small and warm enough to soften the atmosphere between them. “Good. Then let’s go before the dining hall gets crowded.”

Valeria nodded, falling into step beside her. She wasn’t sure what kind of moment this was or what it meant. Only that it felt unexpectedly easy to walk with Elowyn Caerlin at her side.

They fell into an easy rhythm as they walked through the corridor, the cool breeze from the outer vents brushing away the lingering warmth of the combat dome. Students from other groups passed by, some animated, others dragging their feet, all too absorbed in their own assessments to pay much attention to the two girls moving side by side.

Elowyn didn’t fill the silence out of nervousness; she simply let it settle before speaking at a comfortable moment.

“That technique you used on the Strider,” she said, glancing at Valeria. “The diagonal cut. Is that part of your family’s sword style?”

Valeria expected the question to feel intrusive, but it didn’t. Elowyn’s tone wasn’t prying — it was genuine curiosity, as if she were asking about weather patterns rather than a knight’s most guarded skillset. Valeria appreciated the difference.

“Yes,” she replied. “Most of the fundamentals and forms come from the Olarion style. It’s a traditional knight lineage, focused on precision and structural cuts.” She paused, sorting what she wanted to share. “But not all of it.”

Elowyn arched a brow. “Not all?”

“There’s one technique,” Valeria said, choosing her words with care. “The one I used on the Strider. It isn’t part of any inherited form.”

Elowyn’s interest sharpened, though her expression stayed controlled. “You developed it yourself?”

Valeria nodded once. “I’ve been working on it for a while now. It’s still incomplete.” She exhaled quietly, almost a self-correcting gesture. “I don’t want to call it a technique yet. It feels premature.”

Elowyn’s steps slowed just slightly as she absorbed that, her gaze returning to Valeria with something like quiet respect. “From what I saw, it didn’t look incomplete.”

Valeria felt a small shift behind her ribs — an uncomfortable warmth brought on by praise she hadn’t expected, much less from someone whose opinion suddenly mattered more than it should.

She kept her voice even. “There’s a difference between something looking finished and being finished. The movement works, but it doesn’t feel… settled. Not the way other forms do. It still has flaws.”

Elowyn smiled faintly. “You’d be surprised how many mages feel the same way about our shaping. Even when others think it looks polished.”

Valeria considered that. It was strange to hear it from Elowyn in particular; everything the girl had cast looked controlled, purposeful, refined. Yet hearing her say it made the unfinished weight of Valeria’s own work feel lighter.

“Maybe,” Valeria said. “But I prefer to wait before calling it part of my style.”

“That makes sense,” Elowyn replied. “Still… it was impressive.”

Valeria glanced at her, unsure how to respond to a compliment delivered without embellishment or expectation. She settled for a quiet, “Thank you.”

Elowyn accepted the answer with an easy nod. They continued toward the dining hall, the hallway gradually opening into a wider space where aroma wards carried traces of fresh bread and simmering broth.