Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 895: Damn (2)

Caeden blinked once.

Then twice.

“…Okay,” he muttered under his breath, “that was a little edgy.”

Elayne didn’t reply. But the shift of her brows—subtle, almost imperceptible—spoke volumes. Disapproval. Not sharp. Not loud. Just… noted.

Lucavion laughed.

It wasn’t the smooth, careless sound he used in the dining halls or the sparring ring when mocking nobility. This one had a grain to it. Dry. Knowing. A little too self-aware.

“Well,” he said, stretching slightly, flame still curling faintly along his blade’s edge, “those words’ll get meaning soon enough.”

He spun the sword once, idly, letting it hum as the black fire retracted into nothing.

“Though I assume you’ve already forgotten yesterday.”

The moment he said it—yesterday—a quiet weight dropped into the space between them.

Because they hadn’t forgotten.

No one at the Academy had.

He’d insulted the Crown Prince.

Blatantly. Publicly.

And you didn’t do that and walk away without consequence. Not here. Not in the Royal Academy.

Caeden’s jaw set.

Elayne’s arms folded tighter.

Lucavion turned just enough to catch both their eyes and smirked, as if daring them to say it out loud.

“Guess that’s true,” Caeden muttered. Not praise. Not mockery. Just… confirmation.

Lucavion’s expression didn’t change, but something behind it shifted. Like a man who already knew the price tagged to his name—and had made peace with it long ago.

Then, with a sudden pivot, he gestured toward the path they’d come from.

“Your usual morning run?”

Elayne nodded. “Yes.”

Lucavion squinted at her for a half-second longer than necessary.

Then looked at Caeden.

“…And what’s your pace like, hammer-boy?”

Caeden snorted. “Faster than yours when you’re busy lecturing your flames.”

Lucavion grinned. “Touché.”

He stretched his shoulders once, blade vanishing with a flick of mana into a waiting seal at his hip.

Then he tilted his head—just slightly—toward the path again.

“Mind if I join?”

After all, Lucavion rarely joined them.

He trained alone. Walked alone. Fought with others only when required—never because he needed the company. That was just how he was.

So when he asked, there was a brief pause.

Then—Elayne gave a single, curt nod.

Caeden shrugged. “Up to you. Just don’t expect us to slow down.”

Lucavion’s smirk returned, but he said nothing.

And just like that—they started running.

Three shadows moving as one beneath the pale dome light of the morning. The rhythm was different now. Sharper. Pushed. Not forced—but heavier. There was something about having Lucavion behind you, or beside you, that made each step feel slightly more deliberate. More watched.

Their feet hit stone, then grass, then stone again, each change in terrain caught beneath a layer of dew and soft mana haze. The early wards of the academy shimmered faintly along the outer edges of the path—keeping the temperature regulated, the air thinner, the training grounds honed with just enough resistance to remind you that this place was made to break people in the best possible way.

The pace was fast.

Not a jog. Not a warm-up.

A run.

The kind you didn’t speak through unless you had something worth breaking breath for.

And Lucavion did.

Eventually.

“…The mana here,” he said, between controlled inhales, “it’s quite something, isn’t it?”

His voice was steady. Almost casual. But the way he said it—like an observation he’d been turning over for weeks—carried more weight than the words implied.

Caeden nodded, breath still steady despite the pace. “Yeah,” he said, glancing sideways at Lucavion. “It’s no illusion. I spent most of yesterday cultivating… after the duel.”

“Yeah, you did mention it yesterday, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. But that was rather short. I didn’t cultivate with my full focus.”

“Makes sense. We didn’t have that much time.”

“Today, I’d noticed it more,” Caeden continued. “The things that I didn’t pay much attention to, just figured the mana here was cleaner. After I tried focusing for real…” He exhaled, deep and deliberate, as if weighing the memory.

“My cultivation speed nearly doubled.”

That earned him a glance from Elayne.

Lucavion’s expression flickered—mild curiosity under the usual smirk.

“It’s like there’s a second layer beneath everything,” Caeden went on. “The ambient mana’s denser. Slower. But it responds better to intention. When I guided it into the lattice points, it didn’t just follow. It adjusted. Matched rhythm.”

He paused to let a branch snap past, ducking slightly, never breaking stride.

“I’ve been stuck mid-four star for weeks now,” he admitted. “Couldn’t get past the bottleneck in my second core-line. Yesterday… I could feel it. The opening. The flow shifted just enough.”

“Core-line?” Elayne asked, looking confused with her tilted to side.

“Ah….It is related to my cultivation method.”

“….”

“Peak four-star?” Lucavion asked, still sounding casual—but Caeden knew better.

He nodded. “Soon. If I don’t mess it up.”

Elayne stayed quiet—but the faint glint of sweat on her brow wasn’t from the run alone. She was listening too.

Lucavion tilted his head. “Hn. Not bad.”

“Thanks.” Caeden rolled his shoulders once. “Still got a long way to go. But here? At this pace? I think it’s actually possible.”

Then, almost on instinct, his eyes slid toward Elayne.

“…What about you?”

Elayne’s eyes stayed forward, feet landing in perfect cadence with theirs—never rushed, never lagging. For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn’t respond. She rarely did, unless the words were worth spending.

Then:

“I cultivated a little.”

Lucavion arched a brow. “And?”

A faint flicker passed over her face. Not a smile—but the thought of one.

“There’s… clarity here,” she said. Her voice, always calm, held a sharper undertone this time. “The kind that doesn’t come from silence or stillness. The mana—it folds around thoughts. Answers before I speak them.”

Caeden shot her a sideways look. “That’s one way to put it.”

She ignored him.

“I’m mid-four star. Same as you.”

Lucavion raised a brow. “Illusion magic, right?”

Elayne gave a small nod.

Then—

She surged forward.

No warning. No shift in posture. Just a sudden burst of speed, light-footed and precise. As if the question had concluded her part of the conversation and she no longer found it worth pacing herself to match theirs.

Caeden cursed under his breath and pushed off harder.

’Of course she’d do that.’

He leaned forward, legs hammering into the ground as he picked up speed, matching her stride with effort—not ease. Wind rushed past his ears, trees blurring at the edges of his vision. The tempo shifted. This wasn’t a pace for conversation anymore. This was where bones started to groan, where breath came short, where the line between stamina and strain blurred.

Their feet slammed into the training path with rhythmic force.

The earth trembled faintly beneath each step.

Caeden’s lungs began to burn.

And still—Elayne ran ahead, like silence given form, like a shadow chasing wind.

He grit his teeth. Pushed harder.

Lucavion?

Still behind them.

For a few seconds, Caeden thought he’d stayed back. Let them go on without him.

Then a figure glided up alongside him.

Effortless.

Lucavion.

Running just fast enough to match, shoulders relaxed, gaze straight ahead. Like this was nothing. Like he’d been doing it the whole time.

Caeden’s eyes narrowed.

He focused for a second—reaching out with his mana senses, brushing the edges of Lucavion’s body to feel the pressure.

No reinforcement.

None.

Not even a whisper of elemental channeling.

No earth mana strengthening his joints. No wind mana boosting his stride.

Nothing.

Just raw physique.

’Wait… no. That’s not normal.’

Elayne, too, seemed to notice. She flicked a quick glance behind her shoulder—and for just a moment, her form wavered. Not in speed. In rhythm. The illusionist trained to become untouchable had just blinked.

Caeden muttered, half-gasping. “You’re not… even using mana?”

Lucavion turned his head slightly, still running. That damned smirk again. “Why would I?”

Caeden’s face contorted somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.

“Because this is a sprint at full tilt and we’re about to die?”

Lucavion just shrugged mid-run. “You call this full tilt?”

Caeden nearly tripped. “I—what?”

Lucavion didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The glint in his eye said it all.

’He’s holding back.’