Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 315 Mad dogs (3)

Just as Lucavion was walking towards the chamber, Vitaliara was watching everything unfolding right before her eyes.

The murmurs of the Mad Dogs carried on the breeze—half awe, half challenge—but he paid them no mind. His focus remained sharp, the weight of the moment pressing against him.

Vitaliara approached quietly, her presence a soft whisper against the tension brimming in the air. Her tail flicked lazily behind her as she gazed at him, her expression unreadable. [Lucavion, why are you doing this?] she asked, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and concern. [What could drive you to such lengths to bring them under your command?]

Lucavion smirked faintly, his dark eyes glinting with faint amusement as he tilted his head toward her. ʼWhy?ʼ he thought, his words forming silently in his mind. ʼBecause these lunatics are exactly the kind of people I need.ʼ His gaze swept over the camp, where men whispered nervously but still held the gleam of defiance in their eyes. ʼEven after I cut down four of their own in front of them, theyʼre still looking for a fight. Most would have run, but not these idiots. They see death as an invitation.ʼ

[You admire that?] Vitaliara pressed, her tone sharper now as she watched him. [What could you possibly need them for, these broken men?]

Lucavion paused, his smirk fading slightly as his thoughts took on a more serious tone. ʼFor what else, Vitaliara? For the promise I made to you.ʼ

Her expression shifted, her golden eyes narrowing slightly as surprise flickered across her face. [The promise…]

ʼWhen we first met,ʼ he reminded her, his mindʼs voice softening as the memory stirred. ʼI told you Iʼd go to the Azure Blossom Sect. That Iʼd save what remains of them.ʼ His gaze lingered on hers, unflinching. ʼI donʼt make promises lightly, and I donʼt break them either. No matter how much trouble they might bring me.ʼ

Vitaliaraʼs breath hitched slightly, and her usual sharp retorts faltered as the weight of his words settled over her. [Even after all this time, you still…]

ʼYou make it sound like too much time has passed.ʼ

[Well, it has been nearly a year.]

ʼ…..Time sure flies.ʼ

[In any case, I really thought you had forgotten about that.]

ʼI did not. There were just some more pressing matters, that was it. Now that, I have time, why not.ʼ

Vitaliara sighed softly, her golden eyes flickering as she observed the unruly camp of Mad Dogs. [What is this Iron Circle youʼre stepping into?] she asked, her voice a blend of curiosity and faint exasperation. Her tail swayed lazily, betraying her intrigue even as her tone suggested she expected another of Lucavionʼs peculiar explanations.

Lucavion paused, the faint smirk on his face tightening as he stepped closer to the center of the camp. His thoughts moved like quicksilver. The Iron Circle—a relic of soldiers hardened by war, where brute strength and survival instincts ruled. A tradition born in the military, taken to extremes by mercenaries.

The memory of bloodied fists and the echo of wild laughter resurfaced in his mind. The soldiers used to call it entertainment in hell.

ʼAnd here I am, walking into it like itʼs a stroll through a park,ʼ he mused dryly, his expression betraying no such sentiment.

Lucavionʼs gaze rested on Zirkel, unwavering despite the growing tension in the camp. Around him, the murmurs of the mercenaries formed a background hum, but his focus was singular, locked onto the Mad Dogsʼ leader. As the massive axe rested against Zirkelʼs shoulder, its brutal weight a promise of devastation in the confines of the Iron Circle, Lucavionʼs mind churned with calculated thoughts.

ʼItʼs a game.ʼ he mused silently, his dark eyes narrowing as he evaluated the man before him. ʼA spectacle meant to solidify authority through strength. A relic of simpler minds who mistake raw power for control.ʼ

Zirkelʼs mocking grin widened as he hefted his axe, the heavy blade glinting wickedly in the firelight. ”Your sword might look fancy,” he jeered, ”but in here, itʼs the weapon that claims the space. And my axe is made for places like this.”

Lucavion tilted his head slightly, the faintest smirk curling his lips. ʼTrue, the small circle favors his reach. One wide sweep, and he can dominate the entire radius. For someone who lacks finesse, itʼs perfect.ʼ His hand flexed briefly on the hilt of his estoc, the polished blade designed for precision rather than brute strength. ʼBut for me, such trivialities are just challenges waiting to be overcome.ʼ

He could almost feel Vitaliaraʼs exasperation as her voice floated through his thoughts. [You call this a game? This isnʼt strategy—itʼs madness. A closed space where his strength will reign supreme? You canʼt outlast him in sheer force.]

ʼAh, but thatʼs where youʼre wrong, Vitaliara,ʼ he countered inwardly, his amusement sharpening. ʼThis circle doesnʼt favor the strongest weapon. It favors the one with the sharpest mind.ʼ

The refereeʼs voice cut through the thick air. ”Begin!”

The moment the word was spoken, Zirkel lunged forward with shocking speed for a man his size, his axe carving a lethal arc through the air. The crowd roared as Lucavion sidestepped, the blade missing him by a hairʼs breadth. He moved fluidly, his every step calculated, his every motion deliberate.

ʼHeavy weapons always overcommit,ʼ he thought, watching as Zirkelʼs momentum carried him a half step too far. ʼAll it takes is the right angle…ʼ

SWOOSH!

Lucavionʼs estoc drove cleanly into Zirkelʼs side, the sharp tip piercing bare flesh with unnerving precision. Zirkel let out a guttural groan, his body jerking back as blood trickled down his side. He staggered slightly but managed to steady himself, his amber eye blazing with fury. The crowd erupted into shouts and gasps, a chaotic symphony of disbelief and excitement.

STAB!

”Damn you!” Zirkel growled, spitting blood as he swung his axe in a wild arc, aiming to cleave Lucavion in two.

Lucavion didnʼt flinch. He stepped back just enough to let the blade pass harmlessly in front of him, the heavy weapon whistling through the air with deadly force. Zirkelʼs momentum left him open for another instant, and Lucavion capitalized immediately, driving the hilt of his estoc into Zirkelʼs ribs, forcing another groan of pain from the larger man.

ʼHe fights like a beast,ʼ Lucavion thought, his dark eyes narrowing as he circled his opponent. ʼStrength and rage, honed by instinct and sheer survival. But instincts are predictable.ʼ

Zirkelʼs mind raced, frustration mounting with every exchange. How is this bastard this good? he thought, his breaths coming in sharp bursts. He moves like heʼs been in the Iron Circle before. Does he know how to fight here?

The Iron Circle was Zirkelʼs domain, the very symbol of his dominance. He had survived ten of these brutal, bare-knuckled fights, each one a testament to his strength and resilience. It was in this arena that he had killed the previous leader of the Mad Dogs, seizing his place at the top. The scars on his body bore witness to the countless battles he had endured to maintain his authority.

But now, facing this stranger—this so-called Sword Demon—Zirkel felt something he hadnʼt experienced in years: doubt. Find more to read on empire

Lucavionʼs strikes werenʼt just fast—they were precise, each one exploiting the smallest openings in Zirkelʼs defense. Every swing of Zirkelʼs axe felt heavier, slower, as if he were fighting not just Lucavion but his own mounting exhaustion. Meanwhile, Lucavion moved with the ease of a predator, each step calculated, each feint designed to throw Zirkel off balance.

Zirkel tightened his grip on his axe, the rough wooden handle digging into his calloused palms. No. Iʼve fought too hard, spilled too much blood to lose to this bastard. Iʼve killed men twice as strong. Iʼll kill him too.

With a roar, Zirkel lunged forward, feinting a high strike before pivoting into a sweeping low attack aimed at Lucavionʼs legs. It was a clever move, one that had felled many opponents before. But Lucavion saw through it, leaping effortlessly over the arc of the blade and twisting midair to land a shallow cut across Zirkelʼs shoulder.

The pain was sharp and immediate, but Zirkel ignored it, turning on his heel and swinging his axe upward in a desperate bid to catch Lucavion off guard. The stranger ducked, the blade passing inches above his head, and stepped in close, driving his elbow into Zirkelʼs exposed ribs. The force sent Zirkel staggering, his breath hitching as pain flared in his side.

The crowd roared louder, the mercenaries caught between awe and disbelief. Zirkel, the undefeated leader of the Mad Dogs, was being outmatched.

”Is that all the Iron Circle has to offer?” Lucavion taunted, his voice calm and cutting. He twirled his estoc lightly in his hand, its blade glinting with blood. ”I expected more from the man who calls himself their leader.”

Zirkelʼs teeth clenched, his vision blurring slightly as blood trickled down his torso. He spat on the ground, his amber eye blazing with defiance. ”You talk too much, bastard,” he growled, forcing himself upright. ”This isnʼt over.”

Lucavion smirked faintly, his expression unreadable. ”No, itʼs not. But it will be soon.”

Zirkel charged again, his axe raised high, but Lucavion didnʼt retreat. Instead, he stepped forward, closing the distance in an instant. His estoc flashed, the blade slicing across Zirkelʼs thigh, forcing the larger man to stumble. Zirkel gritted his teeth, using his momentum to spin into another wild swing, but Lucavion sidestepped once more, his movements fluid and effortless.

How? Zirkel thought, his frustration boiling over. How does he know exactly where to strike? Exactly how to move?

Lucavionʼs calm, unrelenting precision was a stark contrast to Zirkelʼs raw, brutal power. It was clear now that this was no ordinary opponent. The stranger fought as if he had been in the Iron Circle a hundred times, as if he had studied and mastered its brutal, confined chaos.

With each exchange, Zirkel felt his strength waning, his breathing growing heavier. Lucavion, meanwhile, remained unnervingly composed, his movements as sharp and deliberate as ever.

And then, with one final, decisive strike, Lucavion drove his estoc into Zirkelʼs shoulder, forcing him to drop his axe. The massive weapon clattered to the ground, its weight a stark reminder of the power Zirkel could no longer wield.

Zirkel fell to one knee, blood dripping from his wounds as he glared up at Lucavion. The stranger stood over him, his estoc poised to strike again, but he didnʼt move. Instead, he looked down at Zirkel, his dark eyes unreadable.

”Anyone else who wants to try?”

”…..”

As the crowd were silent, a wide smirk appeared on Lucavionʼs face.

”Good…..Now, let me tell you why I am here for.”