Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 602: Pink Knight (3)

The Baronʼs protests were little more than breathless murmurs as her knights dragged him forward, his weight shifting unsteadily between them. He didnʼt resist—none of them ever did, not truly. The moment their walls crumbled, the moment the weight of their sins was forced upon them, they all broke the same way.

Valeria followed behind, her boots echoing against the stone floor, her grip still firm around the hilt of her sword. The castle halls stretched wide before them, lined with faded tapestries, fine paintings—ornate displays of stolen wealth. She had seen this before. Again and again.

Five.

Five barons had fallen by her hand. Five castles conquered, five noblemen dragged from their thrones like common criminals.

And every single one of them had been the same.

Their reactions had not varied. The sneering denial. The false bravado. The demand for proof, as if the blood on their hands wasnʼt evidence enough. As if the shattered lives they had left in their wake could be dismissed as mere rumors.

Then, once reality had settled in—once they realized that there was no bargain to be made, no escape to be found—they all crumbled.

Like rotting wood beneath the weight of a heavy blade.

Her gaze flickered toward the Baronʼs hunched form. His fine clothes, once pressed and pristine, now wrinkled and damp with sweat. He was breathing heavily, his once-sharp eyes glazed with exhaustion and dread.

Just like the others.

Baron Relmar had begged, dropping to his knees before her, hands trembling, offering wealth beyond measure in exchange for his life. ”Please, I can be of use! Whatever you want—gold, land, soldiers!”

Baron Varrin had cursed her, called her a traitor, spat at her feet as the chains were locked around his wrists. ”You are nothing but Vendorʼs hound! When the empire turns on him, you will fall with him!”

Baron Estrel had tried to run, even after she had given him a choice, darting through secret corridors like a rat scurrying from fire. He had not made it far.

They were all the same.

They built their power atop the suffering of others, convinced of their own invincibility. And when the reckoning came, they clung to whatever delusions they could, as if their status could shield them from the weight of the truth.

It never did.

Valeria inhaled slowly, the cool air of the corridor doing little to push away the heavy exhaustion creeping into her limbs. She did not falter—she never did—but the weight of it all pressed against her nonetheless.

This was her duty. Her familyʼs path to redemption.

But that did not mean she had to enjoy it.

By the time they reached the castleʼs entrance, the sounds of the battlefield had faded into an eerie stillness. The courtyard, once a site of struggle, was now filled with surrendered soldiers, their weapons piled in heaps beside them. Her knights stood watch, some tending to the wounded, others securing the fortress as ordered.

All of it was routine. All of it expected.

And yet, as she stepped forward, looking over the conquered keep, the Baron at her back, and the ever-present weight of war pressing upon her shoulders—

She could not shake the thought.

ʼAnd how many more will be like this?ʼ

The Baron was dragged past her, his feet stumbling over loose stone, his breath uneven. He muttered something—whether a curse or a plea, Valeria didnʼt care. Her gaze wasnʼt on him anymore. It was distant, caught somewhere between memory and the present.

The wind carried the scent of blood and smoke, but beneath it, she thought she could almost smell something else. Old parchment, ink, the crisp morning air of Andelheim.

She could almost hear the city streets bustling, the voices of merchants calling out their wares. And over it all—his voice.

Lucavion.

The first time she had seen him, truly seen him, he was bribing his way through the registration queue of Andelheim.

She was a bit late at that time to register for the tournament, and when she arrived, the queue was long. But she didnʼt mind it at all…

The guards had been slow, thorough in their inspections, as was expected. Order was everything. The city had rules, laws that had to be upheld.

And then he had come along.

She had watched, incredulous, as he casually slipped a pouch of coin into a guardʼs hand and strode past the waiting travelers without a second glance.

It had infuriated her.

Not just because he had broken the rules, but because of how easily he had done it. How naturally he had dismissed the very laws she had been raised to uphold.

She had confronted him right then and there, her voice sharp, demanding an explanation.

He had simply smirked.

”Rules? Oh, those. You mean the ones that only apply when itʼs convenient?”

She had been livid.

To her, who had been raised by the doctrine of Noblesse Oblige, the belief that the strong had a duty to uphold honor, to protect those beneath them, his blatant disregard for order had felt wrong.

They had clashed often after that. She had fought him with words, with principles, trying to make him see that the laws were there for a reason. That without structure, society would crumble. That the nobility—her family, the empire—were meant to lead by example.

He had laughed.

”You think the nobility care about anything other than themselves? The rules exist to keep people in line, not to serve justice.”

At the time, she had thought he was cynical. Arrogant. Wrong.

And then, Lucavion had spoken those fateful words.

”Iʼm going to start a Witch Hunt.”

She had thought he was going too far. That his crusade, his obsession with rooting out corruption, would turn him into something just as monstrous as the people he sought to destroy.

Now?

Now she understood.

Now she had seen the world for what it truly was.

She had watched nobles sell lives for coin. Had seen the depths of depravity hidden behind silken curtains and grand halls.

She had spoken of honor. They had spoken of profit.

She had believed in duty. They had believed in power.

The nobility she had once held in such high regard had betrayed everything they were supposed to stand for.

Lucavion had seen it long before she had.

And now, as she stood in yet another conquered castle, another den of filth and greed reduced to ruin, she found herself thinking back to those moments.

Not with anger. Not with resentment.

But with something close to gratitude.

Because he had made her see the world differently.

Because he had challenged her beliefs, forced her to think beyond what she had been taught.

And for that—

She treasured every moment she had spent with him.

Because without him, she would have never come to understand the truth.

Valeria stepped out of the castleʼs main doors, the heavy wooden slabs creaking as they swung open. The cold evening air hit her, clearing the remnants of stale candle smoke and damp stone from her lungs. The battlefield was no longer filled with the sounds of clashing steel—only the murmurs of the surrendered, the occasional cry of the wounded, and the disciplined movements of her knights securing the area.

And then—

”Lady Valeria.”

The voice was crisp, formal, yet carrying the weight of familiarity.

She turned her head.

Standing near the base of the stone steps was a knight clad in polished plate armor, the sigil of House Vendor engraved into his breastplate. His helm was tucked under one arm, revealing a face marked by years of experience—short-cropped blond hair, sharp blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard.

Maynter.

One of Marquis Vendorʼs household knights. His allegiance was to Vendor alone, yet here they were, fighting on the same side, their orders aligned.

Maynterʼs lips curled into a slight smirk, though his tone remained as measured as ever.

”You have done a splendid job, as usual.”

Valeria exhaled, rolling one shoulder as if to ease the weight of the battle from her limbs. ”It had to be done.”

Maynter chuckled, stepping forward. ”Perhaps. But the efficiency with which you execute these orders is… admirable.” His eyes flicked toward the Baron, who was still being dragged forward by her knights. The man had gone quiet now, resignation weighing down his every step.

Valeria crossed her arms. ”Flattery doesnʼt suit you, Maynter. What is it you want?”

The knight let out a small hum, as if amused. ”Straight to the point. Very well.” His expression turned slightly more serious. ”The Marquis will want a full report. And, given that this is the fifth baron youʼve unseated… he may want to speak with you directly.”

That wasnʼt unexpected.

Marquis Vendor was a man who preferred efficiency. And though Valeria acted with his authority, she was still an Olarion. Not one of his own. He would want confirmation that she was still aligned with his interests.

Still, the idea of another political meeting, another discussion of tactics, logistics, and the next target—it was exhausting.

She glanced back at the fortress, its once-proud banners now sullied with blood and smoke.

”Fine,” she said at last, looking back at Maynter. ”Iʼll send my knights ahead with the Baron. Iʼll make my report personally.”

Maynter nodded. ”Good. The Marquis will be pleased.”

Valeria said nothing.