Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 677: Seran (2)

The Fifth Bell had fallen silent.

Not fully—but enough. The chatter, the clinking utensils, even the enchanted instruments in the corner had quieted to background whispers. The projection hovering above the hearth had captured every eye in the room.

And every soul was watching Reynald Vale lose.

Valeria sat motionless in her booth, fingers tight around her cooling cup. Her eyes didnʼt blink. Her breath came slower than usual, like her body was bracing for something that hadnʼt landed yet.

On the screen, Lucavion advanced again—slow, surgical. No wasted movement. No flare for drama. Just execution. Every step was measured. Every thrust of his estoc was clean, angled to cut without theatrics. The flames that coiled around him now seemed like an afterthought.

They werenʼt showpieces.

They were statements.

—CLANG!

Reynald blocked again, but barely. His sword arm was trembling. Not from fear. From attrition. He was burning mana just to maintain footing, his stance growing tighter, more reactive.

Lucavion hadnʼt been pushed once.

”Heʼs still standing,” someone muttered, hope clinging to their voice like frost to dying leaves.

”Come on, Reynald…”

”Donʼt lose, please—”

”He has to win… right?”

Valeriaʼs eyes didnʼt move, but she could feel the air changing. The crowdʼs enthusiasm had soured into tension. A mass dissonance. Theyʼd spent the last few minutes wanting Reynald to win—but now, they were starting to realize—

He wouldnʼt.

Lucavion ducked beneath a retaliatory arc, gliding forward like shadow drawn by gravity.

—THWACK!

A knee to Reynaldʼs ribs. A pivot. A slash.

—SKRRRK!

Reynaldʼs shoulder plate cracked, black flames curling over the exposed cloth beneath.

”...Heʼs losing,” someone whispered, voice brittle.

”No… not yet. He still has more techniques.”

”He has to—he saved people! Heʼs—heʼs Reynald Vale!”

But that name—so heavy a moment ago—sounded thin now. As if even the air doubted it could hold.

Lucavionʼs next strike knocked Reynaldʼs sword sideways. A sweep of his foot threw him further off balance.

—BOOM!

The flame burst downward, not to damage—but to pin. Glyphs bloomed beneath Reynaldʼs boots. Trap sigils. Pre-cast. Hidden in the rhythm of the fight.

Reynald stumbled.

Lucavion didnʼt grin.

He didnʼt celebrate.

He just pointed his estoc toward Reynaldʼs chest and let the final blow hover, poised but not delivered.

And the world knew—if he thrust, it would be over.

Gasps filled the room.

”No… no, no, no—”

”This canʼt be happening.”

”Not like this.”

”He helped people! He didnʼt deserve this!”

Valeria still didnʼt speak. Her pulse ticked like a slow drum in her ears.

She had seen Lucavion fight before. On battlefields where the stakes were real. When lives—not reputations—hung in the balance.

But this—

This was different.

He was too focused. Too sharp.

Like he wasnʼt just fighting Reynald.

Like he was cutting through something.

Or someone.

And even now, she didnʼt know why.

Did he see something the rest of them didnʼt?

Or was he…..

…just doing this because he wanted to?

The moment hung suspended—like a blade caught mid-swing.

Lucavionʼs estoc hovered just above Reynaldʼs chest, the final thrust within reach. The lotus glyphs spun slow around them, petals of black fire coiling closer. The silence was thick, taut with the inevitability of end.

But then—

—THRUMM!

The sound wasnʼt heard. It was felt.

A pulse. A ripple. A surge.

Reynaldʼs body arched slightly—his eyes snapping open, no longer weary, no longer doubting.

And his mana erupted.

—FWWOOOOOM!

Golden light burst from his core, not like a wave, but a dome—rushing outward in a blazing sphere of power. It collided with Lucavionʼs encroaching black flame in an instant.

—KRRAAAKHHH!

The shockwave shattered the ground beneath them. Flame and gold collided in a vortex of pressure, swirling upward in twin spirals—opposing colors vying for dominion. The lotus petals cracked, some disintegrating mid-air under the radiance of Reynaldʼs release.

The inn watching from afar gasped again.

”What is that?”

The golden light didnʼt just push—it changed.

It deepened. Thickened. The color remained the same, but the sensation behind it twisted into something new. What had once been warm and noble, a stabilizing force, now flared with pressure sharp enough to crack stone.

Even the inn projection flickered under the force of it, the mana distorting the image for a heartbeat.

Lucavionʼs boots slid back across the scorched earth.

A first.

His smirk wavered—not from pain, but from revelation.

”Owww…”

He winced, theatrically rubbing his shoulder. ”Now that stings…”

His eyes flicked toward Reynald, who stood tall amid the collapsing glyphs, bathed in gold fire that hissed where it met the last of the black petals.

Lucavionʼs grin curled again—this time edged with sarcasm.

”So you were peak 4-star all this time?”

His tone was needling, amused. The way he always sounded when he already knew the answer and wanted to make you say it aloud.

He tilted his head, gesturing lazily with his estoc.

”I wonder why we—”

—CRACK!

He didnʼt finish.

Reynald moved.

Faster than before. Sharper.

—BOOM!

The ground split beneath him as his foot launched from it, golden glyphs bursting in a spiral at his heels. His longsword came down in a vertical arc, not wild, but absolute.

—CLAAAANG!

Lucavion raised his estoc to parry—but the force pushed him.

Not deflected—pushed.

His boots dug trenches in the dirt as he was driven back, his cloak flaring violently behind him from the sheer impact.

The room watching erupted.

”Did you see that?!”

”Heʼs faster now!”

”What the hell was that? Thatʼs not mid-tier anymore!”

”Go Reynald!”

But Valeriaʼs eyes didnʼt move.

She saw it.

Not just the power—but the shift.

His aura—no longer smooth. No longer moderated. It surged and dipped in fluctuations that only a peak-tier Awakened would understand.

It wasnʼt that he was getting stronger.

It was that he had been holding back.

ʼHe was hiding his strength…ʼ Valeria thought, her gaze narrowing. ʼAll this time.ʼ

The crowdʼs cheers hadnʼt faded completely—but they had shifted.

The air inside the inn now bristled with a new, uncertain energy. Not triumph. Not awe.

Doubt.

Valeria heard it before she saw it.

Someone near the bar lowered their mug mid-sip, eyes narrowing at the projection. ”Wait a minute…”

”Wasnʼt he ranked mid-tier until now?”

”Yeah,” another muttered. ”All the analysts had him pegged at low-to-mid 4-star. Nothing like this.”

Across the room, a woman with sharp eyes leaned forward in her seat, voice edged with unease. ”That surge just now… You donʼt hide that kind of power by accident.”

The festive mood soured another shade.

More voices joined in, hushed at first, but growing in number.

”He was helping people, wasnʼt he? Why pretend to be weaker?”

”If he was always that strong… why let himself almost lose before?”

”Was it all just a setup to look like a hero?”

”I mean, I still like the guy, but…”

”I believed in him—”

Valeriaʼs gaze didnʼt lift. But internally, she noted every crack forming in the illusion.

The people of Arcanis were not easily fooled. They werenʼt rural peasants or sheltered frontier dwellers. Even commoners here had seen Awakened battles before. They understood the difference between growth under pressure… and a mask being dropped.

ʼTheyʼre starting to see it,ʼ Valeria thought, her knuckles tightening faintly.

It wasnʼt betrayal. Not yet. But the perception Reynald—Seran—had built was shifting. The ”humble swordsman” narrative, the ”quiet strength” of a common-born knight—it was being weighed against strategy.

And strategy, when exposed, often felt like manipulation.

The cheers didnʼt stop.

But they werenʼt whole anymore.

They had cracks. Notes of caution.

Of mistrust.

And Valeria knew—once that began, it never truly stopped.