Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 797: Crown and Loneliness (2)

[Now you have done it. Was that really worth it?]

Vitaliara’s voice echoed in his mind. Soft. Steady. Disappointed.

Lucavion didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just kept sipping.

’Yep. Didn’t you see the look on his face?’

He smirked behind the rim of the glass.

[Lucavion.]

There was that slight edge in her tone. Not anger. Concern, tempered by something older. Wearier.

[I did. And it was not good. He was ready to kill you.]

Lucavion exhaled slowly through his nose. Not annoyed. Just... humored.

’He always was,’ he thought, setting the glass down gently on the edge of the stone. ’He just never had a reason until now.’

[That is not clever.]

’I’m not trying to be clever.’

[You’re provoking him.]

’I’m provoking the idea of him. There’s a difference.’

[He doesn’t see that difference.]

Lucavion’s gaze drifted back toward the center of the hall. Toward Lucien. Still stiff. Still standing. Still surrounded by silence thicker than any courtly applause.

’He does now.’

For a breath, neither of them spoke. Not aloud. Not in thought. Just the hum of strings and the careful laughter of the damned.

Then—

[You do realize what comes next, don’t you?]

Lucavion nodded once to no one.

’Of course. That was the point.’

A pause.

[And you’re ready for it?]

Another sip. He let it wash over him.

The answer, when it came, was not cocky.

It was quiet.

’Let him come.’

[Vitaliara sighed.]

It wasn’t sharp. Wasn’t scolding. Just tired.

[But you’re all alone again.]

Lucavion’s smile didn’t falter. He let the silence stretch a moment longer before he shrugged—light, almost indifferent.

’Not all alone. I still have you to talk to, don’t I?’

[That’s not the same.]

’Isn’t it?’

He glanced toward the clusters of nobles laughing a little too loudly, sipping wine they didn’t like, trading words that meant nothing. Their movements were rehearsed. Eyes sharp, not for truth—but for leverage.

’Honestly, it’s better than entertaining that parade of silk-throated vultures. I’ve never had much taste for peacocks and porcelain masks.’

[Still...]

’Now,’ he said, tipping his glass once more, ’I’ve done myself a favor. I’ve filtered the field.’

He gestured subtly to the room with a slight tilt of his chin.

’The ones who wanted to approach me for profit, for whispers, for the shine of novelty—they’ll vanish. Good. Let them.’

[So what’s left?]

’Guts,’ he murmured. ’Honor. Or maybe desperation. But they’ll have to mean it now. No more hollow smiles. No more velvet daggers.’

He turned his gaze toward the far end of the ballroom, where the light faded just enough to blur intentions.

’Only those who have the spine to walk through fire will come to speak to me now.’

A pause.

Then he chuckled, soft and low.

’If no one does...’

He looked up at the chandelier, golden light catching just faintly in his eyes.

’Then it’s a pity.’

Another sip.

’For the Empire.’

Lucavion’s eyes lingered on the chandelier a moment longer, then dropped—slowly—back to the people.

The masks were back on. The laughs had returned. But none of it mattered.

Not anymore.

’If those in power,’ he thought, the taste of wine forgotten, ’if those who hold responsibility can only bow their heads when someone stronger snarls...’

His jaw tightened—not visibly, but just enough for the truth to press between his teeth.

’Then screw this world.’

He wasn’t angry.

He was done.

With the performance. With the games. With the pretense that strength and justice had anything to do with one another.

’If justice only bends to power,’ he mused, eyes trailing over polished boots and jewel-draped collars, ’then what’s the point of submitting?’

The nobles hadn’t condemned Reynard.

Not until it was safe.

Not until someone stronger had made the first move.

Lucien hadn’t protected Priscilla.

Not because she didn’t matter.

But because she was an easier pawn than the shame of being challenged.

And the professors, the guards, the voices of the Empire? They had all waited. Measured. Calculated.

Not one of them moved until the tide shifted.

’They call it politics,’ Lucavion thought. ’I call it cowardice.’

He didn’t need the applause.

He didn’t crave allegiance.

What he needed—was clarity.

And now he had it.

The Empire bowed to power.

Not truth. Not principle. Not conviction.

Just power.

’Then let them fear it,’ he thought. ’If that’s all they understand—then I’ll speak their language. Louder. Sharper. Unmistakably.’

Because he wasn’t here to win favor.

He was here to make sure that next time, when another ”commoner” stood alone—

They wouldn’t be.

And if that meant burning the rules to light the way?

So be it.

*****

The crystal goblet in Valeria’s hand remained untouched, the wine within it catching the chandelier’s glow like garnet frozen in time. Around her, the voices of the nobles began to rise—not in celebration, but in low, shocked confusion, like wind stirring after lightning strikes too close.

”...did he mean to do that?”

”I think he did. It wasn’t a mistake.”

”He stared down Lucien. In public. In that way—”

”Madness. Absolute—”

”But he didn’t falter. And did you see the Headmaster? He didn’t interrupt. He let it happen.”

The chatter circled her like coiled threads, each more incredulous than the last. Lord Bartolini’s face was pale from too much wine and too little certainty, while Lady Fiorenza pressed her fingers to her mouth like someone watching a masquerade turn into a duel.

Eventually, one of them turned to Valeria—she wasn’t even sure who, perhaps Ameline, perhaps someone new entirely. The voice felt distant.

”Lady Olarion,” they said carefully. ”What... do you make of it?”

Valeria blinked once. Not visibly caught off guard—but internally? She felt that familiar, infuriating tangle.

Because Lucavion had done it again.

He had broken the rules—shattered them, really—at a table meant for diplomacy and performance. The very same way he had at Andelheim, when he challenged the Cloud Heavens Sect to their faces in open combat, uncaring of the risks or politics. And just like then, it should have ended badly.

It still might.

Going against the Crown Prince?

What in the stars’ names was he thinking?

She lifted her gaze slightly, watching the aftermath settle in the hall like dust after a collapse. Lucien was gone from view—his retinue thinned, his supporters hushed. But Lucavion? He was still standing. Still present. Like the storm hadn’t even brushed him.

And he didn’t gloat. He didn’t strut.

He simply was.

Valeria’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around her glass.

Because part of her—the trained, political part—was screaming. What he’d done was reckless. Stupid. It placed a target squarely on his back. It would cost him allies, paint him as volatile, dangerous—

But the other part?

The part forged not in salons but in field camps, in war councils, in battlefield silence before the charge?

That part respected it.

Because only he would do this.

Only he would take a place built to bind and use it to challenge the very structure that gave it power.

She looked back at the nobles around her. Their expectant faces. Their nervous glances.

And in the end, her answer came out low. Cool. Measured.

”...he always does what no one else dares.”