Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 945: Don’t waste my time

CRACK!

A thin sheet of ice shot across the path ahead of Lucavion—its edges crystalline, the frost blooming unnaturally fast along the ground like a river flash-frozen in motion. He halted, boots skidding slightly before he shifted his weight and found balance.

His eyes narrowed immediately.

”That spell...” he muttered.

A basic field manipulation technique. Glacier Vein. Two-star, at best. Low-range, weak in power, barely more than a nuisance in most duels.

Except this one had traveled nearly twice its normal distance.

Lucavion turned, slowly.

His expression twisted into irritation, brows drawn low, jaw tight.

”Are you really asking for a fight right now?” he said, his voice clipped with disbelief—and a warning underneath.

Across from him, Elara stood poised, hand lowered after the spell, her stance calm.

She didn’t flinch beneath his gaze.

Instead, she lowered her eyes for half a second, just enough to suggest acknowledgment. Not regret—just understanding.

”I was lost in thought,” she said evenly. ”Too many of them. My fault.”

Lucavion’s glare didn’t ease.

”...”

But she lifted her gaze again.

And this time, it held clarity.

”I’m ready now.”

The words carried no aggression, no challenge—just certainty. A steadiness that hadn’t been there before.

Lucavion let out a breath, sharp through his nose.

”So what?” he muttered, glancing away. ”I’m no longer in the mood.”

He turned again, cloak brushing the frost-laced stones.

But—

Fwhip!

Another spell—this time sharper, more precise.

A ripple of frost arced under his heel—a trip-vein, this one curved to catch balance rather than harm. He stopped again, annoyed, his heel lifted just slightly above the curve of blue-white frost.

His head turned, slowly.

And Elara smirked—just faintly.

”Come on,” she said. ”I’ll make it worth your time.”

Lucavion’s eyes narrowed further.

”...You’re persistent.”

”Focused,” she corrected, stepping forward with fluid control, mana lightly coiling at her wrist. ”You said it yourself. Stop thinking so much.”

She flicked her fingers once, a soft whistle of chilled wind echoing through the air around her.

”I’m done thinking.”

Lucavion stared at her, silent for a beat longer than usual.

Then—

He drew his estoc again, the blade whispering free with a flicker of black flame along its length. His stance shifted—not aggressive, not cautious.

Balanced.

Readied.

Lucavion’s blade hummed faintly with that strange, shadow-laced flame as it steadied in his grip. No flare. No theatrics.

Just a promise.

His eyes, dark and sharpened like polished obsidian, locked on hers.

”You better take responsibility for your words,” he said flatly.

The air between them cooled—not from her magic, but from the sudden weight in his tone.

Elara didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Because he wasn’t done.

”My time...” he continued, voice dropping lower, the edge of it like steel being drawn across stone, ”is not for someone else to waste.”

His gaze narrowed further—not in fury, but in intent. Focused. Like he’d just accepted a challenge, not out of irritation, but principle.

He was measuring her again.

Not her mana. Not her form.

Her conviction.

The same way he’d measured soldiers. Enemies. Allies.

And she met that stare without flinching.

”I won’t waste it,” she said.

Her voice, quiet—but sure. As if she were repeating a truth to herself as much as to him.

Then—

CRACK.

Frost spiraled once more beneath her boots, a brief pulse of mana pushing outward like a heartbeat. A warning. A start.

Lucavion’s fingers curled tighter around his blade.

And this time, his smirk didn’t return.

Only that razor-straight line of focus remained.

”We will see that.”

CRACK.

The ground pulsed again—mana radiating from Elara’s feet like frost-slick ripples across stone. No chant. No flare. Just motion. Instinct.

Lucavion didn’t hesitate.

The moment her spell activated, he moved. A blur of black across silver-blue ground, cloak snapping behind him as his estoc caught the light of dawn in a single, swift arc.

Elara slid to the side.

[Glacier Vein. Rank 2★]

A fresh line of ice bloomed beneath her boots and pushed her momentum outward—like catching wind in a sail. The spell wasn’t made for propulsion, but she forced it. Redirected its intent with sheer will, channeling the mana into acceleration instead of field control.

Lucavion’s blade slashed through where her shoulder had just been—clean, silent.

She landed hard, but didn’t stop.

[Frost Spikes. Rank 2★]

She flicked her fingers down, and a jagged line of frozen teeth erupted from the ground between them—too thin to trap, but dense enough to slow him.

Lucavion didn’t slow.

His estoc cut sideways, a flash of dark steel. The frost shattered with a hiss of splintered ice, scattering into mist as he stepped through the wreckage with precise, relentless motion.

He was faster than she remembered.

No fire. No spells.

Just that blade, dancing with brutal economy.

[Ice Flare. Rank 1★]

She fired a quick burst of pale-blue light toward his feet—less a blast, more of a dazzle, aimed to distort his vision just enough—

CLINK.

The estoc flicked downward with almost lazy ease. The light burst harmlessly against the flat of the blade. Lucavion’s eyes didn’t even blink.

His stance shifted again, closing the space.

Elara gritted her teeth, stepped back.

[Snowbind Thread. Rank 1★]

She traced a fast circle with her hand—mana twisting into a looping frost-ring that flung outward like a snare. It hit the ground beneath Lucavion’s boots and locked for half a second.

His stride stuttered.

Not much.

Just enough.

But he pivoted—spinning on one heel, cloak sweeping low as his blade lashed up in a clean vertical strike—not at her, but at her next spell before it could form.

[Crystallize Dust. Rank 2★]

A spell meant to create visibility control—fine ice particles cast like mist to obscure view and movement. But before she could shape it fully—

SWIPE!

The wind from his blade cut through the forming particles. They dispersed instantly—useless. Her vision stayed clear. Too clear.

He came at her again.

A single lunge. No feint.

And still—she almost couldn’t block it.

[Ice Bracer. Rank 1-star]

Her forearm flared with cold as the thin shield of frost laced across her wrist just in time.

CRACK—!

His estoc slammed against the shield. Not full force—but enough to rattle her entire frame. Her boots skidded back across the stone, the bracer fracturing instantly. She barely kept her balance.

”Too slow,” Lucavion muttered, stepping forward again.

[Snap Freeze. Rank 2-star]

She clapped her hands together, releasing a cone of compressed cold aimed low—meant to slick the ground and trip his footing.

He jumped the spell.

Didn’t even stumble.

Landed beside her, his blade flicking toward her side with lightning speed—she ducked—

[Slipcast: Frost Pulse. Rank 1-star]

A flick of her wrist sent a ripple of cold through the edge of her cloak—she channeled the spell into the fabric, making the pulse flare from the cloth itself, catching Lucavion just as he turned with the blade raised.

He paused, eyes flicking down.

The spell connected.

Barely.

A pulse of cold slapped his ribs—didn’t hurt, but staggered.

Enough.

Elara dove under his arm.

Rolled.

Came up with her hand raised.

[Ice Lance. Rank 2-star]

Straightforward. Direct. She threw the shard of frozen mana without ceremony—like a spear aimed straight for his shoulder.

CLANG!

The estoc twisted mid-spin—Lucavion didn’t even look. He felt it.

The blade deflected the lance. Shards of ice scattered in a semi-circle around him.

He exhaled once.

”You’re not bad,” he said. ”But you’re trying too hard.”

Elara ignored the words. She didn’t have time to waste.

[Frost Veil. Rank 2-star]

She cast it downward—an area fog that coiled upward, fast and cold. A curtain of shimmering mist designed to hide movements.

And for a second—it worked.

Lucavion’s eyes narrowed.

But he didn’t flinch.

Instead—he closed his eyes.

And listened.

step.

She came from the left—too predictable.

CLANG—!

The estoc lashed out through the mist and met her bracer again—she’d raised it, but too slow. The hit knocked her to the ground, the veil splitting open like smoke torn apart by wind.

She hit the stone with a grunt, rolled once, and came up gasping.

He was already in front of her.

No fire. No magic. Just steel and silence.

The estoc’s point hovered at her chest—not touching, but there.

”I said,” he murmured, not unkindly, ”don’t waste my time.”