Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1114: An Early Offense

”Urgh... what is with that expression?”

Lucavion blinked once.

The young woman had slowed several paces away, and judging from the look she had fixed upon him, his face had apparently committed some offense before the rest of him received the opportunity.

He glanced briefly toward the path beside him, then back at her.

”What expression?”

Her brows drew together.

”That one.”

Lucavion lifted a hand toward his cheek, fingers brushing along his jaw as though he might discover the problem through touch.

”My face?”

”Yes, your face.”

”I wasn’t aware anything was wrong with it.”

The corner of his mouth shifted a fraction higher.

Her eyes narrowed immediately.

Lucavion kept his expression perfectly composed.

Mostly.

She stared at him for another moment before releasing a tired breath through her nose.

”You’ve got this awfully annoying smirk,” she said. ”Like you’re taking the piss out of me while pretending you’re far too innocent to say it aloud.”

For half a heartbeat, Lucavion held himself together.

Then his shoulders shook.

”Pfft—”

The laugh broke loose before he could bother restraining it.

”Hahaha!”

He turned slightly away, one hand covering his mouth while several nearby students glanced toward them. The accusation had landed far too cleanly. Worse, she had delivered it with enough blunt irritation that whatever dignity he might have salvaged disappeared immediately.

The woman folded her arms.

”Oh, brilliant.”

Lucavion drew in a breath and looked back at her, laughter still lingering around his eyes.

”My apologies.”

”You don’t sound sorry.”

”I’ve been found out. Surely I’m allowed to appreciate the achievement.”

Her stare sharpened.

”So you’re not even going to deny it?”

”Why would I?”

”To maybe be polite?”

She looked him over slowly, from his loosely tied hair to the relaxed way he stood in the middle of a path while half the Academy appeared to be running somewhere important.

Then her mouth twisted.

”But I suppose expecting that from someone like you would be asking a bit much.”

Lucavion pressed one hand against his chest.

”Come on now. A bit harsh?”

”That is what you get.”

”For smiling?”

”For smiling like you’re watching a child lose an argument with a door.”

That comparison nearly ruined him again.

Lucavion’s lips parted, and another laugh escaped beneath his breath.

”That specific?”

”You made it specific.”

”I feel misunderstood.”

”You’re enjoying yourself.”

”Those can happen together.”

She gave him a long look.

Lucavion let the silence stretch just enough for the smirk to return.

Her shoulders lowered.

”See? That.”

”What?”

”That face.”

”I still have no idea what you mean.”

”You’re terrible at this.”

”At what?”

”Pretending.”

Lucavion’s eyes brightened.

”Now that is simply unfair. I thought I was doing rather well.”

”You weren’t.”

”Then I blame the audience.”

”You would.”

They stood facing one another while the morning moved around them. Students passed in ones and twos, several carrying examination folios beneath their arms, while the mana lamps along the path continued fading beneath the growing sunlight. Somewhere behind the nearest hedge, metal struck against metal in three quick beats before a ward released a soft pulse into the air.

Lucavion’s gaze drifted back to the young woman.

The irritation in her expression had more behind it than his smirk could claim credit for.

Her hair had been tied away from her face with practical haste, and a few strands had already escaped around her temples. She held her shoulders straight, though the fingers of her right hand opened and closed once beside her thigh. The motion looked deliberate, almost like she was working stiffness from the joints.

A weapon rested at her hip.

Lucavion’s attention settled upon it.

The handle was made from dark briarwood, reinforced near the grip with pale metal bands. Two short prongs extended from the upper frame, curving around a small closed bloom where faint green mana still clung between the petals.

His smirk changed.

This time, curiosity replaced most of the mockery.

The woman caught his glance and followed it toward the weapon.

Lucavion lifted his eyes again.

”Five-thirty?”

Her expression soured.

”Yes.”

He tilted his head slightly.

”Weaponship?”

She flexed her hand once more.

”Yes.”

That explained the morning.

Mireilla Dane looked tired.

More precisely, she looked like someone who had already been required to prove her competence before sunrise and had now encountered Lucavion standing around with entirely too much energy in his eyes.

His mouth threatened another smile.

Mireilla pointed at him.

”Don’t.”

”I said nothing.”

”You were about to.”

Lucavion raised both hands in surrender.

Then his gaze returned to the briarwood weapon.

”I’m curious.”

Mireilla stared at him for a moment.

”That is somehow more worrying.”

”Cruel again.”

”You’ll recover.”

”I usually do.”

He stepped closer as they began walking along the path, his attention remaining on the weapon at her side.

Lucavion understood Weaponship well enough when the person being examined carried something intended to enter another person’s body.

Sword.

Spear.

Axe.

Bow, with some allowances.

The basic principles changed according to the weapon, yet the question beneath them remained familiar: could the cultivator use what they carried when the situation became hostile?

Mireilla belonged to a different problem entirely.

Her nature magic controlled space before an opponent reached her. Roots, vines, growth and terrain answered her far more naturally than any close exchange ever would. The briarwood focus at her hip clearly mattered to her casting, but treating it like Lucavion’s estoc would make very little sense.

He looked toward her.

”So how does Weaponship work for you?”

Mireilla glanced sideways.

”What do you mean?”

”You’re a mage.”

”I am aware.”

”A nature mage.”

”Still aware.”

”And that thing isn’t exactly meant for fencing.”

Her hand settled over the weapon’s grip.

”No.”

Lucavion’s curiosity sharpened.

”Then what were they testing?”

Mireilla studied him briefly, perhaps checking whether another joke waited behind the question.

This time, he simply waited.

Her expression eased by a small degree.

”For mages, the weapon is part of the casting structure first.”

Lucavion’s eyes shifted toward the briarwood focus again.

Mireilla continued walking.

”And if you want the rest, you’re buying breakfast.”

Lucavion smiled.

”That sounds suspiciously like extortion.”

”You’ve got nothing until tonight.”

His step slowed.

Mireilla looked at him.

Lucavion looked back.

Her eyes narrowed.

”How do you know that?”

A faint, deeply satisfied smile finally appeared on her face.

Lucavion’s own expression changed.

Now that was interesting.

Mireilla’s satisfaction lasted only a moment.

Then she shrugged.

”I pay attention.”

Lucavion said nothing.

”You complain enough about your schedule,” she added. ”Anyone walking beside you for more than ten minutes could probably tell me which examination you have, when you have it, and which professor has offended you most recently.”

His eyes remained on hers.

Mireilla met the look without shifting away.

The answer was plausible. More than plausible, really. Lucavion had spent enough of the week announcing his grievances to anyone unfortunate enough to remain within hearing distance.

Still, that hardly explained all of it.

Mireilla had been watching him.

Probably for the same reason Elayne had.

The five commoners had entered the Academy beneath the same reform, and however much the institution insisted upon judging them individually, other people rarely possessed that generosity. Lucavion could challenge professors, provoke nobles, acquire enemies, insult the Crown Prince and walk into whatever trouble caught his interest, but the consequences surrounding his name seldom stopped neatly at his own feet.

A commoner caused trouble.

Five commoners had entered.

People liked simple associations.

Elayne had understood that from the beginning. Mireilla did too.

’She is certainly not wrong about that.’

Lucavion had already drawn enough attention to make caution reasonable. Even if Mireilla trusted him personally, trusting the Academy to separate his actions from the rest of them would require a rather touching amount of optimism.

Unfortunately, recognizing the problem offered very little in the way of a solution.

He could hardly become someone else for their convenience.

Mireilla watched him for another few steps before her expression settled.

”You already know why.”

Lucavion’s gaze lingered on her.

Then he nodded.

”I do.”

That seemed to satisfy her more than an apology would have.

She adjusted the strap crossing her shoulder and continued toward the dining hall.

Lucavion followed after a moment.

”Well,” he said, ”since you’ve already gone through the trouble of keeping track of my life, I suppose accompanying you for breakfast is the least I can do.”

Mireilla looked sideways.

”You were coming anyway.”

”Details.”

”You’re hungry.”

”An ugly accusation.”

”Your stomach was loud enough yesterday that half the gallery heard it.”

Lucavion placed a hand over his abdomen with wounded dignity.

”Betrayed by my own body again.”

Mireilla kept walking.

”Breakfast first. Then I’ll explain the rest of Weaponship.”

”That sounds acceptable.”

”Good.”

She made it three more steps before Lucavion’s expression shifted.

A thought had caught up with him.

His eyes moved toward her.

”Mireilla.”

”What?”

”You said I was buying breakfast.”

”Yes.”

Lucavion waited.

She took another step.

Then another.

His smile began returning.

Mireilla sensed it before looking at him.

”What now?”

”The food is free.”

Her stride faltered.

Only slightly.

Lucavion’s smile widened.

”In the Academy,” he added helpfully. ”Remember?”

Mireilla stopped.

A student walking behind them had to veer around her with a muttered apology.

She barely seemed to hear it.

Lucavion turned toward her, watching recognition work its way across her face.

Breakfast was provided through the residential halls. Meals had been part of Academy life from the first day. Nobody at Block 7-A was exchanging coin for bread unless they wandered into one of the private establishments elsewhere on the grounds.

Mireilla knew that.

Which meant her earlier demand had come from somewhere older than reason.

Lucavion tilted his head.

”Old habits?”

Color crept into her cheeks.

It began faintly and then deepened once she realized he had noticed.

”Shut up.”

His brows rose.

”Oh?”

”I forgot.”

”Clearly.”

”It was early.”

”A dangerous time for the truth.”

Mireilla’s stare sharpened, though the redness around her cheeks remained.

Lucavion enjoyed that considerably more than he should have.

Back home, Mireilla had possessed a particular talent for obtaining meals without paying for them.

The memory surfaced vaguely.

A market, perhaps.

Or a roadside inn.

Someone complaining about how she somehow kept convincing people to feed her.

The exact passage had disappeared along with thousands of other little pieces from Shattered Innocence, leaving only the shape behind. As Bruce, Lucavion had read far too much of the story to preserve every throwaway line, especially ones belonging to characters who had still been secondary at the time.

Yet Mireilla’s careless phrasing had tugged at something familiar.

Buying breakfast.

Right.

She had always been rather good at avoiding that part.

Lucavion chuckled.

”Seems the Academy hasn’t cured you yet.”

Mireilla’s embarrassment vanished beneath suspicion.

Her head turned slowly.

”How did you know?”

Ah.

Lucavion’s smile held.

That was a considerably better question.

How did he know?

Because once, somewhere in another life, he had read it.

Because Mireilla Dane had existed on pages before she had ever stood beside him beneath the morning sun.

Because some author had apparently considered her habit amusing enough to mention, and Bruce had retained just enough of the detail for her own words to shake it loose years later.

None of those answers belonged in this conversation.

Lucavion looked ahead again.

”You just reminded me of something I already knew.”

Mireilla’s footsteps slowed.

”That doesn’t answer the question.”

”It answers part of it.”

”Which part?”

”The part where you wondered whether I was guessing.”

Her eyes narrowed.

”You weren’t.”

”No.”

”How did you already know?”

Lucavion glanced at her.

Mireilla waited.

He could almost see her deciding how much effort the mystery deserved.

”I pay attention.”