Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 798: Dare ?

The conversation swelled again, no longer whispers but deliberate observations—each veiled enough to dodge accusation, yet sharp enough to draw blood.

“He really did it,” murmured Lord Halder, his voice coated in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anyone speak like that to him.”

“To him, in public,” added Lady Grendale, eyes wide behind her gilded fan. “With proof, no less. Gods, he even mocked him.”

“And he’s still breathing,” someone else muttered.

Valeria didn’t join the noise at first. She let them ripple around her, like eddies circling a deeper current. But they were watching her now—not just as a noblewoman, but as someone who knew him. A potential translator for the incomprehensible.

She sighed softly and spoke—deliberately.

“He did go a bit far,” she admitted. “All those underhanded remarks. The mockery. The showmanship.”

A few nodded, half-relieved someone had said it.

“But,” she continued, “he backed his words with evidence.”

That stilled them. A beat. A visible shift.

Lord Sylvain frowned. “And that’s what makes it worse. Or better, depending on where you stand.”

Lady Ameline shook her head. “The Crown Prince vouched for him—Reynard. With all his grace and titles. And he was wrong.”

“To think he vouched for a scumbag like that…” Lord Bartolini’s voice dipped into contempt. “And publicly. I never thought people like that existed in our society—”

“They do,” Valeria cut in, her voice quieter than before, but all the more final for it. “They’ve always existed. The only difference now is that one of them got caught.”

There was a flicker in the air—interest shifting direction. Not away from Lucavion, but toward her.

Toward Valeria.

Eyes sharpened. Smiles thinned into something more curated. And then—

“Indeed,” Lord Sylvain said, his tone laced with a measured politeness. “Lady Olarion has been hunting such nobles for quite some time, hasn’t she?”

Lady Grendale’s fan fluttered once, a subtle punctuation. “Before you joined the Academy, I believe. Under Marquis Vendor’s direction, no?”

The implication hung lightly, like perfume in a closed room.

Valeria’s expression did not shift. But inwardly, she noted the shift in posture—how several of them leaned just a little closer. Not with aggression. With interest. A tentative bridge extended across icy waters.

They were probing.

Not accusing.

Not yet.

But the undercurrent was clear: We remember what you were doing before all this. We know who benefits when Vendor’s reach grows.

She set her glass down—quietly. Deliberately.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice cool and composed. “I did.”

She let the silence stretch—just enough to test them.

“And unlike Reynard Crane,” she added, “the ones I brought down didn’t need a recording to prove their guilt. They confessed. Or they ran.”

Lord Bartolini chuckled, but it was the strained sort—more performance than pleasure. “Yes, well… such men do tend to run when they realize a sword is bearing down.”

Lady Ameline tilted her head slightly. “Still… it must be said. Marquis Vendor has become quite active in recent years. His reach, even here, is starting to feel… prominent.”

Another attempt. Polite, veiled. Suggestive.

Valeria’s smile, when it came, was faint. Calculated.

“Justice isn’t a matter of reach,” she said. “It’s a matter of follow-through. Most nobles fear exposure. Vendor simply ensured it wasn’t optional.”

The air shifted again—but this time, colder. Less curious. More cautious.

The ladies of the inner court—those born into silver cradles and dressed in silk not for beauty, but for armor—stiffened. Not overtly. Just the slightest narrowing of eyes. A sharper tilt of the chin. The smile that tightened instead of softened.

Lady Verisse, known for her delicate reputation and ruthless circles, lowered her teacup with a soft clink.

“My, Lady Olarion,” she said lightly. “One might almost think you were threatening us.”

The words were a ribbon dipped in honey—but it was the kind that wrapped around a throat.

Valeria didn’t flinch. But she felt the shift. Saw the ripple in the corners of their eyes, the stiffening of shoulders. The mask of civility had cracked—just a sliver—but enough.

Tension bloomed, quiet and sharp.

Lady Ameline opened her mouth, perhaps to redirect, but Lord Sylvain beat her to it.

“Let’s not mistake caution for confrontation,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Surely Lady Olarion meant no such thing.”

Valeria lifted her hand slightly—graceful, dismissive. A calming gesture, not submissive.

“It’s fine,” she said, her tone unbothered. “We may speak freely.”

Still, the unease remained. The velvet air had become brittle.

And then, from Lady Verisse again, voice softer now, but no less edged:

“If your justice extends to anyone, then I suppose it doesn’t matter how highborn the offender is, does it?”

A question, but not a question.

Valeria met her eyes squarely. Cool. Unmoving.

“Are you implying,” she asked, voice quiet and dangerous, “that I only draw my sword for the strong?”

Lady Verisse blinked once. Her lips parted slightly, then closed again. “I don’t imply that,” she said.

But the pause had been just long enough.

Valeria didn’t let the silence stretch. Her voice followed—measured, not defensive.

“Good. Because I never have.”

Another pause. The weight of her gaze didn’t lift.

“I have never swung my sword with the intention of gaining favors. Nor do I plan to.”

The words settled like steel cooled in water. No fire. No theatrics.

Her words settled like steel cooled in water. No fire. No theatrics.

But even as the last syllable left her lips, something cold and unfamiliar began to press against her ribs.

Doubt.

Small, quiet—but persistent. A whisper threading itself through the armor of certainty she had wrapped so carefully around herself.

Have I really never swung my sword for favor?

The question should have felt absurd. Offense-worthy, even. But it lingered.

Would she have struck down Reynard Vale if Lucavion hadn’t stepped forward first? Could she have drawn her blade in front of the entire court—against a man the Crown Prince himself had shielded?

And if Lucien had been the one standing where Reynard had stood…

Would she?

Would she truly?

Could she watch her family’s name be dragged into ruin, Olarion’s legacy stripped bare, just for the sake of justice?

Would she still call herself a knight then?

The thought gnawed deeper than any insult could.

And as if conjured from the shadows of her doubt, another voice slid into the circle—measured, but far from innocent.

“Well then, Lady Olarion,” said Lord Halder, eyes gleaming with calculated interest, “if your sword is unbound by favor… why didn’t you act today?”

A hush bloomed again—quieter this time. Not silence, but something far more piercing.

Judgment.

Lady Grendale leaned in slightly, her fan half-lowered now, her expression speculative. “It’s a fair question. Reynard Vale was exposed. The Crown Prince’s bias laid bare. And yet…”

“…you stood still,” Lady Verisse finished, voice sweet with implication.

Valeria’s spine remained straight, but her pulse had shifted—tightened.

She could feel the weight of their curiosity settling on her like frost.

“We all remember Andelheim,” Lord Bartolini added, his tone light but his meaning anything but. “That year’s Vendor Marital Tournament was… memorable, wasn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” Lady Ameline murmured. “Wasn’t it there we first saw you and the boy… what was his name again?”

“Lucavion,” Grendale supplied. “The same Lucavion who just brought the Crown Prince to heel with nothing but his words and a recording spell.”

A pause.

Then Verisse, quietly, “You were close. Back then.”

The implication wasn’t lewd. It was worse.

It was intentional.

They weren’t merely accusing her of sentiment.

They were building a pattern.

And now the lines were clear: Valeria, the noble huntress of Vendor’s justice—had stood still. In the one moment where justice, untempered, might have demanded she act.

Why didn’t you move?

The question didn’t come from them anymore.

It came from within.

Valeria’s fingers tightened ever so slightly at her sides, the weight of her unspoken thoughts heavier than any blade she’d ever lifted.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!