Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 824: Facepalmed

His gaze lingered on Jesse as she stood in the center of that polished theatre, no longer the broken girl clutching her stomach under a blood-soaked moon. No longer trailing behind others. She stood at the forefront now, a weapon honed by fire and time.

And it didn’t hurt to admit… she looked good there.

Proud. Composed. Dangerous.

’So, she didn’t just survive.’

’She became something.’

He exhaled softly, not out of tension, but release. As if letting go of some story he hadn’t realized he’d been telling himself all this time.

And perhaps that was why this reunion stung a little sweeter than expected. It wasn’t fate or sentiment.

It was curiosity.

Genuine interest.

The duel hadn’t begun yet, but already Lucavion’s mind was spinning—not in anticipation of the clash, but in the puzzle that Jesse had become.

What had she done to get here?

Who had she become without him?

And… why did it matter?

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable to those around him—but the glint in his eye, that spark of something playful and dangerous, had returned.

’Well then, Jesse.’

’Let’s see what you’ve come to show me.’

The hall may have been watching. But for Lucavion?

Now, he quite wanted a lot of different things after all.

****

The ring of laughter, the shimmer of silk, the polite clinks of crystal and silver—Valeria moved through it all like water through reeds. Graceful. Unbothered. Composed.

The group she found herself among now was more subdued than the earlier crowd. Viscounts mostly. A couple of minor Counts. Their coats bore newer embroideries, their rings thinner, their smiles just a touch too wide. But Valeria didn’t mind. In truth, she found these sorts more tolerable.

They asked questions with genuine curiosity rather than veiled jabs. One spoke of a daughter who had begun knight training—another of grain disputes in the riverlands. Simple, domestic concerns. Manageable.

She spoke when needed. Smiled when expected. Nodded at the right moments. Her posture perfect, her tone pleasant. The Olarion heir in full display.

And yet—

From the corner of her eye, a familiar silhouette cut into her vision.

Lucavion.

She didn’t see him at first—just the movement that caught her trained instincts. The way a space shifted when someone like him stepped into it.

He was speaking to Thalor.

Her heart gave a familiar thud.

’Of course it’s him again.’

For a moment, she kept her attention on the noble before her—a viscount asking for her opinion on border patrols. She gave a practiced, reasonable answer.

But her focus was already slipping.

Something about their stances. Thalor’s open posture. Lucavion’s casual lean. Two men speaking with words—but fencing with something far sharper beneath.

’No…’

She’d just left him. Just walked away to resume her place in the courtly tide.

And already, he was being pulled into another ripple. Or maybe—maybe he was the one pulling it.

Her fingers tightened subtly around her glass.

And then—Thalor stepped forward.

The space parted around him like a bow to inevitability. His presence filled the room not by force, but by gravity.

He lifted his glass.

“I’m glad,” he began, his voice calm and resonant, “to see I’ve earned everyone’s attention tonight.”

The room quieted.

“For those who may not know me,” he continued smoothly, “I am Thalor Draycott. Of House Draycott.”

Valeria barely heard the murmurs around her. She watched, felt, the shift in mood.

Thalor turned slightly, his smile softening as his eyes returned to Lucavion.

“As both a mage of the Tower and a noble of this Empire, I feel it is only right that I begin with an apology.”

He spoke to the hall—refined, rehearsed.

“There was a disturbance earlier. One I regret occurred within the bounds of this celebration. Unsightly. A lapse in what should have been an evening of grace.”

“Mister Lucavion, rightfully defended himself. A virtue. Courage in the face of confrontation.”

And then the twist:

“But it is also true that Mister Lucavion has brought an artifact into this banquet, despite being informed of the restriction.”

Valeria’s heart sank.

Not from fear.

But inevitability.

Lucavion’s smile didn’t change.

Of course it didn’t.

And it appeared that Thalor knew it wouldn’t.

“But rest assured, you are always safe here. Arcanis does not forget our laws. Or our standards.”

And then he pivoted, sliding the knife deeper—but with such elegance it barely felt like a cut.

“A small event,” he said. “A display. Not formal. Just spirited enough to acquaint us all better.”

The setup was clear. Lucavion, singled out.

And then—

“Prince Adrian,” Thalor said, nodding to the Lorian envoy, “it would only be fitting that your students—guests as they are—select a representative as well.”

Prince Adrian did not flinch. His silence, poised and deliberate, was its own kind of declaration.

“And we,” Thalor said, turning to the Arcanis side, “shall send our own. One from the Tower. A noble house. A name that honors both our discipline and our swordplay.”

Then the shift.

“That… is a great idea.”

Rowen Drayke.

Of course she knows him. How could she not? After all, Drayke family was the ones that had taken the position of the Olarion family of the past.

He stepped forward—not with pomp, but precision. Each stride deliberate, grounded. A son of the Knight Commander needed no introduction.

He positioned himself slightly behind Thalor, creating an invisible triangle of weight and expectation.

“I shall represent Arcanis,” he said flatly. Calmly.

Not boastful.

But resolute.

And with that declaration—the room exhaled.

Some smiled.

Some whispered.

Others looked at Lucavion.

Valeria?

She just sighed and closed her eyes—lifting a hand, pressing her palm lightly to her face.

’Again.’

Of course it was him. Of course it was now.

Lucavion. The gravitational pull of chaos disguised as elegance.

And once again, he was at the center.

Valeria’s fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass as the weight of the moment settled like frost over the ballroom. The ease of her earlier conversations dissolved, replaced by the same kind of quiet tension that coiled through the courts whenever something important was about to snap.

This wasn’t an accident. That much was clear.

Thalor Draycott had orchestrated this with unnerving finesse. From the tone of his apology to the carefully measured timing of the challenge, he had composed a spectacle with all the grace of a trained noble—and all the calculation of a predator.

Valeria didn’t know Thalor personally. She had never exchanged more than a passing glance or title-bound greeting with him. But she knew enough.

Cunning. Unpredictable. Too polished to be sincere, too quick to be entirely trusted. Some called him charming. Others called him dangerous. And watching him now, guiding the room like a conductor before the first note, she understood why.

In another life, she thought, he could have been carved from the same chaos as Lucavion.

“Quite the performance, wasn’t it?” a young count beside her murmured, nudging her gently with a wine-gloved elbow.

She didn’t answer.

Another leaned in, voice just low enough to feign discretion. “So this is his punishment, then. Thalor’s not going to humiliate him directly—he’s letting Rowen do it.”

Valeria’s eyes narrowed.

And then, worse—pity.

She felt it before she saw it. The subtle shift in how the nobles looked at her. Not hostile. Not mocking. Just… sorry.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, voice steady.

A moment passed. Then a viscountess answered, her smile tight with sympathy.

“Well… if Lucavion loses, and loses badly, it could reflect on those close to him. You stood by him tonight. People noticed.”

Valeria didn’t answer at first.

She just looked at them.

Then, with a soft exhale and the smallest shake of her head, she returned her gaze to the center of the hall—where Lucavion stood, smiling faintly as though nothing in the world could touch him.

Fools, she thought.

They didn’t know.

They didn’t see it.

But she did.

Because when it came to pure swordsmanship… when it came to what lived in Lucavion’s hands the moment he drew steel—

She had never seen anything like him.

Not in all the Empire. Not even among the Olarions of old.

He wasn’t reckless. He wasn’t just bold.

He was monstrous.

And if they thought this game would humiliate him—

They were in for a very different show.

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