Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

"You guessed it right."

He said easily. Then, tilting his head slightly, he added, "Can you guess where I'm from?"

Draven didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze roam over the young man before him.

Lucavion looked to be in his early twenties—young, but not inexperienced. His body was sleek, lean, built for speed and precision rather than brute force. The way he carried himself, the way he fought… it all pointed to someone who relied on control, not strength.

His face? Not bad. Better than most of the fuckers in this city, at least. But not the best Draven had ever seen. A little too sharp, a little too unreadable.

But the scar—that jagged line running over his right eye—that, Draven liked. It added something to him, something that kept his otherwise smooth features from being forgettable.

But what really gave it away wasn't the name. It wasn't the face.

It was the accent. Subtle, just a hint of something refined, something just barely different from the speech patterns of Varenthia's locals. And when Draven lined that up with the name, the features, the way the bastard carried himself…

Draven exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Loria Empire."

Lucavion's smirk widened just a fraction. He tapped his fingers lightly against the table. "Not bad," he admitted. "You're quick."

Draven's expression didn't shift, but his mind was already working, already piecing things together.

A Lorican. Here. Alone. With that level of skill. And Corvina's name on his lips.

'What the hell are you, Lucavion?'

Draven reached for the bottle that had been set on the table, pouring himself a glass before sliding it across to Lucavion.

"Then tell me," he said, voice casual, but his eyes sharp. "What's a Lorican doing in my city?"

Lucavion met Draven's stare with an easy, almost amused look before letting out a quiet chuckle. "Is this how you show hospitality to your guest?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. "I thought southern people were more candid?"

Draven exhaled sharply through his nose, lips twitching into a faint smirk. This guy. He wasn't just skilled; he had personality. He knew how to push without provoking, how to test the waters before diving in. And Draven? He liked that.

Most people who walked into this room—especially foreigners—tried one of two things. Fear, or arrogance. Either they groveled and begged, or they came in swinging, thinking bravado would win them respect. But Lucavion? He played things his own way. Not diving straight into business, not rushing to explain himself—just easing in, watching, waiting.

Draven could respect that.

He grabbed the bottle again, this time filling a second glass before sliding it toward Lucavion. "You want candid? Fine. Drink."

Lucavion glanced at the amber liquid, the thick scent of something strong hitting the air immediately. He picked up the glass, swirling it slightly before looking back at Draven. "I've heard of this," he admitted. "But never had the opportunity to try it."

Draven's smirk widened just a fraction. "Kierza Fire."

Lucavion raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Draven leaned back, tapping a finger against the wooden table. "Brewed in the western deserts, aged in charred oak barrels, infused with embersilk peppers from the volcanic plains. Strong as hell, burns going down, but it's got a good bite." He smirked slightly. "One glass'll keep you warm through a blizzard. Two'll put an average man on the floor."

Lucavion hummed, lifting the glass to his lips. He took a small sip first, testing. Then another, deeper one. He set the glass down, exhaling softly.

"...Good burn," he admitted, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Spicy, but smoother than I expected."

Draven chuckled. "Yeah. That's what lulls people into drinking a second glass. By the third, they don't remember their own damn name."

Lucavion's smirk didn't fade. "I'll keep that in mind."

Draven took another sip of his own drink before setting the glass down with a soft clink. Then, finally, he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. "Alright. Enough small talk." His gray eyes sharpened. "Corvina."

Lucavion nodded, swirling his drink lazily in his hand. "She's doing good."

Draven huffed. "That's all?"

Lucavion exhaled softly, as if considering. Then, finally, he said, "She became quite a successful woman."

Draven raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Lucavion took another sip before setting his glass down. "She's the Guild Master of an adventurer's guild branch."

Draven blinked. Then, he laughed. A deep, genuine laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed his jaw. "Guild Master…" He leaned back, eyes glinting with something between amusement and disbelief. "Man, I knew she had it in her, but who would've guessed she'd become a member of the dogs?"

Lucavion chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "Dogs?"

Draven scoffed. "That's what we call 'em down here. The Guild's everywhere, always sniffing around, poking into places they don't belong." He smirked slightly. "Not surprising that Corvina managed to climb her way to the top of them."

Lucavion rested his chin on one hand, swirling the drink in his glass as his gaze flicked over Draven with idle curiosity. "How did you two know each other?"

Draven raised a brow. "She didn't tell you?"

Lucavion exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "She could have. Maybe. But she didn't have much time. Neither did I."

Draven scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "So it was an instant decision to come here?"

"Yep."

"I see."

He set his drink down with a soft clink, fingers idly tapping against the rim of the glass as his eyes darkened with thought. "It's not a complicated story," he murmured, exhaling slowly. "Corvina and I were from the same place. A quiet little village. Peaceful, self-sufficient… isolated. The kind of place where people were born, lived, and died without ever stepping beyond the valley."

Lucavion studied him, his sharp eyes observing, weighing.

"And that wasn't enough for you two," he guessed.

Draven chuckled, though there was something in it—a trace of old memory, old frustration. "No, it wasn't." He ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing. "Corvina was always smart. Smarter than most. Too smart for that little place, honestly. And me?" He smirked. "I didn't give a damn about reading books or learning things the way she did. But I hated being trapped. Hated the idea that I'd wake up one day and realize I never left."

Lucavion leaned back slightly, watching him. "So you left together?"

Draven nodded. "We were kids. Thought we were bigger than the world. Thought we'd make something of ourselves the moment we hit the cities." He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Turns out, the world's a lot bigger than two brats from a nowhere village."

Lucavion took another sip of his drink, letting the burn settle in his throat as he observed Draven. The way he spoke, the slight roughness in his accent—it wasn't purely southern. Not completely.

"You're not from the South," Lucavion murmured.

Draven's eyes flicked to him, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Tch. Took you long enough."

Lucavion smirked slightly. "Loria's not the only place with people who know how to read between the lines."

Draven snorted. "Yeah. I'm from Arcanis. Southern side." He tapped a finger against the table. "Under the Daycott household's lands."

Lucavion exhaled softly, nodding to himself. It made sense. Arcanis, while known for its rigid nobility and military structure, had a vast, untamed southern region. Unlike the capital, where bloodlines dictated power, the South had its own rules. Strength mattered more than birthright. Survival wasn't a privilege—it was a necessity.

"You were a noble's son?" Lucavion mused.

Draven barked out a laugh. "Hell no. My parents worked the land. Not slaves, not peasants, but not nobles, either. Just… people. But the Daycotts? They were the kind of lords who liked to remind you exactly who owned the dirt you walked on."

Lucavion hummed, processing. "So you and Corvina left that all behind."

Draven exhaled. "Yeah. Thought we were chasing freedom. Instead, we ran straight into the cities thinking we'd carve out a place for ourselves overnight. But the city? It's bigger than any damn valley. It swallows people whole."

His fingers traced the rim of his glass, eyes distant. "At first, we tried to play it clean. Tried to do things right. Thought hard work would get us somewhere." He scoffed. "It didn't."

Lucavion watched him carefully. "And then?"

Draven smirked. "Then we figured out the truth." He lifted his glass, swirling the drink inside. "The city doesn't care about effort. Doesn't care about dreams, doesn't care about talent. What it cares about? Power. Who you know. What you're willing to do."

Lucavion stayed silent, waiting.

Draven exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Corvina, though… she figured it out even faster than I did. She saw the cracks before I did. And unlike me, she knew how to play the long game."

Lucavion smirked faintly. "So she worked her way up. And you?"

Draven chuckled. "I took a different route." His gray eyes gleamed with something sharp as he lifted his glass in a mock toast. "And here we are."

Lucavion took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle before setting his glass down. "And now she's a Guild Master," he mused. "While you're running one of the most feared mercenary syndicates in Varenthia."

Draven grinned. "Guess we both made something of ourselves after all."

Lucavion chuckled, tapping a finger against his glass. "Not bad."

Draven raised a brow. "That all you have to say?"

Lucavion smirked. "You expected applause?"

Draven snorted. "Tch. You're an ass."

Lucavion only chuckled, taking another slow sip of Kierza Fire.