Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Draven swirled the last remnants of his drink in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light of the lanterns. His gray eyes flicked back to Lucavion, sharp and curious.

"You know," he mused, tilting his head slightly, "I haven't heard the name Lucavion before."

Lucavion chuckled softly, as if the statement amused him. "Haven't you?"

Draven scoffed. "If I had, I'd remember it. I make it a habit to keep track of people who might be important later."

Lucavion leaned back, lazily tilting his glass before taking another sip. "Well," he said, voice smooth, "I'm just a wandering swordsman."

Draven let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Tch. It's always the 'wandering' ones," he muttered, resting his chin against his knuckles, "that end up shaking the foundations of a place."

Lucavion smirked, lifting his glass slightly in acknowledgment before downing the rest in one smooth gulp. He set the empty glass down with a soft clink. "You're right on that," he admitted.

Draven studied him for a moment longer. He had met all kinds in this city—mercenaries, assassins, exiles, fugitives. Some hid their pasts out of shame. Others, because they were running from something bigger than themselves.

But Lucavion?

Lucavion wasn't hiding.

No hesitation in his words, no anxious shift in his body language, no telltale flicker of unease. He wasn't dodging the question because he was afraid of the answer—he was dodging it because he simply didn't feel like giving one.

That, more than anything, made Draven curious.

But he wasn't going to push. Not yet.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose and leaned back in his chair, reaching for the bottle of Kierza Fire again. "Fair enough," he muttered, pouring himself another drink. "Everyone's got their own business."

Lucavion watched him, silent.

Still, something nagged at the back of Draven's mind.

The name. Lucavion.

It sounded… familiar. Not common, not something he had heard in passing—but somewhere, at some point, he was sure he had come across it.

He drummed his fingers against the wood, thinking.

Where?

Where the hell had he heard that name before?

Draven was still lost in thought, fingers tapping absently against the wooden table, when one of his men suddenly spoke.

"You… are you that Lucevian?"

The pronunciation was off, thick with a southern accent that twisted the syllables, making the name sound clumsy and unfamiliar.

Lucavion blinked once, then exhaled softly through his nose. He didn't look offended—just mildly amused. "It's Lucavion."

A short, awkward silence followed.

Draven's gaze flicked toward the man who had spoken, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "You know him?"

The mercenary shifted in his seat, glancing briefly at Lucavion before looking back to Draven. "Boss, you remember our last escort job? The one in Mirewood?"

Draven rolled his jaw, thinking for a moment. "Mirewood…" He exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, what about it?"

The mercenary nodded quickly. "While we were there, we came across some rumors."

Draven raised a brow. "Rumors?"

"Yeah. Remember the Vendor Martial Tournament?"

Draven's brows knitted together in mild confusion. "Vendor Martial Tournament?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "What the hell is that supposed to be?"

The mercenary cleared his throat, looking just a little hesitant. "Ahem… boss… remember that envoy that came to hire assassins a while back?"

Draven's eyes narrowed, the memory clicking into place. "Envoy?" His expression darkened slightly. "Ah. Those arrogant bitches from—what sect was it? Cloud Heavens?"

"Yes, them."

Draven leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the side of his glass. "Tch. What about it?"

The mercenary hesitated for a brief moment, then exhaled. "Boss… remember the person they wanted us to kill?"

Draven's eyes flicked up, his gaze sharp.

Then—realization.

Draven leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his lips deepening as he repeated the name.

"Sword Demon, was it?"

His men nodded. The air in the room shifted, thick with unspoken tension.

Draven exhaled sharply, rubbing his jaw. "Tch… now that's a name I haven't heard in a while." He glanced at the mercenary who had spoken, his voice laced with curiosity. "What's the connection?"

The man hesitated for only a second before continuing. "At the time, boss, you remember—the Cloud Heavens Sect was in deep shit. Their reputation had hit rock bottom, and they were scrambling to save face." He paused, then added with a slight chuckle, "Hell, a lot of assassin organizations refused their requests outright."

Draven nodded slowly, memories aligning. "Yeah… I remember seeing that request myself." He tapped his fingers against the table. "Normally, we wouldn't hesitate to take a job on an Awakened 4-star. But that Sword Demon? He wasn't normal."

Lucavion remained silent, his gaze steady, but Draven caught the faint glint of interest in his black eyes.

Draven continued, "The bastard stirred up a lot of trouble for the Cloud Heavens Sect. Exposed some of their filth, ruined some of their deals—" He exhaled through his nose. "If he was just some lone swordsman, they wouldn't have been so desperate. Which meant one thing—"

"He had backing," one of the men finished.

"Or," Draven corrected, smirking, "he was someone's pawn."

Lucavion took another sip of his drink, his expression unreadable.

"A lot of assassin organizations went after him," the mercenary added, shaking his head. "And not a single one of them succeeded. The bastard vanished after causing havoc in Andelheim."

Draven scoffed. "Yeah. Left the city burning behind him, and no one could track him down." He poured himself another drink, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. "That is… until the stories about Thornridge surfaced."

Lucavion exhaled softly, tilting his head as if amused. "Thornridge?"

Draven nodded, watching him carefully. "Word spread about a black-haired swordsman with a scar over his right eye. Said he tore through the Crimson Serpent Sect like they were nothing."

Lucavion tapped his fingers against the table, his smirk lazy. "Is that so?"

Draven narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah," he muttered. "That's what the stories say."

Draven leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he studied the man in front of him.

"So," he mused, his voice dipping into something quieter, sharper, "what is this Sword Demon doing here?"

Lucavion smirked, lifting his glass once more, but this time he didn't drink right away. He swirled the liquor, watching the amber liquid shift against the light before his gaze flicked back to Draven.

"It seems," he said smoothly, "your habit needs an examination."

Draven's brow twitched.

Lucavion's smirk widened just a fraction, his voice carrying that same easy amusement. "I believe you said, 'If I had, I'd remember it. I make it a habit to keep track of people who might be important later.'"

Draven blinked. Then, suddenly—

He threw his head back and laughed.

"HAHAHAHA!"

His men flinched slightly at the abrupt shift, exchanging wary glances, but Draven didn't care. He let the laughter roll out freely, his shoulders shaking as he smacked the table with his palm.

"Tch—ha…hah… You got me there," he admitted, exhaling through his nose. He picked up his drink, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a soft clink. His sharp gray eyes settled on Lucavion once more, but this time, the playfulness had faded.

The smirk was still there, the amusement lingering, but beneath it—

Business.

Draven straightened in his seat, tilting his head slightly. "Alright, enough games." His voice lost its casual edge, dipping into something steadier, more weighted. "You're here in my city, sitting at my table. You've got my attention, but I don't entertain ghosts."

The room felt different now. Tighter. The air, heavier.

Draven let the silence stretch for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle before finally leaning back.

"So," he continued, voice smooth but edged with intent, "what exactly do you want, Lucavion?"

Lucavion's smirk faded just a little, the light amusement in his eyes dimming as his expression grew more deliberate. His fingers tapped against the wooden table once—slow, measured—before he lifted his gaze to meet Draven's directly.

"I'm here to find someone," he said.

Draven didn't blink, waiting.

Lucavion exhaled softly, then spoke the name.

"Aldric Veltorin."