Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

"Come and prove it."

Lira tightened her grip on her blade, her knuckles whitening as her breathing quickened. Lucavion's taunting words echoed in her mind, and for the first time in her life, they struck something deeper than rage—they struck fear. A fear she couldn't place, one she couldn't control. She had always been the strongest in her sect, her "talent" eclipsing those around her. But now, that very foundation felt like it was crumbling beneath her feet.

She forced her thoughts back to her training, to the countless lessons drilled into her by her mother and the elders of the sect. The Cloud Heavens Sect had molded her into what she was—a warrior of unparalleled rank among her peers, the prodigy who climbed higher than anyone else in half the time. While others struggled for every step forward, she ascended effortlessly, her body devouring mana at a rate no one else could match.

'Two stars when others were one,' she reminded herself, the memory a desperate attempt to ground her. 'Four-star by the time they reached three.'

Her blade began to glow, the wind mana around it intensifying as she focused. She wasn't done yet. There were still techniques she had yet to unleash, techniques she had held back because they were unnecessary. She had never needed to push herself before—not in her sect, where she was untouchable, and not outside it, where the sect's influence kept challengers at bay.

But Lucavion was different. He was a wall she had never encountered before, an unshakable force that refused to bow to her strength or the prestige of her sect. And as she stared into his maddeningly calm expression, she felt it for the first time—the weight of true resistance.

'The world isn't what I thought it was,' she realized, a cold shiver running down her spine. The thought unsettled her, and she hated it. She hated him for making her feel it. But more than anything, she hated the way it stirred something deep inside her—an unfamiliar drive to overcome.

Her mana flared around her, the air rippling as she summoned everything she had. This time, there would be no holding back.

"Fine," she muttered through gritted teeth. "You want to see what I can do? Then I'll show you."

Her blade moved faster, sharper, each strike carrying more precision than the last. She remembered her mother's voice, the lessons ingrained into her from childhood. Discipline, poise, strength. Each movement was a reflection of those teachings, a culmination of the training she had never truly needed until now. She cycled through the arts of her sect, the names of the techniques flooding her mind as she poured her mana into each one.

Tempest Fang. Spiraling Wind's Edge. Gale Dance Form. Heavenly Sky Rend.

One after another, the techniques flowed from her, each more powerful than the last. The arena seemed to shake with the force of her strikes, her blade carving through the air with deadly intent. The wind around her roared, howling like a storm as she pushed herself further than ever before.

But no matter how much she poured into her attacks, Lucavion remained untouchable. His estoc moved with infuriating efficiency, deflecting her strikes with the barest effort. He didn't counterattack, didn't press forward. He simply stood there, an immovable wall, forcing her to come at him again and again.

"You're stronger than this," she spat, her voice rising in frustration. "Stop holding back and fight me!"

Lucavion's smirk never wavered. "Oh, I am fighting," he said, his tone maddeningly calm. "This is me fighting. Efficient, isn't it?"

Her blade clashed against his again, the impact sending a jolt through her arms. She gritted her teeth and kept pushing, the wind around her blade growing sharper, fiercer. But deep down, she knew—knew that it wasn't enough.

For the first time in her life, she felt the weight of her own inadequacy. She had always been the strongest, the one who stood above everyone else without effort. She had indulged in that strength, spent her days as she pleased, never needing to push herself further. But now, she was facing someone who wasn't bound by the same limits, someone who didn't fold under her strength or her sect's shadow.

And for the first time, she pushed. Truly pushed. Not because it was easy, but because she had to.

Her strikes grew desperate, her mana surging wildly as she drove herself to the brink. The crowd was roaring, but she barely heard them, her focus narrowing to the man before her. Lucavion, with his infuriating calm, his maddening smirk, his unshakable defense.

'Just once,' she thought, her breath ragged. 'Just once, I'll break through. I'll make him falter.'

"Just once." Lira's breath hitched as Lucavion's voice reached her ears, cutting through her frenzied thoughts with uncanny precision. "Just once," he repeated once again, his tone calm yet chillingly deliberate. "This is what you think, isn't it?"

Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the words that froze her—it was the intent woven into them. An intent so sharp, so cutting, it felt like an invisible blade pressing against her throat. It wasn't mana, it wasn't technique, and yet it radiated a power she couldn't ignore.

Her eyes snapped up, locking onto his, and her blood turned cold.

Lucavion was staring directly into her, his pupils impossibly dark, as if they were voids that could swallow light itself. Within the darkness burned faint gray flames, small yet unyielding, their flickering glow carrying a weight that made her knees tremble. His smirk was gone, replaced by an expression so devoid of warmth, so utterly alien, that it sent chills coursing down her spine.

For the first time in her life, Lira Vaelan felt fear—not the fleeting fear of losing a match, but something deeper, more primal.

"This desperation…" His voice echoed, reverberating in her ears like a haunting melody. She couldn't look away, couldn't move. Her body felt paralyzed under the weight of his gaze. "Do you know who else had it?"

The air around her seemed to thicken, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. She opened her mouth to speak, to deny, but no sound came out. The weight of his words pressed down on her chest, suffocating.

Lucavion's expression darkened, and his voice took on an eerie, echoing quality, as though it came from everywhere at once. "It's the children you've been using."

********

What is the thing that you hate the most in the world?

Everyone has that something. Chapter Find:

Their experiences shape it.

For me, there are some answers to this question, but in this case, there is one important one.

What do I hate the most?

It is the happening of children being ripped away from their opportunities.

My grip on my estoc tightened. The thought burned in my chest, a slow, seething rage that I rarely let surface. But now, as I stood face-to-face with someone who represented everything I despised, I let it simmer.

I hate it. I hate it more than anything.

Children are born into this world with infinite possibilities. They're blank slates, full of potential, their futures unwritten. And yet, there are those who take that from them—who steal the very essence of what makes them human. The Cloud Heavens Sect… they don't just trample on the efforts of others. They touch something far more sacred.

They steal from children.

'It's not enough for them to prey on the weak, to manipulate and corrupt their way to the top. No, they have to go further. They have to cross that line.'

The Cloud Heavens Sect is one of the most prominent sects in the world. Not because of their discipline, not because of their talent, but because they dared to embrace one of the vilest taboos.

They take children—orphans, abandoned, forgotten—and strip them of their potential. They siphon their mana, their vitality, their futures, and leave them as hollowed-out shells. Not even their names are left intact. Just broken remnants, shadows of who they could have been.

And they call it liberation.

My chest tightened as the memories of the novel flickered through my mind, the countless instances where the sect's atrocities had been revealed. Their "training programs," their so-called "sanctuaries" for abandoned youth—it was all a facade, a web of lies spun to justify their heinous practices.

The Cloud Heavens Sect's secret was one of the ugliest truths I'd ever come across in the novel, something that made my blood boil every time it was mentioned.

Each human possesses their own unique mana signature, shaped by their essence, experiences, and lineage. Yet, there are patterns—subtle consistencies in mana tied to familial bonds, bloodlines, and even gender. Families often share similar types of mana, and the same holds true for the division between sexes.

Female Awakened, by their nature, tend to generate a cold-blue mana, a calming energy often described in old texts as Yin. Male Awakened, in contrast, emanate hot-orange mana, fiery and aggressive, the essence of Yang. Together, these energies form a natural balance, a harmony that mirrors the broader truths of the world.

The Cloud Heavens Sect exploited this balance in the most despicable way imaginable.

Living Furnaces.