Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

With the show match concluded and the crowd's cheers still reverberating through the stands, the spokesperson took to the center of the arena once more, holding up his hand to quiet the masses.

"And now, the moment we've all been waiting for—the official start of the

Ventor Martial Tournament!

" His voice, amplified by the artifact, reached even the farthest seats in the arena. "Warriors from across the land will clash here today, facing opponents from all walks of life in a test of skill, strength, and spirit. Let the battles commence!"

As the horn sounded, the arena floor shifted into action. In each of the large, circular rings spread across the vast space, fighters moved to their designated areas, preparing to face their first opponents. The unique format of the tournament meant that the audience would have no shortage of excitement, as multiple matches would be held simultaneously in view of everyone present. Spectators eagerly shifted in their seats, choosing which ring to focus on as the first fights began.

Each ring represented a new story, a unique clash of styles and techniques. In the far left, two sword-wielders squared off, one armed with a long saber, the other with a pair of short daggers.

Sparks flew as their blades met in a deadly, rhythmic dance, each fighter pushing and countering with precise movements. Across from them, a pair of hulking brawlers prepared for their match, their bare fists wrapped in thick cloth, each sizing the other up with intense stares.

Further down the arena, a robed figure faced off against an armored knight. The robed fighter held a staff aloft, their eyes closed in focus, while the knight readied his shield, taking a defensive stance. As soon as the horn signaled the start, the robed figure's staff burst into flames, sending a wave of fiery energy toward the knight, who deftly raised his shield to absorb the impact, his steady form refusing to budge.

The crowd buzzed with excitement, heads turning from ring to ring, trying to keep up with the multitude of battles unfolding. The air was thick with the sound of clashing steel, the crackle of magical energy, and the grunts and yells of fighters locked in fierce competition. The diverse combat styles on display reflected the variety of martial traditions and backgrounds gathered for the tournament, from the disciplined, steady strikes of knights to the fluid, unpredictable moves of rogues and spellcasters.

In the center of it all, the Marquis watched with a sharp gaze, observing the early matches with a keen interest. Each fighter's performance in these first rounds would set the tone for the tournament, and for those seeking the Marquis' attention, these initial battles were crucial.

Meanwhile, the rivalry between the Cloud Heavens Sect and the Silver Flame Sect had already begun to cast its shadow over the event. The two sects' representatives would be fighting in different rings for now, but every eye watched their movements, speculating on who would rise to the final rounds. Fighters from each sect took to the rings with pride, keenly aware of the expectations and scrutiny placed upon them.

*******

Valeria leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady as she observed each ring. The crowd's excitement seemed to grow with every passing minute, but for her, it was mere noise. What mattered were the fighters and what they revealed in each move.

'A little finesse, a bit of strength,' she mused, watching the dagger-wielder dart back just out of the saber's reach. 'But he relies too much on that speed. If his opponent could just wait him out, he'd start to tire.'

Her eyes flicked to the robed mage, unleashing a fiery wave toward the armored knight. The knight met it with his shield, braced and steady, taking the force without budging an inch.

'Patience—he has that much, at least. Could be useful, though if he doesn't go on the offense, he'll be easy prey for someone bolder. And the mage? Strong but overzealous. If he doesn't land a hit soon, he'll burn himself out.'

As she assessed each fighter, her gaze shifted to the Cloud Heavens and Silver Flame Sect representatives, their rivalry palpable even from where she sat. Each move, each strike, felt laden with a weight of pride that went beyond the tournament.

'Stubborn people,' she thought, her face serious.

'They're too focused on each other. A distraction like that could be their downfall, though their skill is undeniable. Still…they're strong….Really strong.'

Observing her opponents she thought. Her gaze lingered on the disciples from the Cloud Heavens and Silver Flame Sects. Their techniques were honed, every strike carrying precision, a level of skill that most common fighters in the arena couldn't hope to match. She clenched her fist involuntarily, feeling a mix of frustration and anticipation.

'They may not be the strongest,'

she acknowledged, watching one of them execute a fluid series of strikes,

'but their training is evident. Their skill alone speaks volumes of what their senior disciples must be capable of. If the juniors are like this…'

She tightened her jaw, a rare flicker of doubt slipping into her thoughts. This tournament wasn't going to be a casual display of prowess. To reach the final rounds, she'd need to give everything she had—and possibly more.

Her fingers brushed against the hilt of her sword, grounding her when an unbidden thought crept in, tinged with annoyance and… something else.

Lucavion. She could almost picture him leaning against the wall with that infuriating smirk on his face, one eyebrow raised, casually dissecting every opponent with that detached amusement of his. He'd probably make some insufferable comment about the crowd's over-excitement, toss a casual insult at the sects, or just say something that would make her want to wring his neck.

'That guy….Why am I even….'

Just as Valeria attempted to shake off her thoughts of him, something in the periphery of her vision caught her attention—a familiar figure, moving through the throngs of spectators.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized him. There he was, Lucavion himself, striding casually toward one of the rings, his sword resting lazily on his shoulder. That infuriating smile was plastered on his face, his eyes scanning the crowd with that familiar glint of mischief.

'You've got to be kidding me,'

she thought, her fingers clenching around the edge of her seat. Of course, he would show up now, just when she had been trying to put him out of her mind.

Lucavion stepped up to the stage, his movements so relaxed it was as if he were strolling through a park, not walking into the heart of a battle arena. The crowd around him murmured in intrigue, sizing him up, whispering speculations. He seemed oblivious to it all—or worse, thoroughly entertained.

She narrowed her eyes, watching as he adjusted his grip on his sword with that same effortless confidence. He hadn't even acknowledged his opponent, a tall warrior armed with a menacing glaive who was already glaring daggers at him. But Lucavion? He just offered a lazy half-smile, as if daring the warrior to make the first move.

'Unbelievable,'

she thought, her frustration spiking.

'He's treating this like it's some game. He could at least take it seriously.'

Yet she couldn't look away, caught between irritation and curiosity. Lucavion's gaze finally shifted to his opponent, his smirk widening, and she knew instantly that he was about to say something that would rile the other man up.

"Well, shall we get this over with?" he drawled, his voice carrying just enough to reach her ears. "I'd hate to keep everyone waiting."

And he did it.

Just exactly what she had thought.

Valeria's gaze shifted from Lucavion to his opponent, sizing up the formidable figure on the other side of the ring. The man was massive, his broad, bare chest covered in scars, and his face adorned with jagged tattoos that stretched across his shaved head. Everything about him screamed raw power, from his thick, muscled arms to the fierce glint in his eyes as he regarded Lucavion with disdain.

Unlike most fighters here, the barbarian seemed uninterested in weapons—his own fists were enough. He cracked his knuckles, flexing his hands as if eager to crush Lucavion with a single blow. The crowd murmured in excitement, sensing the tension between the two, while the barbarian's lip curled in a sneer.

"Do you have a death wish, little man?" he growled, his voice dripping with contempt. "Coming here without anyone around… and no mana in that pathetic little core of yours that I can't even see? Or do you think your scrawny body alone can stand up to me?"

Valeria's eyes narrowed as she absorbed the man's words. No mana in his core? She focused on Lucavion, a frown deepening on her face. She hadn't paid it much mind before, but now that she thought about it, she couldn't sense anything from him—not even a flicker of mana. It was as if he didn't possess any core at all.

'Wait… how is that possible?'

she thought, her mind racing as she reviewed every moment they'd shared, every time they had crossed paths. All this time, she'd never sensed a core from him, any hint of his cultivation level. Yet she had seen him use mana, witnessed it with her own eyes.

But how?

How had he masked it so completely?

Was it even possible to do something like that?

As Lucavion raised his sword, his expression unbothered, Valeria could see the hint of a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he was fully aware of the effect his lack of presence had on his opponent—and was relishing it. He angled his blade slightly, his gaze almost bored, and the barbarian's face twisted with fury.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," the barbarian spat, his fists clenching. "But that won't be enough to save you."

Lucavion tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face.

"Come at me, big man, cease with the useless talk."

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