Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

"Remember your place, Ex-Thorne," Stroud hissed, the tip of his spear pressed firmly against my throat. "You're nothing but a disgrace."

–THUD!

Before I could respond or even brace myself, Stroud's spear swung back and then struck my cheek with the blunt end.

The force of the blow sent me sprawling to the ground, pain exploding across my face. My teeth throbbed, and my vision blurred. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I tried to gather my senses.

Stroud turned away from me, addressing the gathered trainees with a harsh tone. "Let this be a lesson to all of you," he declared, his voice ringing out across the yard. "On the battlefield, no one cares if you're a noble or a peasant. Your fancy spear techniques mean nothing when you're facing an enemy intent on killing you."

He gestured disdainfully in my direction. "You are all expendables from now on. Your only focus should be on piercing forward and staying in formation. Do not think for a second that any of you are special. You are here to serve, to fight, and to die for the Empire."

Stroud's gaze swept over the trainees, who were watching with a mix of fear and determination. "You are worth nothing," he continued coldly. "Your lives are forfeit the moment you step onto the battlefield. Remember that."

I struggled to push myself up, my body aching from the assault. The humiliation and anger burned within me, but I knew there was nothing I could do at this moment. Stroud had made his point, and I had to endure it.

"Now, if your stupid, lowly brains are capable of understanding this, then you are dismissed," Stroud barked. His gaze swept over the trainees one last time, making sure his point had been driven home. "You will eat your breakfast and have one hour of rest. After that, we will continue with your training. Dismissed."

The trainees, including myself, moved toward the mess area with a mixture of relief and trepidation. The breakfast that awaited us was far from luxurious: a piece of stale bread, a boiled potato, and a hard-boiled egg. It was a meager meal, but it was sustenance, and that was all that mattered now.

I took my rations and found a quiet spot away from the others to eat. My cheek throbbed where Stroud had hit me, and the pain in my teeth made chewing difficult. I gingerly bit into the bread, wincing as the hard crust scraped against my swollen gums.

Each bite was a reminder of my humiliation, but I forced myself to eat, knowing I needed the energy for the grueling day ahead.

The boiled potato was dry and tasteless, but I ate it quickly, trying to ignore the discomfort in my mouth. The egg was slightly better; its blandness was a small mercy against the pain.

As I finished my meal, I considered visiting the infirmary. The thought of Laila's healing magic was tempting, but even the idea of walking there felt like a chore.

Every part of my body ached, and the exhaustion was setting in. I decided to endure the pain for now and focus on getting through the day.

I sat in the quiet spot, trying to gather my thoughts and calm my mind. The events of the morning had been a harsh reminder of the reality I faced, but I couldn't let it break me.

'The spear of my family, huh?'

The techniques of my family, whether you consider them fancy or not, did not matter when it did not involve mana in them.

"Lucavion, our family's spearmanship consists of two things: explosiveness and area control," my father had told me once. His voice was steady and authoritative, the weight of generations behind his words. "With the spear, we have range, and the Thorne family has always been born with the aptitude to control fire better."

I remembered standing in the training yard, a much younger version of myself, wide-eyed and eager to learn. My father's spear danced in his hands, the flames licking around the blade with a controlled ferocity.

"Our family spear style makes use of fire's explosiveness and area control with the spear's range," he had continued. "A spear is a long thrusting weapon, giving you high control of the space before you. But we also use slashes and other techniques to spread fire across our enemies, to dominate the battlefield."

His spear moved in a wide arc, flames trailing behind it, creating a wall of fire that encircled him. The heat was intense, even from where I stood, and I felt a thrill of excitement and awe.

"The spear is not just about thrusting," my father had said, his eyes locking onto mine. "It's about control. Control of your weapon, control of your fire, and control of the battlefield. The explosiveness of fire can break through defenses, and the area control can keep enemies at bay."

I watched as he demonstrated a series of thrusts, slashes, and sweeping motions, each one precise and powerful, the flames responding to his every move.

"Remember, Lucavion, the spear is an extension of your will. It moves as you command, and the fire is your ally, your weapon. Master both, and you will be unstoppable."

At that time, I was very hyped by his words. I started practicing the spear at the age of five, contrary to other people.

At the start, everything was good. I was able to grasp the basics and spear control well. My control over my body was also good, and I was able to move smoothly with the spear in my hand.

But then, everything changed when mana entered the equation.

The moment I started using my family's art, the [Serpent Flame Art], everything completely fell apart.

The [Serpent Flame Art] was a special technique that required practitioners to engrave fire rings over their Mana Core. The process was intricate and required immense concentration and control.

Each level was represented by the rings.

The moment you would be able to engrave the first ring to your own body would mean the moment when you would be recognized as a mana user in the world.

'First Stage Core.'

Another explanation for this was global wording.

Though, for our family art, it was called the 'First Ring.'

I still remember the day my father taught me how to find my Mana Core. He had guided me through the process, his hands steady and his voice calm.

"Lucavion, the Mana Core is the organ responsible for the accumulation and control of mana in your body," he had explained. "It is located near your heart, deep within your chest. You must focus and find it, feel its presence."

I had closed my eyes, concentrating as hard as I could. Slowly, I felt a faint warmth deep within my chest, a pulsing energy that resonated with my heartbeat.

"That's it," my father had said, his voice encouraging. "You've found it. Now, you must learn to accumulate mana using our family art. It's a process of engraving fire rings around your core, enhancing your control and power."

He had demonstrated the technique, his body glowing with a fiery aura as he channeled mana into his core. The flames danced around him, controlled and precise.

"Focus on the warmth, on the energy," he had instructed. "Visualize the fire rings forming around your core, one by one. This is the essence of the [Serpent Flame Art]."

I had tried my best to follow his instructions, but the moment I attempted to channel mana, everything went wrong. The fire ring was unstable, flickering, and sputtering, and the mana refused to flow smoothly.

The warmth in my chest turned to a searing pain, and I gasped, clutching at my chest. My father had been there, his expression a mixture of concern and disappointment.

"Lucavion, you must focus," he had said, his voice gentle but firm. "You have the potential, but you need to control it. Try again."

But no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't master the technique. The fire ring would always collapse, and the pain in my chest would intensify. My father's disappointment grew, and my own frustration mounted.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and still, I struggled. My siblings, Alistair and my elder sister, excelled in their training, mastering the [Serpent Flame Art] with ease. Their flames were strong and steady, a testament to their skill and control.

I, on the other hand, was a constant failure. The art that was supposed to be my family's legacy, my birthright, eluded me. My father's patience wore thin, and his words of encouragement turned to reprimands.

And just like everything that would end, the efforts also reached their end. From a certain moment onwards, they completely abandoned the idea that I would be reaching the first stage soon.

After all, everyone had limits, and I could understand. Though I never stopped trying at the end of the day, it could only take me to this place….

'How Ironic.'

I could only mutter to myself.

But just as I was thinking about it, I suddenly heard a commotion on my side…..

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