Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

When I first picked up Shattered Innocence, it was just to pass the time. The story was ongoing, with plots and subplots unfolding in every corner of its world, characters thrown into chaos, and a complex web of alliances and betrayals. I found myself reading it at a rapid pace, devouring chapter after chapter. But despite my speed, I wasn't just skimming through the pages.

I paid attention to the details—every little thing that the author weaved into the story, the hints dropped, the subtle foreshadowing that would later come to fruition.

The cast of characters was massive, each with their own quirks, backstories, and motivations. Some were easy to overlook, but others—well, they had a certain spark. They were the ones that stood out, the ones that kept me hooked even when the plot seemed to be dragging.

One character, in particular, caught my interest early on: a blacksmith. He wasn't one of the main characters, not by a long shot, but there was something about him that made him more than just a background figure.

The way he was described and the depth of his character, despite his limited appearances, all hinted at something more.

The blacksmith wasn't just a simple artisan hammering away at metal. He had a past, a story that was hinted at but never fully revealed. His presence in the story was subtle, but the impact he had on the characters and the plot was undeniable.

The weapons he forged weren't just tools; they were extensions of the people who wielded them, imbued with his craftsmanship and a touch of something almost mystical.

I found myself intrigued by him, eager to see how he would influence the events to come. And it wasn't just about the weapons he made—there was a wisdom to his character, a depth that suggested he knew far more than he let on. Every interaction he had with the main cast felt significant as if he was guiding them in ways they didn't even realize.

In a way, he was similar to Master.

At the very least, the influence he had on me was very similar to the influence he had on the main cast.

Though his past was not fully revealed, I remembered a certain phrase. It was something that caught my attention.

"I've seen my fair share of battles. Spent some time in a border city, a place that was struggling to keep its head above water because of the war. The Valerius Plains weren't kind to anyone, and Rackenshore… well, it was one of the hardest hit."

That phrase had stuck with me, even though it was just a brief mention, a passing comment in a larger conversation. The blacksmith didn't delve into the details of his time there—he rarely spoke about his past in any depth—but the way he said it, the way his voice softened, and his gaze grew distant, it was clear that the experience had left its mark on him.

Rackenshore.

The name had seemed so insignificant at the time, just another place in a world ravaged by conflict.

At least for a reader, that could be explained in a way that is easy.

But for me, who was now a citizen of this world and someone who had deserted from the battlefield, that phrase contained a meaning.

Or a clue.

'There is a high chance that the blacksmith is in that city.'

That was the primary reason why my first direction was this city.

Since it was close to the border, it did not take too long for me to reach this place. After all, it was close to the border, and so was I. It was even shown on the map that Elias had left behind. The city seems to be a very old one.

In any case, that old man who had appeared out of nowhere, his presence commanding the room with an effortless authority—it had to be him. Harlan.

It was him. The blacksmith.

I couldn't help but smile to myself. It was almost surreal. I had come here with a purpose, and now that purpose was within reach. There was still much to do, much to learn, but the first step had been taken.

[You seem pretty satisfied with yourself,] Vitaliara commented, her voice laced with amusement.

"I am," I admitted, my tone reflecting the satisfaction I felt. "I've found him."

[The blacksmith,] she guessed, her keen intuition piecing together my thoughts.

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on Harlan. "Yes. And now, it's time to see if he's willing to help."

Vitaliara purred in approval, her tiny paws shifting slightly on my shoulder. [Then let's get to work. You've made it this far, Lucavion. Don't let this opportunity slip away.]

She did not even question how I knew Harlan was here, though if she were to ask, the only answer I could give to her would be that someone told me.

Finishing the last of my meal, I pushed the plate aside and stood up, my movements deliberate and calm. I could feel Harlan's gaze on me as I approached the bar, but he didn't speak right away. Instead, he watched me with those wise, knowing eyes, the kind that had seen much and understood even more.

When I reached the bar, I nodded to him in greeting. "Old man," I said, keeping my voice low and respectful.

The old man raised an eyebrow, clearly curious about what I was going to say next. "Yes, young man? What can I do for you?"

I took a deep breath, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "I'm looking for a blacksmith. I believe you're the one I've been searching for."

For a moment, Harlan's expression didn't change; at least, that was how it looked. However, I could see that a small pressure was emanating from him.

Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he let out a soft chuckle. "Is that so?" he said, his tone carrying a note of intrigue. "And what makes you think I'm the one you're looking for?"

"Just a hunch," I replied, keeping my tone light, though my gaze was unwavering as I met Harlan's eyes.

The old man's smile didn't falter, but I felt the subtle shift in the air, the pressure that seemed to radiate from him growing slightly heavier. "Well, your hunch is wrong then," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "I'm no blacksmith and certainly not the person you're looking for."

I didn't react immediately, letting the silence stretch between us. Instead, I held his gaze, searching for something—anything—that would betray his words as false. It was a gamble, a shot in the dark, but I had a feeling I wasn't entirely off the mark.

After a few moments, I leaned in slightly, my voice lowering to a near whisper. "If that's what you wish to say, that's fine. But…" I paused, letting my words hang in the air for a heartbeat longer. "It would be quite unfortunate if word got out that the legendary blacksmith who once forged the holy sword was staying here in Rackenshore, wouldn't it?"

The effect was immediate. The easygoing smile that had graced Harlan's face vanished in an instant, replaced by an expression of cold, steely focus. The subtle pressure I had felt earlier now intensified, wrapping around me like a vice, and for a brief moment, I felt the weight of his presence—a presence that spoke of countless battles and an unmatched skill in the craft of war.

Harlan's eyes, which had been warm and fatherly, now bore into mine with an intensity that made it clear I had struck a nerve. "You're playing a dangerous game, boy," he said, his voice low and edged with a warning. "You might not like where it leads."

I didn't flinch under his gaze. Instead, I met his intensity with my own, refusing to back down. "I'm not looking for trouble," I said, my tone steady. "I'm looking for the best. And if you're the blacksmith I think you are, then you're exactly who I need."

Harlan held my gaze for a long moment, the tension between us thick and palpable. Then, slowly, the pressure began to ease, and the stern expression on his face softened just slightly.

"You're persistent," he finally said, his voice carrying a hint of reluctant admiration. "I'll give you that. But persistence alone doesn't forge a blade, young man."

I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I'm willing to prove myself," I replied. "Whatever it takes. I didn't come all this way just to turn back now."

Harlan studied me for a few more seconds, then let out a long sigh as if conceding to something he had been resisting. "You've got guts," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "But guts don't guarantee skill."

He straightened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something like respect. "Very well," he said, his voice firm. "We'll see if you're worth my time. But be warned—if you fail, I won't waste another second on you."

"Understood," I replied, feeling a surge of determination.

Harlan's expression softened just a bit, and the faintest hint of a smile returned to his lips. "Then let's get to work," he said while standing up. "Add it to my tab."

"Got it."

And then he turned to look at me.

"Come boy, what are you waiting for?"

"Ah…."

I got caught off guard by his rapid decision, but it was not an unwelcome one.

"Okay."

Since it was the display of skills.

I was confident.

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