Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

His teeth clenched in frustration. Why was she just standing there, watching him with those calm, unwavering eyes? Was she mocking him? Did she think he wasn't worth the effort? A low growl rumbled from his chest, his body tensing as he prepared to charge. Whatever her intentions, he had no choice. He needed to win. This wasn't just another fight—it was his chance at survival.

With a swift, fluid motion, he lunged forward, his claws glowing with mana as he struck at her side.

But she was ready, her blade meeting his attack with an effortless parry. Sparks flew, and he felt the impact jolt through his arms, more powerful than he'd expected. She countered swiftly, her sword slicing in a controlled arc that forced him to dodge back, his balance wavering.

Undeterred, he pressed on, launching another series of rapid strikes, his movements quick and unpredictable. His claws flashed with energy as he slashed at her from every angle, trying to find a gap in her defenses. But the woman moved with smooth precision, her blade weaving a shield of mana that blocked every attack he threw her way. No matter how fast or fierce his strikes, her sword was always there to meet them.

The boy gritted his teeth, frustration boiling within him. He poured more mana into his claws, his attacks growing faster, more desperate.

Yet each time he struck, she deflected him with an unshakable calm, her blade flowing through the air like water, each motion deliberate and precise.

'Why…?'

he wondered, his mind racing.

'Why can't I break through?'

It was as if she had no weak points, her defenses unyielding as stone. And that gaze—steady, unbothered—only added to his growing despair.

She wasn't fighting to harm him. She wasn't even fighting with hatred. It was as though she was fighting with a purpose he couldn't comprehend, a resolve that went beyond the arena.

His breath came faster now, his strikes losing their edge, his strength faltering as he felt the tide of the battle shift. Her movements became more confident, more assertive, each swing of her sword pushing him back, forcing him into a defensive stance.

He tried to dig in, tried to summon the last of his strength, but it was slipping through his grasp like sand.

She advanced, step by step, her mana-laden blade glinting in the dim arena light as she drove him back, her form unbreakable. He could feel the weight of her presence bearing down on him, like a mountain standing in his path, immovable.

With each clash, each parry, he felt himself weakening, his instincts struggling to keep pace with her refined technique. He had fought to survive, always driven by raw need and desperation, but this… this was different. Her strength wasn't born of desperation—it was something honed, focused, with a purpose he couldn't understand.

Finally, a powerful strike from her sword sent him staggering back, his legs trembling as he barely managed to stay upright. He blinked, his breath ragged, his heart hammering. The pain from his wounds throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a relentless reminder of his failing body.

But she didn't press forward. She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at him—not with pity, not with superiority, but with something else.

Understanding, perhaps. Recognition.

"Why…" he muttered, the words slipping out in a whisper, barely audible.

Her expression remained calm, unwavering. She didn't answer him, but her silence seemed to say more than words could.

He steadied himself, his mind screaming to keep fighting, to give it everything he had left. He had to win. If he didn't…

But even as he tensed to strike, he knew. He could feel it deep within him, a cold realization sinking into his bones. No matter how hard he fought, no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't break through her defenses. She was beyond him, a force he couldn't overcome with raw instinct alone.

And, for the first time, he felt a pang of helplessness. The gnawing, suffocating feeling of being outmatched, of facing an opponent who fought for something he could never understand.

As he looked into her eyes, he saw a different kind of strength there—a strength not bound by anger or hate but by purpose.

And it made him question, if only for a moment, why he was fighting at all.

But he shook the thought away, his fierce gaze returning. He would fight, even if it wasn't enough. He would keep fighting, even as her strength pushed him further back, even as he felt his own slipping away.

Because, in the end, he had no other choice.

"I am sorry."

He may not be able to hold himself back if he were to use this….

"Grrr…."

The boy's breaths came in ragged gasps as he drew deeper into himself, calling forth a power he knew he should never touch. His heart pounded, his muscles tensed, and he felt a wave of raw energy ripple through his body, fierce and untamed. He could feel it building inside him—a dangerous, forbidden power that he had kept buried, the primal force that every beast kin was warned against unleashing.

I'm sorry,

he thought, as if whispering to his own fading self, the part of him that feared losing control, the part that knew this power came at a cost.

"Grrr…" His growl turned into a deep rumble, reverberating through the arena. His claws elongated, each one gleaming with a deadly edge, and coarse fur began to sprout along his arms, shoulders, and chest, as his body took on a more feral shape. His spine arched, his muscles expanded, and his entire frame pulsed with newfound strength, his transformation embodying the raw essence of the beast within him.

*******

The crowd gasped, recoiling as they sensed the change, feeling the air shift with a dark, powerful presence. Valeria's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening around her Zweihander as she steadied herself, watching him with a new level of intensity.

The boy's vision sharpened, his senses attuning to every sound, every breath, every heartbeat around him. He felt more alive than ever before, a primal thrill coursing through his veins. The energy within him surged, spreading into his limbs, infusing every muscle with untamed strength.

His lips curled back in a snarl, revealing sharp, predatory teeth, and his gaze locked onto Valeria, fierce and wild. For the first time, he felt he had the strength to challenge her, the strength to break through the defenses that had seemed unbreakable moments before.

Without another thought, he sprang forward, his body a blur of speed and power, his claws poised to strike. He moved faster than he ever had before, the energy within him propelling him forward like a force of nature, every fiber of his being focused on one thing: overcoming the obstacle before him.

Valeria's eyes widened, and in an instant, she shifted her stance, her Zweihander ready to intercept him. But his speed was blinding, his claws tearing through the air with terrifying precision as he closed the distance.

SWOOSH!

He struck, his massive claws meeting her blade with a force that sent a resounding shockwave through the arena. The impact jarred Valeria's arms, her feet digging into the ground as she braced herself against the onslaught.

But he was relentless, his claws slashing again and again, each blow heavier, stronger, as though he were a storm unleashed.

Valeria gritted her teeth, her focus unwavering as she held her ground, deflecting each strike with controlled precision. But she could feel the difference—the sheer, feral force behind his attacks was unlike anything she had faced before. Each clash sent sparks flying, his claws leaving faint marks across her blade, his power pressing against her defenses like an unyielding tide.

The boy roared, his strikes intensifying as he pressed forward, his transformed body moving with a fluidity and strength that belied his young age. He attacked with a ferocity that bordered on desperation, his instincts urging him to break through, to win at any cost.

But Valeria's focus only sharpened, her own energy amplifying in response. She matched his speed, her movements a calculated dance as she countered his frenzied attacks with practiced skill. Her Zweihander became an extension of her will, each swing precise, each parry executed with calm purpose.

The boy's frustration mounted. No matter how much power he unleashed, no matter how hard he struck, she remained unyielding, her strength a barrier he couldn't break.

He let out a guttural snarl, his muscles coiling as he prepared for a final, all-out strike. Channeling every last bit of energy, he lunged forward, his claws blazing with mana, his gaze fierce and determined.

But as he launched his attack, Valeria's eyes met his, steady and resolute. She anticipated his move, her stance shifting as she prepared to counter with everything she had.

With a swift, fluid motion, she raised her Zweihander, her mana surging through the blade as she brought it down in a powerful arc, her voice a calm whisper of intent.

"You really were strong."

–Sword of Olarion: Ripple of Solace.

Their attacks met in a burst of energy, the force of their clash sending a shockwave rippling across the arena. The boy felt his body shudder as her blade cleaved through his defenses, the impact overwhelming him, his own strength faltering against her refined skill.

He staggered back, his vision blurring as the energy within him began to wane, his transformation receding. His body trembled, exhaustion seeping into his bones, his breath ragged as he struggled to stay on his feet.

Valeria lowered her sword, her gaze softening as she looked at him. There was no triumph in her eyes, no trace of cruelty—only a calm understanding, a quiet respect.

The boy swayed, his body heavy, his strength spent. He looked at her one last time, his fierce gaze dimming, and in that moment, he understood.

He had given everything, and still, it hadn't been enough. But for the first time, he felt a strange sense of peace, as though he had fought with everything he was, and that… was enough.

With a quiet sigh, he collapsed to his knees, his gaze lingering on her as the world faded around him.