Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 121: Korvan (3)

'What… happened?'

My thoughts felt sluggish, muddled by the pounding in my skull and the burning pain that rippled through every inch of my body. I tried to piece together what had just happened, but everything felt so distant, so disconnected.

I blinked, trying to clear the haze from my vision, but all I saw was red. Blood smeared across my eyes, dripping down my face. My chest throbbed, every breath shallow and ragged. Flames crackled in the distance, their heat pressing in on me, but none of it made sense. Nothing did.

I looked down at myself—burns and cuts marred my skin, the fabric of my cloak and armor torn to shreds. Blood soaked through my clothes, staining everything dark. My body trembled, my muscles weak and screaming in protest, and then I noticed it—my hand.

The hand that once gripped my estoc with confidence and purpose was now in tatters, torn and bleeding. My fingers were raw, shaking uncontrollably. Blood dripped from my fingertips, splattering onto the dirt beneath me.

'How...?'

I glanced at my estoc, still clutched weakly in my broken grip. The blade, once sharp and filled with starlight mana, was now riddled with cracks—dozens of them, spider-webbing across the surface of the steel. The glow of starlight was dim, flickering weakly, as if the weapon itself was on the verge of breaking apart.

'No… not now.'

My vision swam again, the crimson haze intensifying as my head pounded with each heartbeat. I tried to focus, to make sense of the situation, but everything felt wrong. The ground beneath me felt unsteady, and the world around me blurred in and out of focus.

Korvan's voice echoed in the back of my mind, but I couldn't concentrate on the words. All I could see were the flames. All I could feel was the ache in my chest, the numbness in my hand, the cracks in my blade.

'How did this happen?'

I tried to force my body to move, but every muscle screamed in protest. My head was spinning, my thoughts scattered. The red and black of my vision merged, and I couldn't tell if the blood was my own or Korvan's.

Everything felt so far away. So distant.

As everything around me began to drift into a distant blur, I felt it—cold.

It crept in, slow at first, a faint chill brushing against my skin, but then it deepened, cutting through the haze of pain and exhaustion. Korvan's spear was coming at me, burning with the same fire that had scorched my flesh moments before. Yet now, the world seemed to slow, the flames dancing in slow motion, crackling like some living creature, eager to consume me.

And amidst the heat, there it was again—the coldness. The icy grip of death, like an old, familiar presence wrapping around my body, tightening its hold. I had felt it before, time and time again, absorbing that same cold energy from my surroundings, letting it seep into me as I brushed up against the edges of mortality.

Now, I was facing death again. The chill sank into my bones, making everything feel heavy, almost paralyzing. This is it, I thought, the cold threatening to swallow me whole. It wasn't just the feeling of death approaching—it was something else, something inside me, stirring. That same dark thrill that had bubbled up before, the excitement of putting my life on the line, of embracing the bloodlust.

But now it was worse, stronger. It was clawing its way back to the surface, ready to take over, just like it had before.

'No… Not again.'

The thought barely registered as I struggled to fight it off, to push back against the tide of that overwhelming sensation. My hands trembled, my vision darkened, and for a brief moment, I felt as though I would lose myself completely to it. The beast within me roared, ready to break free, to consume everything in its path.

But then, through the suffocating cold, a voice cut through the storm inside my head, clear and sharp.

"Your weapon is a graceful one. An estoc is a blade of precision, of finesse. It's meant for thrusting, for finding the gaps in armor, for striking with elegance. But the way you fight… it's anything but graceful. You wield that blade like a beast, all raw power and bloodlust. There's no balance, no harmony between you and your weapon.

It's as if the sword itself is screaming against the way you use it."

The voice was calm and steady, but its words pierced through me with a brutal clarity. My heart pounded in my chest as I listened, my mind grasping for its meaning.

"There's more to wielding a blade than just knowing how to kill. A true swordsman understands the balance between power and grace, between the blade and the hand that guides it. You've got the skill, boy, but you lack the understanding. You're letting the beast inside you control the sword rather than mastering the beast and letting the sword become an extension of yourself."

Those were the words that both Harlan and Master had spoken to me.

At that time, it was hard for me to discern the beast that they were talking about.

But now, I could feel it.

The way I had fought just now—it wasn't about skill or precision. I had been reckless, consumed by the thrill of death, by the need to survive at any cost.

My estoc—my weapon—was a tool of precision, but I had treated it like a blunt instrument like a beast slashing wildly at prey.

I looked at my estoc again, cracks webbing across its surface, the blade trembling in my broken grip. I hadn't just damaged my body—I had damaged my weapon, the very thing I had relied on. It wasn't just my injuries that had left me on the edge of defeat—it was my failure to truly understand the balance between myself and the blade.

The beast inside me growled, urging me to keep fighting, to give in to the bloodlust. But the voice—the voice reminded me of something deeper.

The flames swirled toward me, Korvan's spear just inches from my face, burning with the intensity of a predator about to finish its prey. The heat was overwhelming, the air thick with the weight of death. My heart pounded in my chest, and for a moment, I could see it—the end. His words echoed in my ears, cruel and final:

SWIRL!

"Goodbye, boy."

But then, something clicked.

In that split second, just before the flames could consume me, I understood. The words of Harlan, the lessons from my master, everything I had been too blind to see before—it all fell into place. Master the beast within you. I hadn't understood it at the time, but now, as the world seemed to slow around me, I could feel it.

The beast wasn't just the bloodlust, the thrill of fighting with reckless abandon. It was me. My instincts, my desires, my fear of death—all of it was the beast that had driven me. But I had let it control me, rather than mastering it. I had fought like a cornered animal, throwing everything into the battle without thinking, without control.

Now, I had a choice: to let the beast consume me or to find the harmony I had been missing.

My body fell into an eerie serenity. The roar of flames, the pressure of the fight—it all faded away. The world around me disappeared, and in that moment, there was only me and my sword.

I looked down at my estoc. The cracks webbed across its surface, the once sharp, pristine blade now damaged by my recklessness. But as I gripped it, I could feel its weight, its presence in my hand. This weapon had been with me through countless battles. It wasn't just a tool—it was an extension of myself. I had treated it like a blunt instrument, driven by desperation and raw instinct.

But now, as the flames approached, I felt calm.

The bloodlust that had surged inside me was still there, but I no longer let it dictate my actions. My mind was clear. My grip on the estoc tightened, and I felt the weapon settle in my hand, as if it had been waiting for this moment—for me to finally wield it with purpose, with understanding.

And then, in the midst of that serenity, I felt the power within me stir. The vortex inside my body, the second core I had kept locked away for so long, pulsed with energy. It had always been there, waiting to be unleashed, but I had been too focused on survival to use it properly.

But now, I was ready.

I opened the dam within me, releasing the power of the Flame of Equinox. It surged through my body, a perfect balance of life and death. The flame enveloped me, but it was no longer a chaotic force. It was controlled, harmonious, a reflection of the understanding I had gained in this moment. The flames of life and death wrapped around my estoc, strengthening it, mending the cracks.

I could feel the cold fire of death and the warm flame of life merging, surrounding me, becoming one with my blade.

And then, in the stillness, I whispered the words I had come to understand.

?This is how my sword needs to be.?

With a single motion, I moved.

The world, slow and hazy, seemed to bend around me as I stepped forward. Korvan's spear, once inches from my face, now seemed distant, as if it were frozen in time. The flames around it flickered, but they didn't touch me. My estoc, glowing with the combined power of life and death, cut through the air with precision and purpose.

There was no hesitation, no fear, no desperation. Only clarity.

The tip of my blade found its mark, cutting through the very fabric of the space between us. It wasn't just a strike—it was annihilation, a complete severance of the distance, the power, and the fire that separated me from my enemy.

In that moment, the world shattered.