Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 150: On the other page

FOOSH!

Heavy rain continued to fall down, drenching the lands.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

Under the relentless downpour, a small figure trudged forward, their steps barely audible against the pounding rain. The person's body, slight and delicate, appeared almost childlike in stature. Their hood, soaked through and heavy with water, clung to their head, offering little protection now. Droplets streamed down their face, tracing invisible lines beneath the fabric.

The figure's movements were slow and purposeful, each step a fight against the weight of the storm. The road ahead was blurred by the rain, a muddled pathway of glistening puddles and slick mud. Despite the harshness of the weather, the figure pressed on, determined, as if the storm was merely an inconvenience.

Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the surroundings for a brief moment. In that fleeting light, the figure's small frame became clear, but their face remained obscured, hidden beneath the shadow of the drenched hood. Their hands, pale and fragile, clutched something close to their chest, wrapped in cloth to keep it dry.

FOOSH!

Heavy rain continued to fall.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

The small figure moved forward with the same unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the sound of the storm, sharp and commanding.

"What are you waiting for? Move!"

The figure halted briefly but didn't turn to face the voice. Their head remained lowered, rainwater trickling down their hood and into their soaked clothes. The voice belonged to a man, stern and impatient. His figure loomed behind them, tall and broad, a shadow in the rain.

"You are going to complete the training." His tone was heavy with authority, though there was a strange coldness underneath. "Look, your sister has already finished it."

The words hung in the air, laden with expectation. The figure's small body stiffened at the mention of their sister. They didn't respond immediately but shifted their grip on the bundle in their arms, clutching it tighter.

The man's gaze sharpened as he took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. "Don't disappoint me," he added, his voice low, almost a growl. His piercing eyes then flicked away from the child and, strangely, met her eyes.

"Tssk."

A sharp click of the tongue broke the silence within the carriage. The girl with long, clear black hair cascading down to her waist stared out of the window, watching as the rain flowed in rivulets down the glass. The heavy downpour mirrored the memory that had resurfaced in her mind, unwelcome and unpleasant.

"What an unpleasant memory again," she muttered softly to herself, her voice carrying a hint of bitterness.

Beside her, the maid, who had been sitting quietly until now, sensed the shift in her mood. Her gaze turned towards her lady, concern evident in her eyes.

"My lady," the maid asked gently, her voice careful not to intrude too much, "did something happen?"

The girl didn't respond immediately. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the rainy landscape outside, her fingers idly brushing the folds of her dress. The rhythmic sound of the rain against the carriage roof filled the air, but inside, the tension was palpable.

After a moment, the girl finally turned her gaze towards her maid, her expression cold yet with a subtle undercurrent of something deeper—perhaps anger, perhaps pain.

"It's nothing," she replied. "Just remembered some unpleasant memories."

The girl turned her attention back to the window, her eyes tracing the lines of rain streaming down the glass. The sound of the carriage wheels splashing through puddles filled the silence for a moment.

The maid, sensing the conversation wasn't quite over, kept her tone soft and reassuring. "It won't take much longer to reach Rackenshore, my lady," she said, her eyes filled with quiet concern. She glanced at her young mistress, gauging her reaction before continuing. "But… are you certain about this? It may just be a coincidence."

The girl's fingers stilled on the folds of her dress, her jaw tightening slightly. Her eyes remained on the rainy landscape, though her mind was clearly elsewhere. After a pause, she slowly shook her head, a quiet but resolute gesture.

"There is no way it's a coincidence," she replied, her voice calm but filled with certainty. "That name… it's unique."

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with significance. The maid nodded, though the concern in her eyes deepened. She knew better than to push further. Whatever lay ahead for her lady, it wasn't something to be taken lightly.

"The disgrace who put a stain on the name of our family. Do you think you can escape?" the girl muttered, her voice low but laced with a dangerous edge.

As the words left her lips, a faint yellow glow began to pulse around her, flickering with intensity. The mana emanating from her body seemed to charge the very air, and the temperature inside the carriage rose steadily. Her maid's eyes widened though she remained composed, accustomed to her lady's abilities.

The girl's eyes burned with an inner fire, reflecting her rage and determination. Small flames flickered along the hem of her clothes, dancing across her sleeves, though they did not burn the fabric. The air crackled with heat as the mana swirled around her, growing more intense with each passing second.

This wasn't something just anyone could do. The ability to materialize one's intent into the physical world required immense control and power, a skill only a 4-star Awakened could possess. The flames were an extension of her will, a manifestation of the seething emotions that churned beneath her composed exterior.

The maid, though concerned, did not move. She knew her lady's strength and understood that pushing her now would only stoke the flames further.

"My lady… please, calm yourself," the maid whispered softly, her voice steady yet respectful. "The time will come soon enough."

The girl exhaled sharply, her gaze still fixed on the outside, the flames dimming as she brought her emotions under control. The yellow glow slowly faded, and the oppressive heat in the carriage eased, leaving only a faint warmth lingering in the air.

"It's not about patience," the girl said, her voice returning to its usual cold tone. "It's about restoring the lost honor of our family."

As for how that happened, one must go one half a year back.

*******

The heavy oak door slammed shut with a resounding thud, cutting off the echo of hurried footsteps. Inside the dimly lit room, a tall, stern man stood near the window, his cold, hard face illuminated by the flickering candlelight. His sharp, steel-gray eyes bore into the parchment in his hands, the ink smudged from where his grip tightened in fury.

His jaw clenched, the silence thickened around him as the fire crackled in the hearth, unable to dispel the biting chill of his presence. His broad shoulders, clad in a crisp military coat, rose and fell with restrained fury, the veins in his neck pulsing with barely contained rage.

Suddenly, the quiet shattered.

"He had deserted his post and escaped?"

The man's hand trembled as he read the words again, his fingers tightening around the parchment as though he could strangle the very letters off the page. His cold, steel-gray eyes flared with a fierce, murderous light as the insult sunk deeper into his veins.

"Escaped?That wretched bastard dared to escape?" His voice rose into a snarl, the sound low and venomous, each word dripping with disgust.

His broad shoulders squared, his military coat shifting with the rigid tension in his body. The Thorne family name, his name, stained by this worthless cur. The disgrace already hanging over their legacy like a festering wound was now deepened beyond repair.

"First, he dishonors us by assaulting the Duke's daughter, and now he flees from the battlefield like a coward!" His voice erupted, the room seeming to shrink under the weight of his wrath. He slammed the letter onto the desk, the parchment crinkling under his fist, the veins in his neck pulsing visibly.

The fire crackled louder in the hearth, almost in response to the rage in the room, but it did nothing to warm the icy fury radiating from him.

"Do you have any idea what this means? The humiliation? The shame?" His eyes darted to the empty space in the room as if expecting a ghost of the past to answer. "The Thornes will be a laughingstock—adisgrace." His teeth ground together audibly, the muscles in his jaw twitching from the effort of holding back the flood of curses that threatened to spill from his mouth.

The name Thorne had once stood for something—something noble, proud, and unyielding. Now, because ofhim, it was whispered in hushed tones, mocked in back rooms, associated with scandal and cowardice.

"I sent him to that battlefield to bleed for his shame. Toredeemthe family name!" His fist crashed down onto the desk again, this time sending the inkpot flying, black ink splattering across the wood in violent streaks. The stain spreading over the desk mirrored the dark shadow now cast over the Thorne family.

"Assaulting the Duke's daughter wasn't enough, was it?" he spat, his voice filled with bitter venom. "Now, he defies me, escapes like aratin the night? After I gave him the one chance to prove himself, to die with at least a shred of honor!"

The thunderous roar of the fire was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. The man's breath hitched, his cold eyes narrowing as his gaze snapped toward the heavy oak barrier. For a moment, silence stretched, save for the crackling flames and the muffled hiss of ink pooling across the desk.

"Enter," he barked, his voice still seething with the remnants of his fury.

The door creaked open slowly, and in stepped a girl with clear black hair cascading down her back, her face shadowed but resolute. Her eyes, sharp as steel, met her father's without flinching. There was no hesitation, no fear, only a fierce determination that mirrored the storm brewing within him. She stepped forward with purpose, her footsteps light yet confident as they crossed the room.

"Father," she began, her voice steady, carrying an undercurrent of cold resolve. "Leave that to me."

The man's eyes, still alight with fury, flickered as they met hers. There was a long pause before he spoke, his voice cutting through the tense air. "What are you saying?"

"I will find him," she continued, her tone unwavering, as if the decision had already been made. "And I will take his head myself."