Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 591: Surrender

Just as Draven was about to press forward, his blade dangerously close to slashing across the spear-wielder's exposed side—

A shift.

A violent, unnatural shift.

The air trembled.

Mana—raw, overwhelming, **immense—**erupted into the sky from across the city.

A pulse so powerful it sent an involuntary shudder through Draven's body. It wasn't just strong—it was suffocating. A clash. A collision of forces so absurd that for a moment, the battlefield around him felt like it had shrunk, like the true fight was happening somewhere else entirely.

Draven instinctively jumped back, disengaging from his opponent as he turned his gaze to the distance, toward the source.

And there it was.

A pillar of crackling, intertwining energy—two forces colliding.

One, sharp and unwavering, controlled but unrelenting. The kind of power that came from years of tempered, disciplined battle.

The other—wild, suffocating, endless. Something that refused to be contained.

Draven's smirk twitched, even as his chest tightened.

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"Tch… that bastard."

Soren, still locked in combat with the axe-wielder, noticed Draven's sudden distraction and gritted his teeth. "Oi, what's with that look?"

Vyrell, too, caught the shift, though he remained composed, his blade holding the assassin at bay. "That mana…"

Draven exhaled sharply. His voice was quieter, but filled with something close to grim amusement. "Lucavion's found Aldric."

The realization settled in the air like a thunderclap.

Soren whistled lowly, adjusting his grip on his warhammer. "Heh. About time."

Vyrell's eyes flickered with calculation. "Then it's out of our hands now."

Draven's fingers flexed around his blade.

It was true.

Whatever was happening there… whatever monstrous battle had just begun—

Was no longer their concern.

Lucavion's job was his own.

The only thing left for Draven now—

Was to do his job properly.

His smirk returned, sharper than before, his grip tightening on his weapon as he turned back toward his opponent.

"Guess I better clean up my side of the battlefield."

****

Draven grit his teeth as his blade clashed once more against the spear-wielder's strike. Sparks flew from the impact, the sheer force rattling his bones. He pushed forward, trying to gain ground, but the bastard moved with inhuman precision—his spear twisting at the last second to redirect Draven's momentum, forcing him back.

The fight wasn't going anywhere.

Draven exhaled sharply, taking a step back to reassess. Around him, the battle still raged, but it was wrong.

This wasn't the easy clean-up he had planned.

Vyrell was locked in an endless exchange with that damn assassin. Every time he seemed to gain an advantage, the bastard slipped through, attacking from another blind spot. Soren was holding his ground against the axeman, their fight a brutal clash of raw strength—but for every inch Soren gained, the enemy took another back.

Draven's gaze flicked across the battlefield. No progress. No ground gained.

Tch. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Where the hell did these fuckers come from?

His plan had been simple—Lucavion takes Aldric, and the rest would crumble.

But these empire bastards… they were far more prepared than expected.

Draven ducked as the spear came for his throat again, twisting his body at the last second. His blade flashed upward, aiming to sever the bastard's wrist—but he missed.

Again.

"Fucking hell," Draven hissed under his breath, regaining his footing.

He didn't like this.

Something wasn't right.

They had expected resistance, sure—but this?

This was too much.

Draven exhaled through his nose, keeping his stance loose, ready to react. His mind worked fast, trying to assess the situation. They couldn't hold this deadlock forever.

Something had to change.

And soon.

"Yo…."

Draven barely had time to register the voice before the axeman in front of him hesitated as well, his gaze snapping toward the rooftops. The brief distraction was all Draven needed to take a step back, his grip tightening around his blade.

Lucavion sat lazily on the edge of a rooftop, one knee propped up, his elbow resting against it. His usual smirk was there, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable.

"How's it going?" he asked, his voice carrying easily over the battlefield.

Draven stared for a second.

"....."

He had no words.

But inside?

Relief.

Lucavion was alive.

And that meant—

Draven's eyes flicked over Lucavion's appearance, his instincts confirming what his brain had just realized.

Blood.

Blood was everywhere.

Lucavion's coat was soaked in it, the dark fabric sticking to his skin. His arms, his legs—there were deep gashes along his body, some already closing, others still raw. His breathing was steady, but Draven could see it. The exhaustion creeping beneath that easy smirk.

Aldric was dead.

Lucavion had won.

Draven wanted to laugh, to smirk, to spit something smug at the enemy still standing before him—but he didn't get the chance.

Because the spear-wielding bastard didn't look away.

Unlike the others, he didn't react to Lucavion's arrival. He didn't hesitate, didn't turn to confirm what had happened.

He struck.

Draven barely raised his sword in time as the spear came for his ribs, the sheer force of the attack rattling his arms. He dug his feet in, twisting just enough to keep the blow from skewering him outright.

"Tch—bastard," Draven hissed.

Lucavion exhaled softly from above, shaking his head. "No rest for the weary, huh?" He spoke.

The spearman shifted slightly, stiffening.

A strange, eerie aura seeped from Lucavion, something neither light nor dark—just wrong. The air around him felt like a void, a place where laws didn't apply.

The spearman's grip on his weapon tightened instinctively. This feeling—

Lucavion barely spared him a glance. Instead, he took a breath and—

"YO! The members of the Black Veil!"

His voice cut through the battlefield like a whip.

The fighting stalled.

For just a second, steel stopped clashing, footsteps hesitated, and wary eyes turned toward him.

Lucavion stood on the rooftop, still smirking, his posture relaxed despite the clear exhaustion in his body. Blood still dripped from his coat, staining the tiles beneath his feet.

And then—he tossed something.

A severed head hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Silence.

The head rolled slightly before settling, its blood pooling over the cracked stone.

And even in death—Aldric Veltorin's face was unmistakable.

The moment the Black Veil members recognized it, a ripple of raw shock spread through their ranks. Some faltered. Others stiffened. A few took a single step back.

Lucavion grinned, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek. "Took me a while, but your boss is gone."

A cold wind swept through the street, carrying the scent of blood and death.

For the first time in the battle—

Lucavion's voice rang out through the battlefield, smooth and effortless—but dripping with lethal intent.

"Now, do you guys want to surrender, or do you want me to slaughter every one of you here?"

And then—he let it loose.

The bloodlust.

A crushing, suffocating wave of sheer killing intent flooded the battlefield, pressing down on every soul present.

The air itself seemed to shrink, the very space around them warping beneath the weight of something that wasn't just menace—but certainty.

This wasn't the empty bravado of a man trying to intimidate his enemies.

This was a man who had already decided the outcome.

Draven barely resisted the urge to shift his stance. He had felt many types of bloodlust before—sharp, cold, brutal—but this?

Lucavion's was different.

It wasn't wild. It wasn't unrestrained.

It was measured. Precise. Absolute.

And the Black Veil felt it.

At first, silence.

And then—

CLANK!

A sword hit the ground.

Then another.

CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!

One by one, weapons slipped from trembling hands, hitting the bloodstained streets.

Some of them stepped back, others outright collapsed to their knees, gasping for air.

Because in that moment—they understood.

Their leader was dead.

And the monster standing before them had been the one to do it.