Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 603: Pink Knight (4)

At the start, she had not thought much of it.

She had done what was expected of her. She had taken command of the forces granted to her by her father, by House Olarion, and carried out her duty with unwavering resolve. Every battle, every castle taken, every decree executed—it had all been in the name of restoring her family's honor.

That was what had driven her.

She had fought for the Olarion name, to carve a path back to prominence, to prove that their bloodline was still worthy of respect.

But now—

Now, as she stood in the flickering glow of the campfires, the night wind carrying the distant murmurs of her knights, she looked back on everything she had done.

And she saw how naïve she had been.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

She had believed that honor was a guiding star, something absolute, something pure. She had followed it blindly, believing that so long as she adhered to it, her path would remain just. That her choices would be right.

But the world had torn that illusion apart.

She thought back to the nights spent with Lucavion.

No inn, no shelter, no safe haven willing to take them in—because he had made enemies of the Cloud Heavens Sect. Because he had dared to stand against them.

No noble had extended a hand. No merchant had offered them respite. Even those who knew the truth, who whispered of the sect's corruption in private, had turned away in public.

Because it was easier.

Because justice was only convenient when it did not threaten them.

And then—

Then there were the two little beastkin children.

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That night would never leave her.

She had stood there, the scent of damp earth and firewood in the air, watching them huddle together for warmth, their eyes filled with a fear they had learned—not from monsters, but from people.

From men like Godfrey.

From lords and barons who saw them as little more than property, something to be sold, to be used.

She had spoken of Noblesse Oblige, of duty, of honor.

But what did it mean if she had never felt the weight of it? If she had never been the one starving, the one turned away, the one praying for mercy that would never come?

Honor was not just an oath. It was not just a banner to raise when convenient.

It was a burden.

It was a duty that did not bend when the world made it difficult, that did not vanish when it became inconvenient.

And it was not easy.

She understood that now.

"Sigh…."

Or did she?

"Sigh..."

Or did she?

Had she really figured anything out?

Or was she still searching?

The answer was clear, wasn't it?

She had yet to figure anything out.

For all the battles fought, all the corrupt lords dragged from their thrones, all the righteous speeches delivered in the name of justice—what had she truly discovered?

She had seen the world for what it was. She had seen the rot beneath the gold and silk, the filth hidden beneath titles and etiquette. But knowing what was wrong and knowing how to fix it were two entirely different things.

She had been raised to believe that honor and duty were unwavering. That righteousness was a clear path. But now she knew it wasn't a path at all—it was a constant battle, a struggle against the world itself.

And despite everything, despite how far she had come, she still didn't know if she was winning.

Her thoughts drifted further.

What would he say if she met him again?

Lucavion.

Would he smirk and tell her, "Took you long enough to see it, Valeria?" Would he mock her old beliefs, remind her of how blindly she had clung to the ideals of nobility, of the very system that had allowed monsters like Godfrey to thrive?

Or would he say nothing at all?

Because—

"Will I even meet him again?"

The thought pressed against her chest, heavier than she expected.

Lucavion was never the type to stay. She had known that from the beginning. He was a storm, passing through one place and moving on before anyone could ever grasp him. He was not like her, bound to duty, bound to a family name that demanded restoration.

He had no place to return to. No banner to kneel under.

And that was why—

Perhaps he was already gone.

Valeria's eyes dropped to the dirt beneath her feet. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows against the ground.

"He wouldn't stay in one place for too long."

"Isn't that right?"

Just then, footsteps approached from the side.

"Captain."

She blinked, turning her head.

A young knight stood beside her, his features half-lit by the fire's glow. He was younger than most of her men, his face still holding traces of youth despite the years of battle hardening his expression. His armor was well-kept, but it bore the marks of use—scratches and dents that told the story of a knight who had earned his place.

Thom.

One of her own. One of the few who had followed her before any of this had begun—before the Marquis, before the great cleansing of the Cloud Heavens Sect.

He had been there with her before she truly understood the world.

He had been there when they had traveled to Rackenshore.

"…You've been thinking too hard again," Thom said, offering a small smile.

Thom was older than her, yet somehow, Valeria always found him to be a little childish.

Perhaps it was the way he carried himself—relaxed even in the aftermath of war, always quick with a grin, as if the weight of the world never truly settled on his shoulders. Even now, as he stood beside her, there was something too easy about his demeanor.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, observing him closer.

"…You've drunk."

Thom blinked. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Aye…" he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "Captain, why are you so strict?"

Valeria crossed her arms. "Didn't I say you're not allowed to drink during work?"

He held up a finger. "Ah, but wasn't this the last one? The last baron, the last stronghold? I thought that meant work was—"

"Until we safely deliver him," she cut in, her tone firm, "it is not over."

Thom stared at her for a moment. Then, slowly, his shoulders sagged.

"....."

He knew better than to argue when she was like this.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped his teasing manner and changed the subject entirely. "Right, well—if you're done scolding me, the call with the Marquis is ready."

Valeria exhaled, glancing toward the larger command tent in the center of camp.

So Vendor was ready to hear her report.

She had expected as much. He was not a man who waited idly when there was something to be gained.

"…Fine," she said at last. "I'll speak with him now."