Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 571: You!

Caius stepped out of The Rusted Fang, the night air cooling the frustration burning in his chest.

Lucavion was already outside, waiting. He stood near the entrance, hands tucked lazily into his coat pockets, gazing up at the Varenthian skyline with an unreadable expression.

Beside him, one of Draven's men—a burly, rough-faced guy named Orin—stood stiffly, arms crossed. His gaze flickered toward Lucavion every so often, just shy of being outright hostile.

Caius couldn't blame him.

Half the bar was still rolling around in pain thanks to this bastard, and now Orin had to personally escort him to some cozy hideout on Draven's orders. The only thing keeping the guy from acting on his resentment was the fact that Draven had made himself very clear—Lucavion wasn't to be touched.

Lucavion must have noticed the tension, because he finally turned to Orin with a lazy smile.

"You're staring," he noted casually.

Orin grunted. "I'm watching."

Lucavion's smile widened, but he didn't press further. He simply stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders as if he had all the time in the world. Then, finally, he gestured ahead.

"Well then, shall we?"

Orin exhaled sharply and motioned for them to follow.

The walk was quiet at first.

The streets of Varenthia were always alive, no matter the hour. Merchants still peddled goods under flickering lanterns, and mercenaries lingered outside taverns, their voices a low murmur of deals and rumors. The smell of grilled meat and burning oil drifted through the air, mixing with the distant scent of salt from the nearby docks.

Caius kept glancing at Lucavion.

The bastard looked… relaxed. Too relaxed. Like he wasn't in the middle of hostile territory. Like he hadn't just turned a bar full of Draven's men into a scene of absolute carnage.

'This guy's nerves are made of fucking steel.'

Orin remained silent, leading them toward a quieter district, where the buildings grew taller and the streets less crowded. Unlike the chaotic heart of Varenthia, this part of the city had an organized feel—where wealthier merchants and retired mercenaries lived.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a two-story residence.

The building was surprisingly well-kept for Varenthian standards—sturdy stone walls, clean wooden beams, and a balcony on the second floor overlooking the street. It was positioned slightly away from the main road, offering privacy without complete isolation.

Orin turned, his voice gruff. "Draven said this place will do. Fully stocked, quiet, and out of the way." His sharp gaze flickered toward Lucavion again. "No trouble while you're here."

Lucavion hummed. "I never cause trouble."

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Orin's jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait.

Instead, he gestured toward the door. "It's yours for now. Keys are inside."

Lucavion didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a slow step forward, placing a hand against the stone wall as if testing its solidity. Then he nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Not bad," he mused, stepping toward the entrance. "Better than some places I've stayed in."

Caius scoffed under his breath. "Glad to know Varenthia meets your standards."

Lucavion chuckled but didn't respond.

Orin gave Caius a brief, knowing glance—one that said "You're the poor bastard stuck with him, not me."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving Caius alone with Lucavion.

The moment Orin was out of sight, Caius sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Lucavion stood at the entrance of the house for a moment, letting his gaze wander over the details—the sturdy build, the quiet surroundings. Then, without looking at Caius, he said smoothly,

"So this is how Draven is punishing you?"

Caius gritted his teeth.

'If you know it already, why the hell are you smiling, you bastard?'

Of course, he didn't say that. He just exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to keep his irritation in check.

Before either of them could say anything else, a sudden movement from above caught Caius's attention.

A shadow leapt from the stone wall beside them—fast, silent.

Thud.

A cat landed effortlessly on Lucavion's shoulder.

Caius stiffened, immediately wary. But as the creature adjusted itself, he got a clearer look at it—and froze.

Its fur was white—not dull, not dirty, but pure, pristine. Even in the dim light, it practically glowed. And its eyes…

Intelligent. Piercing. Yellow, sharp as if they belonged to a creature that understood far more than it should.

It wasn't just beautiful—it was majestic.

Caius had never seen a cat like this before.

The cat's gaze flickered toward him, studying him with an eerie intensity. Its tail curled lazily around Lucavion's shoulder, but there was nothing casual about the way it watched him.

Lucavion didn't seem surprised at all. If anything, he reached up and ran a single hand through the cat's fur with practiced ease before finally stepping inside.

Caius hesitated, then followed.

"The hell is that?" he asked as soon as they were both inside.

Lucavion glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

"My familiar."

Caius blinked. "Your what?"

Lucavion smirked. "You heard me."

Caius stared at him. Then at the cat. Then back at him.

Caius let out a long, exhausted sigh.

At this point, he wasn't sure what was worse—the fact that he had to deal with this lunatic or the fact that said lunatic had a familiar.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath, before stepping inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, his feet pausing just slightly, his eyes widened.

'What the hell…?'

The interior of the house was… luxurious.

Not in the overly extravagant way of noble estates, but in the kind of deliberate, quiet wealth that didn't need to scream for attention.

Polished wooden floors. Dark oak furniture. A grand staircase leading to the second floor. Even the air inside felt different—cooler, cleaner, untouched by the grime and stench of the Varenthian streets.

Caius had lived in this city almost his whole life, but he had never set foot in a place like this.

And yet—

Lucavion barely reacted.

He stepped inside with the same lazy stride, barely glancing at the surroundings before his black eyes landed on him.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk.

"Well," Lucavion drawled, voice laced with amusement. "This is where you leave, isn't it?"

Caius narrowed his eyes. The hell is that tone?

He crossed his arms. "Draven ordered me to stick with you."

Lucavion exhaled through his nose, as if he had already known the answer. "I know."

Then he turned away, moving toward the main hall with an air of complete disinterest.

"But," he continued lightly, his voice teasing, "if you really want to, you can always wait outside."

Caius's jaw tightened.

'This fucking guy.'

Lucavion took a slow glance around the house, his sharp gaze sweeping over the furniture, the decor, the placement of each room. It took him all of a few seconds to understand the layout.

Then, his eyes landed on a smaller section near the back of the house—just before the garden.

A tucked-away space.

Separate from the main quarters.

His lips twitched.

"Well," he mused, turning to Caius with a smirk. "It appears that you've found where you'll be staying."

Caius followed his gaze—and sighed.

'Of course. The fucking servant's quarters.'

Not that he expected anything else. Draven didn't exactly send him along to live comfortably—he was here to keep an eye on this crazy bastard. And, honestly? He'd rather sleep there than be anywhere near Lucavion's room.

He muttered under his breath and made his way toward the small chamber.

Lucavion didn't say anything else.

He simply watched—dark eyes glinting with quiet amusement—until Caius had stepped inside.

Then, with an almost lazy motion, he reached for the main door.

Click.

Caius heard the door shut behind him.

And just like that—Lucavion was left alone.