Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 551: Father-in-law

The first rays of dawn stretched across the sky, painting the fields of the Thaddeus Dukedom in muted gold and soft lavender. The world was still waking, the estate quiet save for the rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds. But amidst that silence, there was a steady rhythm—

Shhhk.

Shhhk.

The sound of steel slicing through the crisp morning air.

Lucavion stood in the open fields, his coat discarded, his shirt damp with sweat, his breathing slow yet deliberate. His hands, steady and sure, guided the blade through each arc, each movement precise. He didn't count how many swings he had done. He had lost track long ago.

Because he had been here for hours already.

Because he hadn't slept.

Because every single time he closed his eyes, he heard it.

I love you.

His grip on the hilt tightened.

I love you.

His blade cut through the air, sharper, faster.

I love you.

Lucavion exhaled sharply, his breath misting in the cool morning air.

His body ached, his muscles burned, but none of it was enough to silence the pounding in his chest. None of it was enough to clear his mind, to bring him the clarity he usually found in training.

Because this—this—was something he didn't know how to deal with.

He knew how to fight. How to adapt. How to outthink, outmaneuver, how to slip through cracks and play every angle until he got what he wanted.

But this?

This was different.

Emotions weren't like battles. There was no opponent to read, no strategy to dismantle. It was just there, raw and unrelenting, pressing into him no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

Lucavion clicked his tongue, setting his stance again.

Fine.

If he couldn't silence it, if he couldn't control it—then he would do the only thing he knew.

He would move.

His sword cut through the air again, relentless, his breath steadying only through sheer force of will.

Because if he stopped—if he let himself think—

Then he would have to accept it.

The fact that no matter how hard he tried to push it down, no matter how much he told himself that he wasn't meant for things like this—

His heart had already betrayed him.

A slow, lazy yawn cut through the crisp morning air.

Lucavion didn't pause, didn't turn—but he felt her presence settle beside him, as familiar as his own shadow.

Vitaliara curled up on the grass, her tail flicking idly, golden eyes half-lidded with the remnants of sleep. She stretched once before resting her chin on her paws, watching him with quiet amusement.

[You're training now?] she murmured, voice thick with drowsiness. [Shouldn't you be, oh, I don't know… sleeping?]

Lucavion swung his sword again, the blade whistling through the air before coming to a sharp halt. He inhaled, controlled, even. "Wanted to train," he said simply, rolling his shoulders before adjusting his grip.

Vitaliara blinked at him, unimpressed.

[Hah.]

She didn't need to say anything else.

Lucavion clicked his tongue, already knowing what was coming next.

[You couldn't sleep, could you?]

His fingers tightened slightly on the hilt of his sword. He exhaled slowly.

"...Yeah."

[Figured.]

She didn't sound smug. Didn't sound surprised. Just… resigned.

Lucavion let his arms drop for a moment, his free hand brushing against his damp forehead. His body was exhausted, but his mind refused to stop.

Vitaliara watched him in silence, her ears twitching as she considered him. He could tell she was still bitter. That much hadn't changed. But there was something else now, something lighter, like the edge of her resentment had dulled just a fraction.

[That girl cares quite a bit about you, you know.]

Lucavion's grip on his sword twitched.

He didn't respond.

Didn't need to.

Vitaliara huffed softly, shaking her head. [When she confessed to you, I thought she'd try to keep you here. Tie you down. Chain you to this place.]

She shifted slightly, curling her tail around herself.

[But she didn't.]

Lucavion inhaled sharply, his body stilling for a fraction of a second.

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Vitaliara exhaled, stretching her paws out in front of her before lazily curling them back in. Her golden eyes, still half-lidded, flicked toward Lucavion as he resumed his swings.

[Let's get one thing straight,] she murmured, voice low, deliberate. [I still don't like her.]

Lucavion didn't react. Didn't stop. Just kept moving, his blade cutting through the cool morning air in smooth, precise arcs.

[She acts too arrogant,] Vitaliara continued, tail flicking in irritation. [Carries herself like she owns the place, like she's already at the center of everything.]

She narrowed her eyes slightly, ears twitching. [And the way she glares at me… tch. As if I'm some pest intruding on her territory.]

Lucavion exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip.

[But,] Vitaliara added, her voice quieter now, almost begrudging, [I'll give her this—she has class.]

Lucavion finally paused, if only for a fraction of a second.

Vitaliara huffed, shifting her weight lazily. [She didn't beg, didn't demand, didn't try to clip your wings. I thought she would—I was sure she would. But instead, she just… let it be.]

She stretched her back, her golden gaze sharp yet contemplative. [Still don't like her. But I can admit that much.]

Lucavion remained silent.

Not because he had nothing to say, but because he didn't need to say anything.

Vitaliara knew him too well. Knew that if she pushed, he'd sidestep the conversation entirely. So she didn't push.

She just observed.

And so did Lucavion.

Not her, but something else.

A presence.

One that had been approaching for a while now.

Vitaliara's ears twitched first, but she didn't move. Didn't need to. Because she already knew—Lucavion had sensed it long before she had.

And sure enough—

"Good morning."

A voice. Calm. Controlled.

Lucavion lowered his blade slightly, turning just enough to meet the golden-eyed gaze of the man standing a few paces away.

Duke Anthony Thaddeus.

Lucavion smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Good morning, Mister Duke."

The Duke's expression remained unreadable, his gaze sweeping over him once, taking in the sweat-soaked shirt, the calloused grip on the sword, the slight tension still coiled in his frame.

Then—

"Couldn't sleep?"

Lucavion chuckled, shaking his head. "Something like that."

The Duke didn't look surprised.

Lucavion blinked.

Then, he grinned.

"Well now," he drawled, twirling his sword idly between his fingers, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're upset with me, Mister Duke."

The Duke's golden eyes remained steady. Unwavering. Unamused.

Lucavion expected the usual stern retort, maybe a warning or some carefully measured words about responsibility.

But instead—

The Duke pointed.

Not at him.

At his sword.

"Let's have a conversation."

Lucavion arched a brow, his smirk never faltering. "A conversation?"

"Yes," the Duke said simply. "Like a man."

Before Lucavion could respond, before he could even toss out some remark about how violent the Thaddeus family's methods of communication were—

Shhhk.

The unmistakable sound of steel being drawn.

Lucavion's smirk faltered just slightly as Anthony Thaddeus unsheathed his blade, the polished steel catching the early morning light.

A noble's sword. Ornate, yet built for efficiency.

Lucavion's grip on his own hilt tightened just slightly.

Then—

A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips.

"Ah," he murmured, tilting his head. "So that's how it is."

The Duke adjusted his stance, his expression still unreadable.

"I will limit my strength," he said evenly. "Don't worry."

Lucavion let out an amused breath, rolling his shoulders. "Now that is a sentence that does not inspire confidence."

The Duke said nothing.

Lucavion glanced at Vitaliara, who had stopped stretching and was now watching the exchange with mild interest.

[Hah.] Her tail flicked lazily. [Well, this is about to get interesting.]

Lucavion huffed out another laugh before lifting his sword, giving it a casual spin in his grip.

"Alright then," he mused, lowering himself into a stance, his dark eyes gleaming. "Let's talk."