Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 384 The inn

The inn by the sea was a vision of luxury compared to the rough accommodations Elara and Cedric had endured before the expedition. Its polished wooden floors gleamed under the warm light of lanterns, and the air carried a faint scent of salt and lavender. Waves crashed softly outside, their rhythm a soothing counterpoint to the gentle murmur of other patrons enjoying the inn's comforts.

Elara sighed contentedly as she leaned back in her chair by the window, savoring the faint breeze that wafted through the slightly open shutters. For once, her body felt lighter, the promise of a clean bath and a plush bed lifting her spirits after the grueling battle. The weight of exhaustion still clung to her limbs, but it was the good kind—the kind that came with the satisfaction of having earned her rest.

Cedric, however, sat across from her in silence. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. His sword leaned against the wall by his side, untouched since they'd arrived. He looked… bothered, and the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

Elara's brows furrowed slightly as she watched him. She didn't need to ask what was wrong. She already knew.

The duel.

The memory of it was still fresh in her mind—the way Luca had moved with a precision and ease that was almost inhuman, his every strike deliberate and devastating. Cedric, for all his strength and training, had been completely outclassed. Even she, with her limited knowledge of swordsmanship, had seen it.

"Cedric," Elara said gently, breaking the silence. "You can't keep dwelling on it."

Cedric's head lifted slightly, his gaze meeting hers briefly before dropping back to the table. "I'm not dwelling," he muttered, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

Elara tilted her head, her expression softening. "You're a terrible liar."

Cedric didn't respond to Elara's words. He couldn't. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching on the table as if anchoring himself in place. The memory of the duel replayed in his mind with agonizing clarity—the moment Luca's blade was at his neck, the faint smirk on his face, and the low, condescending voice that echoed in his ears.

"Remember your place."

That single phrase, uttered with such cold certainty, cut deeper than the blade ever could. It wasn't just the loss that stung; it was the way Luca had looked at him—like he was something insignificant, a mere obstacle in his path. That gaze, sharp and piercing, felt like a judgment Cedric couldn't overturn, as if it declared that he would never measure up.

His body had refused to move under Luca's presence, and that was the worst part. For someone who prided himself on strength, on discipline, on the years of relentless training he'd endured, being rendered powerless was a humiliation he couldn't shake.

"I'm fine," Cedric finally muttered, his voice low and clipped, though it was clear even to himself that the words rang hollow.

Elara didn't press him, but her concerned gaze lingered.

The vividness of the scene refused to leave him. Every detail—the faint hum of the blade as it grazed his skin, the predatory glint in Luca's pitch-black eyes, and the weight of his own failure—was burned into his mind. He felt a wave of anger rise in his chest, hot and consuming.

But beneath the anger was something else, something more unsettling.

Loss.

For the first time, Cedric felt like he was floundering in unfamiliar waters. He had always been confident in his abilities, always sure of his place as a knight candidate of the Valoria Dukedom. Yet Luca had shattered that certainty with frightening ease.

'Am I really that weak?' he thought, the question gnawing at him like a parasite.

And then there was the scene at the reward distribution earlier that day.

Cedric had tried to stand tall beside Elara as they received their share. He had wanted to focus on their accomplishments, on how they had fought together and proven themselves. But when Luca's name was called, everything unraveled.

The sheer weight of Luca's haul—more gold, more materials, and more recognition than anyone else—was undeniable. The murmurs in the crowd only drove the point further into Cedric's chest, each whisper like a dagger twisting in his gut.

"He's just a D-rank…"

"That guy's a butcher…"

"His haul is bigger than the rank-5s…"

Cedric had clenched his jaw so tightly that it ached, his knuckles white as he gripped the pouch of gold in his hand. The disparity between their rewards felt like a glaring reminder of his inadequacy.

How could he not feel the resentment, the bitter anger at being so thoroughly outdone? Yet mixed with that was something he couldn't admit to anyone, not even himself—a faint, gnawing envy.

'How does he do it?' Cedric thought bitterly. 'What makes him so different? So much… better?'

Now, sitting across from Elara in the quiet luxury of the inn, Cedric couldn't shake those feelings. The waves crashing softly outside did little to soothe the storm within him. He wanted to smash the table, to scream, to do something to drown out the voice in his head telling him he wasn't enough.

But he didn't. Instead, he simply stayed back.

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And to that, Elara let out a slow, exasperated sigh, her patience wearing thin as she watched Cedric remain locked in his brooding silence. She was tired—bone-deep exhaustion tugging at her limbs after the battle and the long day that followed. She'd thought that the comfort of the inn and the promise of a warm bath would help them both relax, but clearly, Cedric wasn't about to let go of his self-imposed misery anytime soon.

And honestly? She didn't have the energy to deal with it.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath, rising from her seat with a determined motion. If Cedric wanted to sulk, so be it. She wasn't going to waste her evening playing therapist to a grown man who couldn't pull himself out of his funk.

Crossing the room with purposeful strides, Elara approached the reception desk. Behind it stood a middle-aged receptionist with a polished demeanor and a welcoming smile. The elegant surroundings of The Ocean's Rest Inn, with its dark mahogany counter and subtle marine-themed decor, exuded the kind of sophistication Elara had been hoping for when she'd chosen it.

"I'd like to pay for a room," she said, her voice crisp as she pulled her pouch of gold from her belt. "The best one you have, for two people."

The receptionist's smile widened as she dipped her head respectfully. "Of course, Lady Adventurer. You've chosen wisely. Our top-tier suite includes private bathing facilities, a chef-prepared meal delivered to your room, and access to our exclusive massage service."

"Perfect," Elara replied, her tone already softening at the thought of a hot bath and high-quality food. "How much?"

The receptionist quoted the price, and Elara didn't flinch as she counted out the necessary coins. For once, their earnings from the expedition felt like money well-spent.

As the receptionist handed her the key, Elara felt a flicker of anticipation. She'd heard glowing recommendations about The Ocean's Rest Inn from local adventurers—about its luxurious private baths, meals fit for nobility, and staff trained in massage techniques that could work miracles on even the most battle-worn bodies.

Carrying the key, she turned back toward Cedric, who was still seated where she'd left him. His hands were folded on the table, his head bowed slightly as he stared at the polished wood in front of him, lost in thought.

Elara's brow twitched as a flicker of annoyance bubbled in her chest. "Cedric," she said, her tone sharper than before as she approached him. When he didn't respond, she dropped the key onto the table with a decisive clink.

"We're staying in the best room here," she said firmly, crossing her arms. "It's got a bath, food, and massages. You can sulk all you want after you've cleaned up and eaten something. Got it?"

Cedric blinked, finally looking up at her. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes at her directness, but he didn't argue. Instead, he gave a slow nod, his expression softening just enough to show he understood.

"Good," Elara said, snatching the key back from the table. "Now, let's go. I didn't pay for luxury just to stand around waiting for you."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed toward the staircase that led to their room, her steps steady and resolute. Behind her, Cedric sighed, rising to follow her without a word.

Maybe, she thought, this would be the reset they both needed.

*******

Elara emerged from the bath feeling like an entirely different person. The warm water, scented with lavender oils, had done wonders for her aching muscles and frayed nerves. Her skin glowed faintly, the tension in her shoulders all but gone as she donned a fresh set of clothes. She tied her damp hair into a loose braid, her movements slower and more relaxed now.

Knocking lightly on Cedric's door, she called out, "Cedric? I'm heading down for a meal. You should come too."

From the other side of the door, his voice came muffled but firm. "I'll pass. I need to rest."

Elara hesitated for a moment before nodding to herself. "Alright," she said simply. "Rest well."

She didn't press further. If Cedric needed time to himself, she wasn't going to force him to join her. With a shrug, she turned and made her way toward the restaurant. The scent of grilled fish, fresh bread, and spiced stews wafted up the staircase, teasing her senses as she descended.

The restaurant area was located just past the reception desk, a cozy yet refined space with polished wooden tables and softly glowing lanterns casting a warm light. Elara was already imagining what she'd order when her eyes caught sight of a familiar figure standing by the reception desk.

"Luca?"