Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The battle seemed to go on forever, a relentless tide of chaos and violence. But eventually, the enemy's advance began to falter. Their movements grew disorganized, and their attacks lost their initial ferocity. The Arcanis soldiers were retreating, their forces pulling back in a hurried, disordered fashion.

"Fall back! Fall back!" The enemy's shouts echoed across the battlefield, signaling their retreat.

A horn blew from our side, the sound cutting through the din of battle. The commander of our army stood on a raised platform, his voice booming. "The enemy is retreating! Division leaders, take your positions! Division Two and Three, pursue! The rest, hold the line and tend to the wounded!"

Sergeant Vance barked out orders, his voice steady despite the exhaustion etched on his face. "Unit Seven, fall back to the camp! Take the injured with you! Move quickly and stay alert!"

The adrenaline that had sustained me through the battle began to fade, replaced by a deep, throbbing pain. I glanced down at my shoulder, where a deep gash oozed blood.

The pain was intense, each movement sending sharp jolts through my body. I had never felt anything like it before.

Clutching my shoulder, I made my way back with the others, helping to support the wounded as we retreated to the camp. The older recruit who had saved me earlier was limping, a nasty cut on his leg, but he managed to help another soldier who was worse off.

We moved as quickly as we could, the weight of our injuries and the exhaustion of battle slowing us down. The camp loomed ahead, a beacon of relative safety amidst the chaos.

As we entered the camp, medics rushed to assist us, their faces grim but focused. I was directed to a makeshift infirmary, where the wounded were being treated. The sight was overwhelming—soldiers in various states of injury, some moaning in pain, others deathly silent.

A medic approached me, her expression a mix of concern and urgency. "Sit down," she ordered, guiding me to a cot. "Let's see that shoulder."

I collapsed onto the cot, the pain in my shoulder almost unbearable now that the adrenaline had worn off. The medic quickly assessed the wound, her hands deft and efficient.

"This is going to hurt," she warned, cleaning the wound with a cloth soaked in alcohol. The sting was immediate and intense, and I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out.

She worked quickly as her hands shone bright green. It was the healing attribute that I had seen from Laila on the training camp.

She said, "You were lucky," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Another inch deeper, and you might have needed to wait for another hour for a mage to come here."

"Why?" I asked, wincing as she applied pressure to the wound.

"With my level of healing arts, I can only heal injuries up to a certain level. Anything deeper or more severe would require a higher-level mage," she explained, her hands moving with practiced ease. "Our mana is not infinite, and the healing arts are divided into levels based on the depth and complexity of the injuries we can treat.

My abilities are sufficient for surface wounds and moderate injuries, but deeper wounds, those affecting internal organs or major blood vessels, require more advanced healing techniques."

I was surprised. Despite my general understanding of attributes and mana, I had never known the specifics of how healing worked. "I didn't realize there were such differences," I admitted.

She nodded, her focus never wavering from her work. "There's a lot to learn about mana and its applications. Healing is one of the more complex arts. It requires not only a strong affinity with the healing attribute but also precise control over one's mana. The higher the level, the more mana is required and the more skill it takes to apply it effectively."

Her explanation made sense, and it was a stark reminder of how much I still had to learn. The complexities of the world outside my family's mansion were vast and intricate, and I was just beginning to scratch the surface.

"There, that should do it," the medic said, stepping back and examining her work. "You need to rest and let your body recover. Try not to strain the wound too much."

I nodded, grateful for her help. "Thank you."

She gave me a small smile. "Stay safe out there."

With that, she turned to the next injured soldier, and I made my way back to the makeshift sleeping quarters. The pain in my shoulder was still present, but it was manageable now. The medic's treatment dulled its sharpest edges, allowing me to focus on the tasks ahead.

As I settled onto the cot, the events of the day replayed in my mind. The chaos of battle, the fear and determination, the realization of the complexities of the world I was now a part of.

There was so much I didn't know, so much I needed to understand.

But I was determined to learn, to survive, and to prove myself.

The next morning came all too quickly. The sound of the morning horn jolted me awake, and I winced as the pain in my shoulder reminded me of the previous day's battle. The camp was already bustling with activity, the soldiers preparing for another day on the front lines.

Sergeant Vance was already moving among us, checking on the wounded and giving orders. "Up and at it!" he called out. "We don't have the luxury of resting. The enemy won't give us that. Prepare yourselves!"

I pulled on my armor, the weight a familiar burden now, and grabbed my spear. The older soldier who had saved me during the battle, whose name I learned was Garret, approached me. His leg was bandaged, and he moved with a slight limp, but his eyes were sharp and focused.

"How's the shoulder?" he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.

"It's manageable," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

He nodded, studying me for a moment. "You did well out there, kid. Better than most in their first fight."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a small spark of pride. "I owe you one. If you hadn't stepped in..."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't think about it. We're all in this together. Just remember what I told you—don't hesitate."

I nodded, the words ringing true. "I'll remember."

Garret gestured for me to follow him. "Come on. Let me introduce you to the rest of the squad."

We made our way through the camp, past rows of tents and makeshift fortifications. The smell of smoke and metal hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the battles fought and the ones yet to come. As we approached a group of soldiers gathered around a fire, Garret began the introductions.

"Mateo, Felix, this is Lucavion. He's new, but he's got potential," Garret said, clapping me on the back.

Mateo was a tall, wiry man with a perpetually serious expression. His dark hair was cropped short, and his eyes were sharp and alert. Felix, on the other hand, was shorter and stockier, with a mischievous grin that seemed out of place in the harsh reality of the front lines.

"Welcome to the squad," Mateo said, offering a firm handshake. "Garret speaks highly of you."

Felix chuckled. "Don't let it go to your head, kid. We've all got a long way to go."

I shook their hands, grateful for the welcome. "Thanks. I'll do my best."

As we settled around the fire, Garret began to share stories of the squad's past battles and their experiences on the front lines. Mateo and Felix chimed in, adding their own anecdotes and insights. It was clear that they had been through a lot together, their camaraderie forged in the crucible of combat.

Mateo shared a bit of his background. He had been a farmer before joining the army, and his family was struggling to make ends meet. The war had offered him a chance to earn a steady income, but it had also taken a toll on him. His serious demeanor was a result of seeing too many friends fall in battle.

Felix, on the other hand, had grown up in the city. He was a former thief, recruited into the army as an alternative to prison. His quick wit and street smarts had served him well, but he carried a deep-seated resentment for the nobles who he believed had condemned him to this life.

As the day wore on, I found myself growing more comfortable with the squad. Their stories and experiences provided valuable insights into the harsh realities of war, and their camaraderie offered a sense of belonging that I had not felt in a long time.

That evening, as the camp settled into a tense quiet, I sought out Garret. He was sitting alone by the fire, sharpening his spear.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked.

He glanced up and nodded. "Sure, kid. Take a seat."

I sat down, watching the firelight dance across the blade of his spear. "I wanted to thank you again for saving me. And for introducing me to the squad."

Garret shrugged. "It's what we do. We're all in this together."

"I know, but still... it means a lot," I said, my voice sincere. After the hellish week in the training camps, I thought everywhere would be like that.

But surprisingly, it was not. The soldiers were, in fact, warmer than others.

Garret studied me for a moment, then nodded. "You're doing fine, Lucavion. Just keep your head down, follow orders, and stick with us. You'll make it."

"I will," I promised. After all, this place had already grown on me, and at the very least, I wanted to survive for a while.

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