Extra's Sign In System: The Hero's an Idiot!

Chapter 18: The Invisible Assassin and the Broken Hero

The Artificial Forest was crawling with Academy staff, but the deepest shadows belonged to the elite investigators.

Headmaster Vane stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking the battlefield, but his attention was entirely focused on the thicket behind the rocks.

The hideout of the Chimera’s Summoner had been found.

Vane stared down at the dead cultist. The scene was unbelievably clean. There were no footprints in the mud.

There was no murder weapon.

There was no residual mana signature lingering in the air.

It was as if the killer had manipulated the minute molecules themselves, sweeping away every single microscopic trace of evidence before vanishing like a ghost.

But the body itself told a horrific story.

The Summoner just laid there dead, but his chest was grotesquely bloated and completely burned from the inside out.

It looked exactly as if a chemical bomb had been blasted inside his chest cavity.

"The exothermic reaction took it all and gave him a terribly painful death," one of the senior combat professors muttered, kneeling next to the corpse with a glowing analytical monocle.

The teachers gathered around the body held a grim discussion about the killing methods of this unknown Assassin. Yes, an assassin. No student could have done this.

"Look at the angle of the internal trauma," Professor Graves pointed out, his gruff voice laced with uneasy respect.

"The intensity of this attack and the meticulous thinking of the killer are terrifying. It is as if the killer knew all the weaknesses of the Summoner. He attacked his blind spot perfectly, and then moved on to kill him before he could even chant a single spell to defend himself."

"It was not that he didn’t have the time to chant," the medical instructor corrected, gesturing to the Summoner’s charred throat.

"It was just that he was in so much pain due to the thing that burned his lungs. He must have vomited blood through his mouth before he could utter a single word. The pain that burns you from the inside out is a completely different kind of pain."

A younger, paler instructor adjusted his glasses nervously.

"To do something this brutal to another human being... what kind of monster are we dealing with?"

"You have never dealt with the Cult bastards, haven’t you?" a scarred veteran teacher scoffed, spitting on the ground near the midnight blue robes.

"All of them are like this. Each and every one of them. Do you know how they make their disposable pawns? They cut off their dicks, feed them human flesh, and chant their blasphemous songs to completely kill the minds of the sacrifices. Whoever did this to him just gave him a taste of his own medicine."

Headmaster Vane’s eyes flashed with sudden, explosive anger.

"Enough about that!" the Principal interrupted, his voice booming like thunder through the quiet trees.

"The cult infiltrated right in the middle of our home and killed many students. That same cultist was killed by some unknown assassin for god knows what reason, and you are here babbling about some dick cutting ceremony of the cultists like that would take us anywhere!"

The teachers immediately fell silent, shrinking back from Vane’s overwhelming aura.

"Search for more evidence right now," Vane commanded, his fists clenched so tightly his white gloves creaked.

"I want you to provide me with suitable reasons for this breach. The barrier codes were bypassed from the inside. There is a traitor among us. And they will be dead by my hands. I will make sure of it!!"

---

While the staff hunted ghosts in the forest, the surviving students were recovering in the bright, sterile halls of the Vanguard Nursing Wing.

Draven Mordis lay in a crisp white hospital bed.

His muscles were sore from pushing his Vector Manipulation to the absolute limit, but a cup of hot coffee rested comfortably in his hands.

Estella was sleeping soundly in the bed next to his, completely exhausted from emptying her massive mana pool.

The quiet peace of the room did not last long.

The automatic doors slid open with a sharp hiss.

Neville Hennesy marched into the room.

His silver armor was dented and scorched, but he had clearly taken the time to fix his blonde hair before coming here.

He walked straight up to Draven’s bed and shamelessly held out his hand.

"I am here for my winnings, Mordis," Neville demanded, his voice tight.

"The bet. Hand over your prize."

Draven did not even put his coffee down. He took a slow sip, looking at the Golden Boy with absolute, deadpan boredom.

"The exact words of the bet," Draven said calmly, "were ’Whoever has the most points at the end of the Trial wins.’ The Headmaster voided the points. You have zero. I have zero. Nobody won."

Neville’s jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck strained as he tried to maintain his righteous composure.

"That is a technicality! I delivered the final strike. I proved my superiority in the field while you were panting in the dirt."

Draven placed his coffee cup on the bedside table.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stepping right into the Hero’s personal space.

"Fuck off," Draven said. His voice was not loud, but it carried the cold, heavy weight of a veteran commander.

"Stop disturbing my rest and take your heroic ass out of this room. Let the other people rest."

Neville’s heroic mask completely shattered.

His blue eyes widened with unadulterated, toxic rage.

The veins on his forehead bulged.

He had lost his points, he had lost Reina’s devotion, and now this slum rat was treating him like garbage.

"I delivered the final blow to the beast!" Neville hissed, jabbing a finger aggressively at Draven’s chest.

"I am the Savior of the Students. And I am the Hero! It is me! And you shall bow before me and watch your mouth, you slum rat!"

Draven did not blink.

He just stared at Neville’s pointing finger, silently calculating the exact amount of kinetic force it would take to snap it backward.

Neville realized Draven was not going to flinch. He leaned in close, his breath hot and ragged with fury.

"The next time I see you, you shall be crawling beneath my feet licking my shoes," Neville threatened, his voice dropping into a dark, venomous growl.

"Remember my words."

Neville spun on his heel and stormed toward the exit.

As the automatic doors hissed open, the Golden Boy almost collided with the Head Nurse.

She was a stern, broad-shouldered woman carrying a tray of medical supplies.

She had heard every single word of his pathetic tantrum.

She did not say a word, but she stood completely still, staring daggers through Neville’s chest until the "Hero" awkwardly sidestepped her and practically fled down the hallway.