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

Chapter 24: Cracks in the Halo

BZZZT!

The massive holographic bracket above the arena shuffled again. The bright neon letters locked into place.

[Draven Mordis vs. Broc Vangar]

Draven casually walked out of the competitor tunnel. He kept his hands in his pockets. He did not wear any armor. He did not carry a weapon.

Up in the VIP box, the magical sensors built into the reinforced glass scanned the arena floor. The results popped up on a small display screen in front of the Great House leaders.

Lord Hennesy glanced at the screen and scoffed loudly.

"Level 10," Lord Hennesy stated, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Average physical attributes. A pitifully small mana pool. Is this the boy who scored an S-Rank in the physical exams?"

Lady Logcheville looked at the data and frowned. Her crimson eyes narrowed.

"The physical test golem was clearly malfunctioning," Lady Logcheville said flatly.

"Or he used a forbidden artifact to bypass the sensors. His actual readings are pathetic. He does not belong in the upper ranks."

Seraphina Vance sipped her wine. She kept her thoughts to herself.

Down in the ring, Broc Vangar cracked his knuckles. He was a massive, heavily muscled brawler from a minor noble family. He wore thick iron gauntlets and glared down at Draven.

"You scored an S-Rank on a broken dummy, slum rat," Broc mocked.

"Let us see how you handle a moving target. I am going to break both of your legs."

Draven looked completely bored.

He activated his Blank Canvas skill. The psychological blind spot settled over the arena. People looking at him felt an instinctual sense of dismissal.

He looked harmless.

"Watch your step," Draven said calmly.

"The floor looks slippery."

"What?!" Broc roared.

"Match start!" the referee shouted.

Broc charged forward like an angry bull. He raised his heavy iron gauntlet for a devastating punch.

Draven did not dodge. He did not move his hands from his pockets.

He simply applied a microscopic, invisible kinetic vector directly to the tip of Broc’s right boot.

It was just a tiny tug. But against a charging opponent, a tiny tug was all it took.

SWISH!

Broc’s foot suddenly hooked to the side. He lost his balance completely. His massive forward momentum betrayed him.

"Wha-AAAH!"

THUD!

Broc faceplanted violently onto the hard stone floor. He slid like a skipped rock, skidding completely out of the dueling ring and crashing into the boundary wall.

The referee blew the whistle.

"Ring out! Winner, Draven Mordis!"

The stadium was quiet for a moment. Then, a loud chorus of boos and groans echoed from the stands.

Up in the student section, Kael gripped the railing.

"Wait. What just happened?" Kael asked, bewildered. "Did he just slip?"

"He tripped over his own boots!" Rian laughed loudly.

---

"That was pathetic. Mordis did not even throw a punch. He just got lucky."

The VIPs were equally unimpressed.

"A coward’s victory," Lord Hennesy sneered.

"He merely dodged until his opponent made a fool of himself. No real power whatsoever."

"A disappointing trickster," Lady Logcheville agreed coldly.

Draven turned around and walked back toward the tunnel. He smirked. The crowd thought he was a joke. The VIPs thought he was a fraud.

The cover was perfectly set.

---

The competitor’s tunnel was dimly lit and smelled of ozone and sweat.

Neville Hennesy walked down the corridor. He was still soaking up the adrenaline from the cheering crowd. He fixed his pristine blonde hair and smiled.

Then, he spotted Reina Frost walking toward the medical wing.

Neville quickly put on his warmest, most concerned smile. He assumed she had cooled off from the forest incident. He needed his loyal frontline soldier back.

"Reina," Neville called out gently.

"I have been looking for you all morning. Are your ribs fully healed? I truly regret what happened in the forest."

Reina stopped. She looked at him. There was no admiration in her eyes anymore. There was only absolute apathy.

"Save the PR speech, Neville," Reina said coldly. "There are no cameras down here."

Neville’s smile twitched. He feigned a look of deep hurt.

"Reina, please," Neville pleaded softly.

"You know I had to make a tactical choice to secure the beast. I had to save the other students. You of all people should understand the burden of command."

Reina let out a dry, bitter laugh. Her voice dripped with frost.

"I understand perfectly," Reina replied.

"I was disposable. I was just a meat shield so you could get a clean shot and look good for the press. Do not ever speak to me again, Golden Boy."

She turned around and walked away, heading toward the viewing area where Draven and Estella were standing.

Neville was left standing alone in the dark tunnel.

His heroic mask completely shattered.

His blue eyes burned with a dark, toxic rage. He clenched his fists so tightly his leather gloves creaked. The golden, merciful aura he projected to the world vanished entirely.

"Ungrateful bitch," Neville whispered to himself. "You will come crawling back."

---

BZZZT!

The holographic bracket above the arena flashed a bright, bloody red.

[Aegon Logcheville vs. Cedric Thorne]

The crowd murmured again as Aegon stepped out of the tunnel and walked up the stone stairs to the dueling ring.

Cedric Thorne was already waiting. He was a fast, arrogant swordsman and one of Neville’s most loyal lackeys. He sneered at Aegon, twirling his rapier.

"Well, look who it is," Cedric mocked loudly.

"The defective spearman. Did your mother pay the judges to let you participate, Aegon? Try not to choke like you did in the forest."

Aegon stood rigidly straight. He held his silver spear at his side. He did not take a formal stance. He just stared at Cedric with piercing crimson eyes.

"Keep talking," Aegon said. His voice was deep and completely devoid of fear.

"I want to remember exactly how annoying your voice is when I break your jaw."

Cedric laughed nervously. He drew his sword and pointed it at Aegon.

"You are pathetic," Cedric spat. "I will end this in ten seconds."

HISSS!

The stone floor beneath Aegon’s boots suddenly began to melt.

A terrifying, blood-red heat erupted from his skin. The air around him distorted violently.

His dormant mana flared, boiling into the atmosphere and suffocating the ring with raw, heavy killing intent.

Down in the competitor’s tunnel, Draven leaned casually against the stone wall. Estella stood next to him, watching the ring with wide eyes.

Draven crossed his arms. He looked at the newly forged Asura standing in the ring.

A cold, predatory smirk formed on Draven’s face.

"Burn him," Draven whispered.