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

Chapter 83: The Devil’s Bargain

The Hennessey Estate was a fortress of absolute paranoia.

Following the apparent death of the golden boy, Patriarch Vance Hennessey had locked down his entire noble domain.

Over two hundred elite Vanguard Knights patrolled the perimeter. High-tier magical arrays scanned the air for any trace of demonic mana.

Deep inside the opulent manor, the master bedroom was entirely silent, save for the sound of a broken man breathing.

Patriarch Hennessey lay in his massive canopy bed. He looked incredibly frail.

Burning ten years of his lifespan had turned his pristine hair a stark ash-gray and drained the color from his skin.

The terrifying Level 200+ aura that usually radiated from his body was reduced to a weak, flickering ember.

He stared blankly at the vaulted ceiling.

His revenge was complete, but the victory tasted like ash. Killing the Cult Elder did not bring his son back.

Click.

The sound was incredibly soft, like a dress shoe stepping onto the hardwood floor.

Hennessey’s eyes snapped open.

The grief vanished instantly, replaced by the apex instincts of a Vanguard Lord.

He pushed through the agonizing pain in his mana core, grabbing the golden broadsword leaning against his nightstand.

"Who is there?" Hennessey growled, his voice hoarse but echoing with lethal authority.

Standing perfectly still at the foot of his bed, entirely bypassing the estate’s impenetrable security, was a man in a pitch-black tactical suit.

He wore a featureless white mask.

"Good evening, Patriarch," Zero’s musical, chilling voice hummed through the quiet room.

He had walked straight through the front door using the absolute stealth of [Blank Canvas], treating the elite Vanguard guards like statues.

"You..." Hennessey gritted his teeth, gripping his broadsword. He recognized the mask from the military reports.

"The First Finger. The anomaly that destroyed the Titan. How dare you enter my home?"

"Oh, put the sword down, Vance. You look ridiculous," Zero sighed, lazily dusting off his dark sleeve.

"If I wanted to assassinate you, you would have died in your sleep. I am not here to take a life. I am here to sell you one."

Hennessey’s golden eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What are you talking about?"

"The Cult of the Eternal Eclipse is a very sloppy organization," Zero mused, pacing slowly around the edge of the lavish room.

"When they retreated from the Beast Wave, my organization, the Embracing Hands, decided to do a little spring cleaning. We raided one of their subterranean outposts in the Wildlands."

Zero stopped pacing. He turned his blank white mask toward the bedridden Patriarch.

"We found a lot of dead bodies," Zero said softly.

"But we also found a boy in golden armor. He was beaten, starved, and broken... but he was breathing."

Hennessey completely froze.

The heavy golden broadsword slipped from his weakened fingers.

CLANG!

The blade hit the hardwood floor, but the Patriarch didn’t even notice.

His breath hitched.

His chest heaved violently.

The anger evaporated, entirely consumed by a sudden, overwhelming wave of desperate, suffocating hope.

"Neville...?" Hennessey whispered, his voice cracking violently.

"My son is alive?"

"He is," Zero nodded smoothly.

"But I must warn you, Patriarch. The Abyss is not kind to its prisoners. The boy we pulled from that dungeon... he is not the arrogant, naive golden boy you remember."

Zero leaned forward slightly, planting the alibi with flawless precision.

"The torture has changed him," Zero explained, his tone laced with mock sympathy.

"He is colder. Quieter. The light in his eyes is much sharper now. The trauma has forced him to grow up in the darkest way possible."

"Where is he?!" Hennessey demanded, desperately pushing himself up from the pillows, completely ignoring the warning.

"Give him to me! I will pay you anything! Gold, artifacts, Vanguard authority..., name your price!"

"The Embracing Hands do not care for your gold," Zero replied coldly, his musical tone dropping into a heavy, oppressive register.

"We deal in favors. We deal in loyalty."

Zero stepped right up to the edge of the bed. He looked down at one of the most powerful men in Bastion Seven.

"I will give you your son back, Patriarch," Zero promised softly.

"But in exchange, the House of Hennessey belongs to me. You will not officially join my organization. But when the Embracing Hands reach out from the dark, you will be our pawn. You will not ask questions. You will simply obey."

Hennessey stared at the white mask. As a high noble, the idea of bowing to an underworld syndicate was absolute treason. It was a devil’s bargain that could ruin his entire lineage.

But he looked at the empty space on the floor where his son’s bloodied helmet had sat just a week ago.

"If my son is truly alive..." Hennessey choked out, tears finally breaking through his stoic facade. He lowered his head, entirely swallowing his noble pride.

"I accept your terms. The House of Hennessey will answer your call."

Zero smiled beneath his mask. The absolute political domination of Bastion Seven had just begun.

"A pleasure doing business with you," Zero hummed cheerfully.

Hennessey blinked.

VWOOM.

The space in the bedroom warped, and Zero simply ceased to exist.

Hennessey gasped, looking around the empty room.

For a second, he thought he had hallucinated the entire exchange.

But resting perfectly in the center of his nightstand was a crisp, heavy black card.

Hennessey snatched the card with trembling hands.

Written in elegant silver ink were the exact words the underworld used to contact the Don of District Four:

The Hands embrace the dark.

Sector 4B. Slum Alley 9.

"Guards!" Hennessey roared, his voice tearing through the silent estate with the ferocity of a wounded lion.

"GUARDS! GET MY ARMOR!"

The rain was pouring heavily over the dilapidated slums of Sector 4B.

A convoy of heavily armored Vanguard transports smashed through the ruined streets, completely ignoring the speed limits.

The vehicles screeched to a halt at the edge of Alley 9.

Dozens of elite Hennessey Knights poured out, their weapons drawn, securing the perimeter with frantic precision.

Pushing his way through the ranks of his own men was Patriarch Vance Hennessey.

He didn’t have his full armor on.

He was wearing a heavy cloak over his nightclothes, completely uncaring of his noble image.

He stumbled through the mud, his gray hair plastered to his forehead by the freezing rain.

He rounded the corner of the broken doorway.

Lying in the deep mud, bound in heavy iron chains, was a boy in dented golden armor. His skin was pale, and his holy aura was flickering weakly in the rain.

"Neville!" Hennessey screamed, throwing himself into the mud.

He grabbed the heavy iron chains and, using the absolute last dregs of his physical strength, violently shattered the rusted metal with his bare hands.

He pulled the freezing boy into his chest, wrapping his cloak around him tightly.

"My boy... my boy, I’m here. Father is here," Hennessey sobbed openly, burying his face into Neville’s wet hair.

Neville Hennessey slowly opened his bright blue eyes.

He let out a weak, perfectly acted groan of pain, resting his head weakly against his father’s chest.

But as he looked over his father’s shoulder at the dark alleyway, the ancient, hyper-intelligent Sovereign soul analyzed the situation flawlessly.

’The Patriarch is secured,’he thought, its blue eyes entirely cold and calculating.

’The Master’s plan is absolute.’

"F-Father...?" Neville whispered, perfectly mimicking the hoarse, broken voice of a traumatized survivor.

"I’ve got you," Hennessey wept, lifting his son into his arms.

"You’re safe now. I will never let them hurt you again."

As the Vanguard Knights rushed forward with medical supplies and stretchers, Patriarch Hennessey looked up into the dark, rainy sky.

He was incredibly suspicious of the Embracing Hands.

He knew he had just sold his soul to a monster.

But as he felt the weak, steady heartbeat of his son pressing against his chest, a cold, unshakeable resolve settled into his bones.

’I don’t care who they are or what they want,’ Hennessey vowed silently, holding his son tighter.

’I made a deal. And the House of Hennessey always pays its debts.’