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

Chapter 87: The Night Before

The living room of the Rank One Apex Villa smelled like gun oil and sharpened steel.

Eleven teenagers were scattered across the expensive leather couches and hardwood floor.

The usual late-night banter was entirely absent. Instead, the room was filled with the metallic clicks of rifle magazines locking into place, the rhythmic scrape of whetstones against blades, and the quiet checking of tactical gear.

In the center of the glass coffee table, a Vanguard-issued holographic projector hummed.

It projected the military’s official map of the continent. It was a bleak, terrifying image.

Ninety percent of the holographic projection was swallowed by a shifting, aggressive sea of blood-red fog, representing the unmapped, monster-infested Wildlands.

Piercing through that endless red sea were thirteen tiny, isolated pinpricks of green light.

The Thirteen Bastions. Humanity’s last remaining cages.

Natalie Tokks sat on the edge of the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest.

Her eyes were locked on the massive expanse of red territory surrounding Bastion Seven. She trembled slightly.

"I’m scared," Natalie whispered.

The scrape of whetstones stopped. Aegon looked up from his spear. Reina paused mid-stretch.

Natalie swallowed hard, forcing herself to look at her squadmates.

"I know we survived the Beast Wave. But my sensory magic doesn’t just see mana. It feels it. When I push my senses past the Great Wall, feel an ocean of fangs, rotting meat, and killing intent. Every step we take out there... I’m going to feel things dying in the dark."

The heavy silence in the room was a testament to her words. No one mocked her.

They had all seen the Corpse Titan. They knew exactly what was waiting for them.

"Fear keeps you sharp, Tokks," Lucien Vaelmont said smoothly, breaking the silence.

The duelist was sitting against the wall, meticulously wiping down the slender steel of his rapier with a microfiber cloth.

He didn’t look up from the blade.

"But fear won’t buy back a legacy," Lucien muttered, his silver eyes narrowing.

"I am going to carve the heart out of a boss-tier beast on this trip. But even that won’t be enough. A core just pays the bills. To wash away my family’s name, I need prestige. I need my blade to leave a mark so undeniable that the Vanguard never dares whisper the word ’disgrace’ around a Vaelmont ever again."

No one asked what his family had done. The Vanguard Academy was full of buried secrets. They respected his drive.

Lyra tossed a spherical, highly unstable prototype casing into the air and caught it with a metallic clink.

"Why stop at one boss?" Lyra grinned, a manic, dangerous spark in her eyes.

"Look at all that red fog. If Cole and I pack enough Void-Core shells, we can literally blow a new green zone into the map. I want to build an explosion so beautifully destructive it permanently changes the topography."

Sitting next to her, Cole Rust sighed heavily. He was adjusting the iron sights on a heavy, custom-built Vanguard rifle.

"I just want to lock myself in a dark forge and build weapons," Cole grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

"I hate the mud. I hate sleeping in the rain. But..." Cole clicked the heavy magazine into the rifle with a satisfying snap.

"You can’t prove a weapon is legendary until it slaughters a thousand monsters. If I want my guns to reclaim human territory, field testing is mandatory."

Sitting in a leather armchair in the dimmest corner of the room, Draven Mordis listened quietly.

Draven noticed Cole shooting him sideways glances. The mechanic was incredibly sharp.

Draven had already provided him with high-tier underworld materials and the direct backing of Sirius Statanham.

Cole already had a rough idea that Draven was deeply connected to the Embracing Hands, especially after Draven requested the volatile imploding bombs.

’He is already my underling,’ Draven thought pragmatically.

’And Lyra is even easier. If I promise to supply her with illegal, military-grade explosive powder, she will gladly blow up Vanguard headquarters for me. She is crazy for Explosions.’

Neville walked past Draven’s chair, carrying a tray of filled canteens. He set them down on the table, offering a polite nod to Bram.

The blond boy didn’t act like a servant, he just played the part of a helpful, humbled classmate pitching in with the chores.

While Draven spun the black arrow, his eyes were unfocused. He wasn’t looking at the Vanguard’s pathetic holographic map.

He was looking at the golden interface glowing in his mind.

The Omniscient Cartographer’s World Map.

The Mythic item was terrifyingly overpowered. Draven had spent the last hour exploring its functions.

It didn’t just show terrain. It had a search function.

As long as Draven knew the exact name of a person, a specific monster species, or a legendary item, the map would instantly ping its exact coordinates on the continent.

Combined with his S-Rank Radar skill, Draven didn’t just have a map. He had a treasure tracker.

He could locate unrecorded dungeons, hidden Vaults, and rare monster spawns buried miles beneath the Wildlands mud.

He was going to rob the uncharted territories blind, power-level his Vector Manipulation, and forge his classmates into an unstoppable shadow syndicate.

Aegon Logcheville stood up.

The Strike Commander walked over to the glass table.

The green glow of the Bastion Seven hologram illuminated his hardened face. He looked at the ten prodigies sitting around him.

"Look at this map," Aegon said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the projector.

He pointed directly at the tiny green dot they lived inside.

"We hide behind hundred-foot concrete walls, surrounded by Vanguard Knights, and we pretend we are safe," Aegon stated, his tone heavy with conviction.

"But after the Beast Wave, we all know the truth. This Bastion is just a waiting room."

Aegon met each of their eyes.

"Concrete breaks. Steel melts," Aegon declared.

"True safety isn’t built with walls. It is built with our own strength. We are walking into hell tomorrow morning. We are going to bleed, we are going to freeze, and we are going to be hunted."

Aegon gripped the shaft of his Blood Fire spear.

"But when we walk back through those gates," Aegon vowed, the sheer passion of a true Vanguard leader burning in his eyes, "we aren’t returning as students. We are returning as the elites who will take this world back."

Reina slammed the haft of her ice axe into the hardwood floor in agreement.

Bram Stonehelm grinned, cracking his thick knuckles.

Lucien stopped polishing his blade and sheathed it with a sharp click.

The fear in the room had burned away.

The Wildlands were waiting.