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

Chapter 173: Chapter 173: The Sacrificial Pawn

Chapter 173: The Sacrificial Pawn

The Blackbark Oubliette did not have stone walls. It had teeth.

Deep beneath the glowing branches of the Verdant Canopy, the Elven High Prison was carved directly into a colossal, hollowed-out root of the World Tree. The wood was dark, constantly oozing a thick, numbing sap. The walls slowly pulsed in and out, expanding and contracting like a living lung.

It was a carnivorous environment. The root was specifically designed to passively drain the mana of anyone locked inside.

Nyx sat on the damp wooden floor. She was currently occupying the body of the Elven Shadow-Ranger named Ilithyia. Heavy, glowing anti-magic cuffs were locked tightly around her wrists. They burned her pale skin with every slight movement.

Pacing furiously in front of her was Theseus.

Theseus was a high-ranking Elven Interrogator. He wore pristine white robes and held a glowing rod of concentrated light magic. His face was twisted in a sneer of pure disgust.

"You are a disgrace to your people," Theseus spat, stopping to glare down at her through the thick, interwoven vines that served as cell bars.

"You murdered a diplomatic guest. You left your personal seal in his coat. Do you have any idea what you have done? The Dwarves are demanding blood."

Nyx did not flinch. She tilted her head, offering a bored, entirely unbothered smile.

"I think your seal-forger was sloppy," Nyx replied calmly.

"The wax was too brittle. Real Shadow-Rangers use a pine-resin mix. You should execute whoever planted that letter for sheer incompetence."

Theseus narrowed his eyes. He raised the glowing rod, letting the light sear the stale air near her face.

"You will confess to this crime," Theseus hissed.

"You will stand before the Council of Harmony and admit you acted alone. If you do not, this root will slowly consume your life force until there is nothing left but dry ash."

Nyx leaned her head back against the breathing wall. She closed her eyes.

’The Captain ordered me to surrender,’ Nyx thought, finding genuine comfort in the dark. ’He has a plan. He always has a plan. I just have to wait.’

"Are you listening to me?" Theseus demanded, striking the wooden bars of the cell with his light rod.

CRACK!

Nyx opened one eye. "I am ignoring you, Theseus. There is a very distinct difference."

---

Far above the prison sector, Draven slipped into the shadows of an abandoned, dusty storehouse.

The wooden building was filled with rotting crates and discarded canvas tarps. Natalie stood by the window, her Elven bow gripped tightly in her hands as she monitored the quiet streets.

Lucien waited near the center of the room, his human diplomat uniform stained with the dust of his rapid ascent from the lower levels.

Draven walked through the door. His footsteps were unusually heavy. He leaned his shoulder against a wooden support beam, his chest heaving with exertion.

He raised his hand weakly.

[Supreme Concealment Runes]

A faint, invisible dome of energy expanded outward, completely sealing the storehouse from external mana detection. The Elven patrols walking outside would sense nothing but empty space.

The moment the runes activated, Draven doubled over.

COUGH!

He hacked violently, spitting a fresh glob of dark, blackened blood onto the wooden floorboards. His legs buckled slightly under the weight of his iron armor. Lucien rushed forward instantly, catching Draven by the arm to keep him upright.

"Captain," Lucien said, his polite voice laced with genuine alarm. "You are burning up. Your mana channels are completely destabilized."

Draven pushed himself off Lucien. He wiped his mouth with the back of his iron gauntlet, his breathing shallow and ragged.

"The container is failing," Draven admitted openly.

"Haldor is just a middle-aged human guard. His physiology cannot endure the output of my core. Every time I channel high-tier energy, his internal organs fracture from the strain."

Natalie turned away from the window. Her Elven features were pale with concern. "If you keep forcing it, this body will die. We do not know what happens to your consciousness if your host is destroyed."

"I am aware of the risks," Draven stated flatly.

"But we are not leaving Nyx in a cage. Give me the intelligence on the prison."

Lucien stepped back, his expression turning entirely serious.

"It is the Blackbark Oubliette. The entire structure is a living, carnivorous root. The cell doors are not made of iron or steel. They are made of intertwined vines tied directly to the prison’s central nervous system."

"We blow a hole in the wall," Natalie suggested coldly.

"We cannot," Lucien countered immediately.

"The root reacts aggressively to blunt force. If we attack the exterior, the prison will perceive it as a lethal threat. The internal vines will violently constrict. Every cell will be crushed into paste within seconds. We cannot fight our way inside."

Draven stared at the floorboards. The physical limitation of his host body meant a violent, destructive siege was already out of the question. He needed surgical precision.

He closed his eyes.

[The Omniscient Cartographer’s World Map]

He heavily restricted the massive tracking spell, keeping the energy output as low and tight as possible to spare his bleeding lungs.

[Tactical Radar]

He layered the two skills together. A highly detailed, three-dimensional blue grid materialized behind his closed eyelids.

The grid pierced straight through the wooden floor, diving deep into the living wood of the canopy. He saw the massive, pulsing root of the Blackbark Oubliette.

He mapped the Elven guard rotations. He located the primary security checkpoints. He found the heavily guarded central descent. Finally, he isolated Nyx’s familiar, dormant mana signature locked in the lowest detention block.

He also found exactly what he was looking for. There was a massive, glaring blind spot in the shift changes.

Draven opened his eyes. The blue grid faded. He took a slow, painful breath.

"I have the path," Draven said.

Draven walked over to a discarded wooden crate. He used his finger to trace a rough map in the thick dust. Natalie and Lucien gathered around him, immediately falling into their strict military roles.

"The Elves rely too heavily on the root’s natural defenses," Draven explained, his mind operating with the cold efficiency of a Platoon Commander.

"There is a three-minute window during the midnight shift change where the central corridor is completely unmonitored. We are going to exploit it."

"How do we get through the front door without triggering the root?" Lucien asked.

"You walk through the front door," Draven replied softly, looking directly at the swordsman. "They will open it for you."

"Me?" Lucien asked, adjusting his human diplomat uniform. "I am just a junior envoy."

"You are going to act like a senior magistrate," Draven instructed.

"I will alter the ink on a set of blank diplomatic parchments using a microscopic kinetic pulse. We will forge execution transfer orders for Ilithyia. You will walk in and demand the prisoner."

"And where will you be, Captain?" Natalie asked.

Draven focused his mind. He pulled a very thin, highly regulated thread of mana from his core, preparing for the strain.

[Blank Canvas]

A chilling, invisible wave washed over Draven’s body. The physical effects were immediate and absolute. His heavy iron chainmail and his rugged Nordic features became completely translucent.

His heartbeat silenced entirely. His body temperature rapidly dropped to match the exact ambient temperature of the dusty storehouse. His massive mana signature completely vanished, erased from the physical plane.

Draven Mordis was no longer a human being. He was a ghost.

"I am standing right next to you," Draven’s voice echoed softly in the room, though neither Lucien nor Natalie could pinpoint where the sound originated. The psychological blind spot was flawless.

"I will be your shadow, Lucien," Draven explained from the void.

"The prison guards will not sense my mana. Their magical appraisal tools will register nothing but empty space. You do the talking. I will bypass the internal locks."

"What happens when we reach her cell?" Lucien asked, looking around the empty air nervously. "They will not just let us walk out with her."

"They will not have the chance to stop us," Draven’s disembodied voice replied.

"Once the cell door is open, I will grab Nyx. I will use a single, highly compressed activation of teleportation to bypass the root entirely. We will blink directly out of the cell and back to this exact storehouse."

Natalie frowned deeply, looking at the spot where Draven had been standing.

"Captain, you just said your host body is failing. A spatial jump of that magnitude requires a massive surge of energy."

"It will likely destroy whatever stamina this body has left," Draven finished her sentence.

The grim reality of their situation hung heavily in the dusty room.

[Void-Step]

"The moment I teleport us back to this room, I will be completely incapacitated," Draven warned them. "I will not be able to stand, let alone fight."

A sudden, cold pressure rested gently on Lucien’s shoulder.

"When I drop, you are in command of the immediate extraction," Draven ordered.

"You take Nyx, you take me, and you disappear into the shadows before the Elves realize their prisoner is gone. Do you understand?"

Lucien nodded, his polite facade entirely gone. "Understood, Captain."

Draven removed his invisible hand from Lucien’s shoulder.

"The midnight shift change is rapidly approaching," Draven stated, his voice moving toward the wooden door of the storehouse.

"The heist is ready. Let us go."

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