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

Chapter 174: Chapter 174: The High Prison Infiltration

Chapter 174: The High Prison Infiltration

The Blackbark Oubliette was not built. It was grown.

Lucien walked calmly down the winding wooden path of the Verdant Canopy. He wore the crisp, unblemished uniform of a junior human diplomat.

He held a leather satchel tightly against his side. Inside the satchel rested a set of meticulously forged transfer orders.

Before him stood the entrance to the Elven High Prison.

It was a colossal, hollowed-out root of the World Tree. The wood was dark, twisted, and weeping with thick, glowing sap. Two massive doors made of intertwined, thorny vines blocked the path.

Four Elven guards stood at attention. They wore shimmering emerald armor and carried long, curved glaives. Their eyes were sharp, scanning the shadows beneath the canopy.

They did not see the ghost walking right beside the human diplomat.

The Captain moved in perfect synchronization with Lucien. He maintained his [Blank Canvas] skill at maximum output. His heavy iron chainmail did not rattle. His boots made zero noise against the wooden bridge. He was entirely erased from the physical and magical spectrums.

But the cost was staggering.

The Captain felt a jagged, agonizing tear in his lungs. The human host body named Haldor was breaking down at a rapid pace. A mouthful of hot, metallic blood pooled in the back of his throat.

He forced himself to swallow it. He could not afford a single cough. If he broke his concentration for a microsecond, the Elven guards would detect his mana signature.

Lucien approached the four guards. He did not show an ounce of fear. He projected the polite, slightly arrogant aura of a man who worked for the most powerful human in the city.

"Halt," the lead Elven guard ordered.

He crossed his glaive with his partner, barring the entrance.

"This is a restricted sector, human. State your business."

Lucien offered a flawless, accommodating smile. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a thick parchment sealed with dark red wax.

"I am Junior Envoy Julian," Lucien said smoothly.

"I carry direct transfer orders from Lord-Emissary Lionel. I am here to take custody of the prisoner known as Ilithyia."

The lead guard frowned. He snatched the parchment from Lucien’s hand and broke the seal. He read the flowing, perfectly forged script.

"This is highly irregular," the guard noted, his eyes narrowing.

"The traitor belongs to the Elven High Council. Why does the human delegation want her?"

"To prevent a war, of course," Lucien replied without missing a beat.

"Lord Lionel requires a private, highly sensitive interrogation with the prisoner before the joint summit tomorrow. The Dwarves are demanding blood for their dead ambassador. If Lord Lionel can extract a full confession and verify she acted entirely alone, he can present it to the Forge-King and maintain the peace. It is a matter of utmost diplomatic urgency."

The excuse was perfectly logical. It did not raise any immediate suspicions. The guard scrutinized the signature and the magical wax seal. The forgery was a masterpiece, altered at the microscopic level by the Captain’s invisible vectors.

The guard handed the parchment back to Lucien.

"Very well," the guard grunted.

He turned around and placed his hand against the thorny vines. He chanted a brief, melodic phrase in the Elven tongue.

CREAK.

The massive, interwoven vines slowly slithered apart. They peeled back like living snakes, revealing a dark, descending tunnel that smelled of rotting wood and damp earth.

"Proceed to the lowest block," the guard instructed.

Lucien bowed his head politely. He stepped across the threshold. The invisible ghost followed silently right behind him.

The descent into the Blackbark Oubliette was deeply unsettling.

The walls of the tunnel were not static. They were literally breathing. The dark wood expanded and contracted with a slow, rhythmic pulse. Thick drops of glowing purple sap dripped from the ceiling, hissing softly as they hit the floor.

The Captain felt an immediate, oppressive pull on his core.

The prison was carnivorous. The living root was designed to passively drain ambient mana from the air, weakening any magic user trapped inside.

The Captain had to constantly regulate his energy output. He walked a razor-thin line. If he leaked too much power, the walls would sense the anomaly and violently constrict to crush them. If he used too little, his invisibility would fail.

His vision blurred slightly. A sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes. He forced his legs to keep moving forward.

They reached the lowest detention block.

The corridor was lined with cells made from thick, glowing wooden bars. The area was heavily guarded, but Lucien ignored the lesser cells. He walked straight toward the final chamber at the end of the hall.

Inside the cell sat Nyx, occupying the body of the Elven Shadow-Ranger. Her wrists were bound in heavy, glowing anti-magic cuffs.

Standing just outside the bars was Interrogator Theseus.

Theseus sneered at Nyx, holding a glowing rod of concentrated light magic. He was trying to force a confession out of the silent assassin.

Lucien stepped into the dim light of the holding area.

"Excuse me," Lucien announced, his voice echoing cleanly off the wooden walls.

Theseus spun around in surprise. He glared at the human diplomat with unfiltered disdain.

"Who are you?" Theseus demanded. "How did you get down here?"

"I am Envoy Julian," Lucien said, offering his polite smile. He held out the forged parchment.

"I am here to transfer the prisoner into human custody by order of Lord-Emissary Lionel."

Theseus snatched the paper. He read it quickly, his scowl deepening with every word.

"A private interrogation?" Theseus spat.

"This is an Elven matter. The human delegation has no jurisdiction over our traitors."

"The Dwarves would disagree," Lucien countered smoothly.

"The Forge-King is threatening to launch siege weapons into your canopy. Lord Lionel is simply trying to mediate the crisis. If you wish to delay the transfer and risk a civil war, I will gladly inform Lord Lionel that Interrogator Theseus takes full responsibility."

Theseus stiffened. He did not want that kind of blame resting on his shoulders. He looked at the flawless wax seal on the parchment. He knew he had to comply with the order, but his pride refused to simply roll over.

"Fine," Theseus hissed.

He tossed the parchment back to Lucien.

"You may interrogate her. But she does not leave my sight. She is a high-profile prisoner. I will not let a fragile human envoy walk her out of this prison alone. An elite Elven guard will accompany you to the human sector. He will stand in the room during the entire deposition."

Lucien did not flinch. He maintained his perfectly pleasant facade.

"That is entirely acceptable," Lucien smiled.

While Lucien held the Interrogator’s complete attention, the ghost made his move.

The Captain slipped past Theseus. He stepped directly through the narrow gaps in the thick wooden bars, entering the damp cell.

Nyx sat on the floor with her eyes closed. She was relying entirely on her refined assassin instincts. She filtered out the annoying voice of the Interrogator. She focused on the ambient air currents inside the tiny cell.

Suddenly, she felt a profound shift in the atmosphere.

A freezing chill washed over her skin. It was not the damp cold of the prison. It was a highly concentrated, localized drop in temperature.

Nyx felt an icy prick against her bound wrists.

It was a sharp, freezing sensation, like a single snowflake resting directly on her pulse.

A faint smile crossed her lips. She knew exactly who was standing in front of her.

The Captain focused his gray eyes on the heavy, glowing anti-magic cuffs. He reached into his core, pushing past the agonizing pain in his chest. He pulled a microscopic thread of kinetic force.

He applied the vector pulse directly to the internal locking pins of the heavy iron restraints.

SNAP.

The sound was nonexistent. The kinetic force sheared the locking mechanism at the molecular level. The heavy iron cuffs popped open instantly, falling away from Nyx’s wrists without making a single clink against the floor.

Nyx kept her hands perfectly still, resting them in her lap to hide the broken cuffs from the guards outside.

A heavy, invisible hand came to rest gently on her right shoulder.

The icy prick vanished. The familiar, comforting weight of her Warlord anchored her in the dark.

Outside the cell, Theseus waved a hand toward a heavily armored Elven guard standing down the hall.

"Unlock the door," Theseus ordered bitterly. "Prepare to escort the human to the diplomatic sector."

"Of course," the guard replied, stepping forward with a heavy ring of iron keys.

Lucien stood patiently. He adjusted the cuffs of his uniform, waiting for the exact moment to extract his team.

Inside the cell, the Captain closed his eyes beneath his invisible hood.

He gripped Nyx’s shoulder. He reached out with his other hand, locking his invisible grip onto Lucien’s shoulder through the wooden bars.

The stage was set. The pieces were aligned.

The Captain drew deeply from his fractured mana channels. He prepared to tear a hole straight through the fabric of space.

[Void-Step]

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