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

Chapter 203: Chapter 203: Breakfast for Monsters

Chapter 203: Breakfast for Monsters

The morning sun filtered through the small glowing emerald canopy of the World Tree.

The sprawling courtyard of the hidden villa was completely peaceful. The nine ancient elemental spirits fluttered quietly among the runic gardens. The air was crisp, clean, and filled with a profound, rejuvenating vitality.

It was a picture of absolute serenity.

At the massive wooden table set on the marble patio, the serenity was completely ruined.

Strike Team Zero was eating like a pack of starved wolves.

Draven sat at the head of the long table. He was leaning back in his heavy wooden chair, his legs casually crossed. He held a ceramic mug of steaming black coffee in his right hand. He was not wearing his pristine white mask.

He watched his lethal, Level 100 powerhouses absolutely demolish the breakfast spread.

The biological mutation of the Awakening required an astronomical amount of energy. Their bodies had burned thousands of calories overnight just to reconstruct their mana channels and fuse with the ancient spirits.

They were ravenous.

Cole was dual-wielding two massive turkey legs. Bram was silently consuming an entire loaf of bread in massive, methodical bites. Natalie was aggressively piling roasted potatoes onto her plate.

"This is the best food I have ever tasted," Cole mumbled, his mouth completely full of roasted meat.

"I could eat an entire cow. I could eat two cows."

"Chew your food, Cole," Lyra scolded gently, though she was currently buttering her fourth massive pastry.

Draven took a slow sip of his coffee. He found the chaos deeply entertaining. They had survived a King Level Beast, and now their greatest enemy was their own uncalibrated strength.

Becoming a Sovereign or a Warlord came with severe physical drawbacks.

Aegon reached across the table to grab a piece of thick-cut bacon. He picked up his silver fork and pressed it into the meat.

SIZZLE.

Aegon froze. He looked down at his hand.

His passive body heat was entirely too high. The Crimson-Fire Hound spirit resting inside his core was bleeding ambient thermal energy into his skin.

The silver fork instantly glowed red-hot, warped, and melted directly into a puddle of liquid slag right over the bacon.

"My apologies," Aegon muttered, his face flushing with extreme embarrassment. He carefully dropped the melted lump of silver onto the stone patio.

"I have not calibrated my internal temperature yet."

Lucien laughed, reaching for a basket of warm rolls.

"You just need to focus your mana, Aegon," Lucien advised elegantly.

"It requires a delicate touch. You cannot just brute-force..."

Lucien’s fingertips brushed the edge of the wicker basket.

ZAP!

A brilliant spark of crackling blue lightning jumped from Lucien’s skin. The high-voltage arc struck the bread basket. The warm, fresh rolls instantly turned into a pile of charred, smoking black ash.

The elegant swordsman slowly pulled his hand back. He stared at the ruined bread in profound silence.

Cole burst into loud, obnoxious laughter.

"Nice delicate touch, Storm Sovereign," Cole mocked, slapping his heavy hand down onto the table.

CRACK.

Cole did not calculate the sheer, dense weight of his new [God-Forge Artisan] physique. His casual slap hit the edge of his own ceramic plate.

The plate instantly shattered into a hundred jagged pieces, sending his remaining potatoes tumbling onto the floor.

Cole stopped laughing.

"I am a hazard to myself," Cole whispered sadly, looking at his ruined breakfast.

Reina sighed heavily. The Glacial Tyrant reached out to grab a large glass pitcher filled with fresh orange juice to pour Cole a drink.

"You boys are entirely too tense," Reina said, wrapping her hand around the glass handle.

CRUNCH.

A thick, jagged layer of white frost instantly bloomed across the pitcher. The liquid orange juice froze solid in a fraction of a second, expanding violently and shattering the heavy glass. A block of frozen juice hit the table with a heavy thud.

Reina blinked, pulling her freezing hand away.

"I am not cleaning that up," Reina announced quietly.

Draven lowered his coffee mug. He could not stop a genuine, amused smile from forming on his face.

His Strike Team was an unstoppable force of nature on the battlefield, but they could not successfully navigate a dining table.

"Control requires repetition," Draven instructed calmly, his voice easily cutting through the chaos.

"Your bodies are currently operating as open conduits for ancient magic. You must consciously pull the auras back into your core. Treat your passive elements like a muscle you are flexing, and then relax it."

They nodded, immediately applying his advice.

Aegon closed his eyes, forcing the blistering heat back into his Crucible. Reina focused her breathing, drawing the biting frost away from her skin. Lucien grounded his static electricity into the soles of his boots.

It was a slow, deliberate process, but the ambient disasters ceased.

CHIRP.

Astraxion poked his head out from under Draven’s dark coat. The neon-purple Void Dragon sniffed the air eagerly.

The mythical predator scrambled up Draven’s arm, hopped onto his shoulder, and launched itself gracefully onto the center of the wooden table.

The squad stopped eating. They watched the highly lethal, plasma-breathing creature with a mixture of adoration and deep caution.

Astraxion completely ignored the roasted meat and the fresh fruit. The dragon strutted confidently over to the edge of the table where Aegon sat.

The dragon lowered its scaly head, opened its jaws, and bit directly into the puddle of melted, cooling silver slag that used to be a fork.

CRUNCH.

Astraxion chewed the solid metal happily. The dragon swallowed the silver lump, let out a tiny, satisfied burp of purple sparks, and curled up next to a bowl of fruit to sleep.

"Did he just eat my fork?" Aegon asked, completely bewildered.

"He is a growing boy," Estella defended the dragon, gently petting its starry scales.

The squad finally settled down, successfully finishing their meal without destroying any more cutlery or glassware. The mood was bright and triumphant.

Then, a sudden sound interrupted the peace.

BEEP.

Draven set his coffee mug down. He raised his left wrist. The sleek, metallic Vanguard communication interface secured to his forearm was flashing with a bright, urgent red light.

The entire table fell completely silent.

A red light on the Vanguard interface indicated an extreme emergency broadcast. It was a Priority One message from the military high command.

"Did they find us?" Nyx asked quietly, her pitch-black eyes narrowing.

"Helion wiped the grid," Draven replied, tapping the side of the interface.

"This is a general broadcast sent to all Academy students and active Vanguard personnel."

Draven pressed the central rune on the device.

A glowing blue holographic projection materialized over the center of the breakfast table. It was an official, heavily stamped Vanguard document bearing the seal of the Academy Headmaster.

Draven read the glowing text aloud. His voice was cold, flat, and completely devoid of emotion.

"Official Vanguard Academy Decree. Effective immediately. Strike Team Zero, commanded by Draven Mordis, is officially listed as Killed in Action."

The squad stared at the glowing blue text in shock.

"The decree states that our tracking runes went dark inside the Dead Zone," Draven continued reading.

"A massive Miasma storm was recorded in the sector. Search and rescue operations have been deemed impossible due to the lethal conditions. A memorial service will be held in the central plaza tomorrow at noon."

Draven swiped his hand through the air, dismissing the holographic projection.

"We are dead," Cole whispered, leaning back in his chair. "They actually think we are dead."

"We are legally erased," Lucien corrected, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips.

"There is no paperwork tying us to this city. There are no instructors to report to. We have zero oversight."

Draven looked around the table. He saw the realization dawning in their eyes.

Being declared dead was not a tragedy. It was the ultimate tactical advantage.

The corrupt nobles and the Cult of the Eternal Eclipse would not be hunting them. They would not be watching them. The enemy would assume the board was clear.

"We do not correct this mistake," Draven ordered, his gray eyes hardening into the cold gaze of a warlord.

"As of this morning, Strike Team Zero no longer exists. We will manipulate this bureaucracy to our absolute advantage. We will attend our own memorial from the shadows. And we will begin our operations exactly as we planned."

Draven picked up his white mask from the table and secured it over his face.

"Eat up," Draven commanded, his voice muffled slightly by the pristine porcelain. "The Syndicate has a lot of work to do."

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