Wrath of the Extra Chapter 3: Broke

Thinking about all the ways I can die, my Endangered trait flares like a pestering headache, just to be imdiately pacified by Sunshine-pilled.

I am actually concerned about the description. ’Psychological effects’ definitely refers to this drug-like dependency I’ve long since developed for the Skill. I worry about how difficult it will be for to swap it out when the ti cos.

At first, I thought the Skill was a bit ridiculous given the other Skills I had access to with the Cabal. In the early ga, that single Skill slot can be extrely valuable, and wasting it on a ’happiness button’ just seed plain ridiculous

However, this might actually be the best possible Skill for at the mont, as strange as that sounds. Traits can be double-edged swords, and the zero-cost nature of Skills makes them natural repressors of negative passive effects. As a bonus, Sunshine-pilled is decently effective for my sowhat damaged psyche.

Back to my dilemma. I am weak, and my sole advantage in this world is my rudintary knowledge of modern Earth and my knowledge of the Hero’s life.

These are the cards I’ve been dealt. I’ll need to figure out how best to use them. Co the Entrance Exam, I need to be strong enough to guarantee my top 33% status, as well as beyond that. My mission requires excellence.

To gather my thoughts:

Darrow Landeskog was actually a lower noble—a Baron, as I am—born and raised in the Central Plains.

The Central Plains, which is to say, essentially, the state of Nebraska.

In terms of geography, the Human Realm is just a copy of Earth. But the addition of the Corrupted has made 99% of the land uninhabitable and the ocean unnavigable. All Humans are spread in nurous walled cities throughout what is North Arica, referred to as the Free Empire.

Anyway, he entered a "Suppose a Kid from the Last Dungeon Boonies Moved to a Starter Town" kind of debacle where he snuck out and fard Corrupted all day in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and arrived at the Dim on scholarship since he was so strong.

A thousand feats later—saving the children of the Big Five Guilds repeatedly, aura farming in the Dim, graduating, becoming an officer, and quickly a General in the Coalition Wars—he gained the royal family’s—the Luikots—hand in marriage and the two rged as one, and his influence was so supermassive they even hyphenated the Royal family’s na to Landeskog-Luikots, which then phased out overti for just Landeskog.

Anyway, in a grand epic battle between two SSS-ranks, he overloaded his Soul with essence and obliterated the atoms in Pri Minister Qo Mortael’s body, a Mutant who led the Coalition, though at the cost of his own life.

He had a cool mont where he—albeit with extre contrivance—told only his wife to bury him on the tallest hill in the Central Plains.

What do you think the tallest hill in fucking Nebraska is? If you said 8 ters tall and it’s just a wide-open prairie plane, ding-ding-ding, you’re a goddamn genius.

It’s not the most prominent, what you typically think of as a hill or a mountain, but his wife interpreted his final words as the point of highest elevation, which does sowhat make sense since it’s near the Landeskog lands.

Anyway, why am I talking about his burial and the height of the hills in Nebraska?

Well, I, as of the last 30 seconds, have made the grand realization that my knowledge of the past is actually useful. Extrely useful. Ga-changingly useful.

See, I know everything about the Hero. Everything.

Darrow of House Landeskog was a man of few secrets. But his greatest secret pertained to his greatest weapon: his Imprint.

A Hereditary Imprint.

Imprints are manifestations of the Soul, appearing as tattoos or specific channels on the body that create unique powers out of the Essence that fuels them. But they couldn’t be passed down since each Imprint is so personal to one’s Soul.

Since in the novel, he obtained the Hereditary Imprint, I initially presud that the Imprint would’ve been passed down, but no. Three generations since Darrow, and none of the Landeskogs have been given his Hereditary Imprint.

Now, why would a Hero of such an upstanding character keep such a secret from his loved ones? Why wouldn’t Darrow want to pass down his Imprint’s legacy?

Because little old Darrow wasn’t always so upstanding. He was a bad boy who sucked the teet of the Demon God and did heinous things in exchange for the Hereditary Imprint’s power.

Tale as old as ti. Power is inherently bloody. You kill to take it. You kill to take everything here.

But Auren, you cry out, wasn’t he redeed by the Human God?

Yes, he was. Also, you aren’t supposed to know that, but I digress.

He was redeed, yes, but he still continued to live the lie. He never told anyone about the Hereditary Imprint. He never actually gave up anything. Even the Gods themselves fall for the superficiality of their own religion.

The most straightforward explanation for his dubiousness lies in the Hereditary Imprint’s thod of transfer.

Death is unavoidable. Removing the manifestation of a living being’s Soul safely is impossible.

Death is an extrely intimate facet of the transfer process.

Incredibly extre. I’ll just... leave it at that. For now.

But by now, my angle should be quite apparent:

I intend to grave-rob the most respected man in Human history.

The Hero. The Conqueror of the Seven Realms. The Slaver. The Murderer.

I will desecrate his corpse. I will commit a taboo of the highest order that it will disgust even the most devoted enemies of Humanity.

And I will turn the weapon of Humanity into its ultimate downfall.

Yes, I talk a big ga. And I an it. Unfortunately, future promises are aningless in the present.

To get to the highest peak in the Central Plains will not be an easy feat by any ans. The wilds are always infested with Corrupted who are more than my match.

But what really tears apart is sothing else entirely: the Demonic entity of capitalism.

Searching my dorm room, I realized that I had been thrust into this world with a grand total of 0 Gold.

I’d already known this from the Soul Transfusion, of course. But still, it was a little disappointing to confirm that whoever transported my soul into this world didn’t have the courtesy to give money.

I am impoverished.