My Scumbag System-Chapter 278: The Sunken Necropolis and Its Un-fun Committee Meeting
Water dripped from my hair onto my collar as I dropped into the empty chair beside Natalia. The cheap metal creaked under my weight, another reminder of the Onyx Hounds’ second-class status in this academy. I didn’t miss the way Julian’s eye twitched at the puddle forming on the polished table. His perfect little aristocratic world couldn’t handle a few water droplets. Good. Let him twitch. The small discomforts of the privileged were becoming my favorite form of entertainment.
"Did you really take care of Bartholomew?" Skylar whispered from my other side, her indigo hair framing her deadpan expression. Her voice was low enough that only I could hear, the faintest hint of amusement dancing behind those purple eyes.
I winked at her, water still clinging to my eyelashes. "Of course. Premium lettuce. Only the best for my boy. He’s got expensive taste for something that carries its house on its back."
Across the table, Monica suppressed a giggle. Julian shot her a glare that could’ve curdled milk.
Professor Petrova cleared her throat, the sound like ice cracking in the dead of winter. Her silver-blonde bob didn’t move an inch as she tilted her head in disapproval. "Now that Mr. Nakano has finally decided to grace us with his presence, perhaps we can begin? Or would you prefer to discuss your... pet’s dietary preferences further?"
I leaned back in my chair, balancing precariously on two legs – another small rebellion against proper protocol. My baseball bat rested against the armrest, its metal surface gleaming under the harsh lights, a silent reminder of what I brought to the table. The room itself was standard military-industrial trash – all concrete walls and fluorescent lighting that made everyone look sickly. No windows, no art, no personality. Just like the VHC itself. The only interesting thing was the massive holographic projector in the center of the table, currently showing a rotating 3D model of what looked like a flooded tomb, eerie blue light playing across everyone’s faces.
"So," I said, gesturing lazily at the hologram with a circular motion of my finger, "Big hole in reality. Monsters inside. We kill them. Why do we need a committee meeting again? Seems straightforward enough for even the Sentinels to understand."
The insult wasn’t subtle, and I watched with satisfaction as Aaron’s knuckles whitened around his pen. Julian’s face darkened like storm clouds gathering. So predictable, so easy to manipulate. These people were like puppets on strings they couldn’t even see.
Petrova looked like she’d just bitten into a lemon that insulted her mother. Her aristocratic features tightened into a mask of barely contained contempt. "This is a joint operational briefing for a dangerous—"
"Kid’s got a point, Anya." Braxton cut her off, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it directly beneath the ’No Smoking’ sign. His disheveled appearance was the perfect counterpoint to Petrova’s immaculate presentation. "Let’s get to the meat. Nobody wants to be here longer than necessary. Especially me."
The hologram expanded with a wave of his hand, filling the space above the table with a detailed map of the Gate interior. Flooded chambers spilled into one another, crumbling pillars supported sagging ceilings, and narrow corridors branched like veins through what must have once been an impressive structure. At the bottom level, a large circular room pulsed with menacing red light. Even in holographic form, something about that chamber made my skin crawl.
"C-Rank Blue Gate. Designation: Sunken Necropolis," Braxton explained, blowing smoke rings that drifted through the holographic walls like ghostly donuts. His voice had the gruff quality of a man who’d seen too many Gates and lost too many friends. "Water level varies between ankle and knee-deep throughout. Hope everyone brought waterproof boots. Structural integrity is garbage – expect collapse hazards. Limited sightlines due to collapsed architecture, which means plenty of ambush points."
He tapped the display with nicotine-stained fingers, zooming in on several areas. Small figures appeared – hunched, amphibious creatures with clawed hands and gaping mouths filled with needle-like teeth. They moved with a jerky, unsettling rhythm that reminded me of hungry dogs.
"Primary hostiles are aquatic ghouls. Pack hunters. Fast in water, slower on dry ground. Secondary are skeletal constructs – animated remains of whatever poor bastards died there centuries ago. Neither are particularly bright, but they hunt in packs and they’re fast in water. They’ll swarm you if they get the chance."
The hologram shifted to the pulsing red chamber at the bottom, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. The pulsing became more intense, almost hypnotic.
"Boss chamber. Something called a Hydra-Lich. Multiple heads, each with different elemental attacks. Fire, ice, lightning, the works. Kill it, grab the Core, get out. Standard protocol."
He made it sound so simple. I knew better. These Gates were never simple. I glanced at Natalia, wondering if she was remembering our first Gate run together. The fear, the blood, the moment everything changed between us. Her expression revealed nothing, but I noticed her fingers twitching slightly – her tell when she was nervous.
Professor Petrova stepped forward, her silver-blonde bob catching the light as she moved. Not a single hair dared to be out of place. "The operational parameters are clear. We have fifteen members between our two groups – a platoon-sized element. Standard VHC protocol for mixed-guild operations dictates a unified command structure."
She tapped her riding crop against her palm, her ice-blue eyes sweeping the room like searchlights looking for contraband. I half expected alarms to go off when that gaze landed on me.
"The Argent Sentinels will form the vanguard and command unit. The Onyx Hounds will serve as rearguard and logistics support."
Logistics support. That was a fancy way of saying "carry our shit and stay out of our way." I felt my jaw tighten but kept my expression neutral. Let her think I didn’t care. The best cons always start with being underestimated.
Raphael actually growled from his seat, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. His blonde spikes seemed to bristle like an angry dog’s fur. Skylar rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out of her head and roll across the table. Juan muttered something that sounded like "qué fastidio" and slumped deeper into his chair, already looking bored enough to fall asleep. Marco placed a restraining hand on Malachi’s shoulder, though the silent boy hadn’t moved a muscle.
"Boring," Braxton said, propping his boots on the table with a heavy thunk. "And stupid. My dogs don’t heel, Anya. They hunt." His casual disrespect for Petrova made me like him a little more each time.
He grinned, the cigarette dangling from his lips at an impossible angle. "I propose two strike teams. Parallel routes through east and west wings. First to the Boss gets the kill rights and the Core. Winner takes all."
Petrova’s nostrils flared like an angry thoroughbred. "That is wildly irresponsible and contrary to established VHC protocol. These are students, not seasoned Hunters. Turning a dangerous assignment into a competition is—"
"But hey," Braxton interrupted, clearly enjoying her displeasure, "it’s your lives. You kids figure it out. Convince us." He waved a hand between the two sides of the table. "Floor’s open. Democracy in action and all that garbage."
