I Was Summoned as the Weakest Hero, But I Awakened a Military System

Two hours later, inside the newly erected tactical command tent.

A high-definition tactical display sat anchored to a rugged field desk, drawing its power from a quiet diesel generator outside. On the screen, a crystal-clear high-altitude infrared feed from an MQ-9 Reaper drone loitered silently at twenty-five thousand feet above the jagged peaks of the Cragspine Range.

John stood with his arms crossed over his chest, flanked by Captain Hayes and Sergeant Ritcher. Beside them, Lyra and Elenore watched the glowing monitor in stunned silence.

The monochrome feed zoomed in smoothly, revealing deep cavernous fissures cut into the sheer rock face. Heat signatures flared white-hot on the sensor: dozens of wyverns crawled over massive bone-littered nests, completely oblivious to the unseen predator circling miles above the clouds.

The radio transceiver on the desk chirped, breaking into crisp, digitized military chatter.

”Reaper Actual to TOC, sensor track locked. Target designated: Objective Basilisk. Grid Delta-Seven-Niner. High concentration of bio-signatures inside primary cavern network. Laser designator active, code one-six-eight-eight.”

”TOC copies, Reaper. Link-16 data stream confirmed. Relaying firing coordinates to Strike Controller aboard USS Arleigh Burke.”

Lyra’s eyes darted from the screen to the radio console, her ears twitching at the rapid-fire exchange of strange jargon. ”What... what are they saying?” she whispered, leaning slightly closer to John.

”They found the nest,” John said quietly. ”Now they’re giving the firing solution to the ship.”

”Burke Tactical Action Officer to TOC, firing solution computed. Mission Plan Tango-Bravo-Four approved. Tomahawk Block V Land Attack Missiles queued in VLS cells one through four. Time on target: two minutes, thirty seconds. Awaiting final release authority.”

Captain Hayes leaned over the field radio, depressing the transmitter. ”Outpost Alpha to Strike, Supreme Commander authorizes strike package. Fire mission: steel rain. Rake the mountain.”

”Copy, Outpost Alpha. Firing in three... two... one... Birds away. Birds away.”

Miles out in the coastal bay, four BGM-109 Tomahawk cruise missiles burst from the vertical launch deck in deafening pillars of rocket flame. Skimming barely fifty feet above the tree canopy at subsonic speeds, the terrain-following guidance systems navigated cleanly through the mountain gaps.

Inside the tent, the radio continued its clinical countdown.

”Reaper Actual, tracks inbound. Visual on weapons package passing Waypoint Echo. Flight profile nominal. Impact in ten seconds... five... four... three...”

On the screen, four streaking shapes slammed straight into the mouth of the cavernous nesting ravine.

A split-second later, the thermal sensor whited out in an apocalyptic flash.

The combined thousand-pound unitary warheads and delayed-fuse penetrators detonated inside the subterranean complex, tearing through stone columns and collapsing the entire mountain ridge inward. Massive geysers of shattered rock, fire, and pulverized stone billowed outward as the entire nest caved in on itself, completely obliterating every heat signature registered on the feed.

”Reaper Actual, splash confirmed. Direct hits across all primary cavern nodes. Catastrophic structural collapse. Zero bio-signatures detected in target area. Objective Basilisk neutralized.”

”TOC copies, Reaper. Good effect on target. Stand by for Battle Damage Assessment.”

Lyra stared at the screen, her lips parted and her claws digging lightly into the edge of the tactical table. A monstrous nesting ground that had terrorized her ancestors for generations—a mountain range considered an untamable death zone—had just been wiped from existence in seconds by voices over a small metal box.

She slowly turned her gaze toward John, her chest rising and falling as pure awe washed over her.

John on the other hand saw his system notification popped up again.

[Targets Eliminated: 1,240x Cragspine Wyverns

Juvenile / Hatchling Entities: 410x

Matriarch / Alpha Class Flyers: 6x]

[System Points Rewarded: +3,980,000 SP]

[Souls Harvested: +2,510 Souls]

[[CURRENT TOTAL BALANCE]

Total System Points: 5,112,550 SP

Total Soul Pool: 4,063 Souls]

[Your level has risen to 68!]

John blinked at the staggering tally. Over twelve hundred of them caught sleeping, tending clutches, or guarding the subterranean hollows when the Tomahawks detonated. It was practically an ecological reset button pressed on the entire regional population.

Did we just wipe out the entire species? John wondered for a second, though he quickly discarded the thought. The Cragspine Range was merely a single coastal finger of an immense, uncharted mountain continent. There were bound to be other nesting colonies deeper in the interior, across uncharted volcanic peaks or high plateaus beyond imperial borders.

Still, for this entire regional sector, the skies had just been thoroughly sterilized.

”Commander...” Lyra’s voice broke through his thoughts, barely above a reverent whisper. ”The Cragspine roost... has menaced every tribe along this coast for over three centuries. Chieftains of old lost hundreds of warriors just trying to slay a single brood matriarch. And you... you destroyed their entire ancestral mountain from miles away, without shedding a drop of your people’s blood.”

”That’s what we always do in our country, we blow things up as much as possible,” John casually said. ”Now that shouldn’t bother your territory any longer.”

Lyra stepped outside the tent into the open sunlight, taking a deep breath of the mountain breeze that was now completely free of danger. She raised her head and unleashed a long, triumphant howl that echoed across the entire valley.

From the shelters, trenches, and construction zones, hundreds of beastkin echoed her cry, roaring in pure liberation. The ancient nightmare that had haunted their skies was finally gone.

Lyra turned back to John, her eyes shining with immense joy and pride.

”Tonight, we feast!” Lyra declared, her voice carrying over the cheering crowd. ”We will break open our finest aged berry wines and roast our best meats in honor of the United States and Supreme Commander John Smith! Today marks the rebirth of the Ironclaw Tribe, and we shall celebrate under skies that are finally ours!”

Lyra placed a hand over her heart and bowed deeply before John. ”Commander John, as Chieftain, I formally invite you and your officers to join us at the high fire tonight as our honored guests.”

John smiled, giving an appreciative nod. ”We’d be honored, Lyra. Let’s celebrate our victory together.”