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

Dawn broke over the Eastern Ocean, but the sunrise brought no warmth to Port Solis.

A dense, greasy fog of black soot and salt mist drifted in from the shattered coastline, pressing against the outer curve of the Aegis. Inside the barrier, the city was dead quiet. There were no morning bells, no temple chants, and no marching orders barked across the parade grounds.

Along the lower streets of the harbor, the desertion was complete. Discarded iron breastplates, broken spears, and trampled white banners lay scattered in the mud. Over half of the original garrison had slipped through the back valley roads during the night, scattering into the wilderness before the Americans could close the ring.

Inside the central command pavilion, Goddess Viona sat on her velvet throne.

She had not slept. She had not washed the grime from her face. Her torn golden robes hung limp from her slender shoulders, and her starry eyes stared unblinkingly at the red carpet. The divine aura that usually enveloped her like a second skin was reduced to a dull, sporadic flicker. Maintaining the continuous radius of the Aegis while her internal mana core remained battered was like trying to hold up a stone roof with broken arms.

At the base of the dais, Belis knelt with his forehead pressed to the floor. Lord Justin sat against a nearby pillar, his head bowed, his hands resting empty on his lap.

Behind them stood the remnants of the hero vanguard.

Shin lay on a canvas cot in the corner, his breathing shallow, kept alive only by the faint, automatic trickle of restoration mana coming from Miyuki. Miyuki’s knees were red and raw from kneeling on the stones, her wooden staff dull and gray, her crimson eyes staring at nothing. Kenji leaned against the wall, his arms bandaged with dirty linen, his sacred sword lost and his posture slumping.

Ayanokoji stood beside the tactical table, the black spear held upright in his right hand. The dark Torment Band around his forearm pulsed with a faint, persistent glow, keeping his mind bound in cold, emotionless servitude.

The silence was shattered by a sharp, high-pitched mechanical whine from the sky.

It was not the roar of jet afterburners. It was the slower, droning buzz of a propeller engine.

Lord Justin flinched, instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. ”More flying machines... are they bombing again?”

”Negative,” Ayanokoji answered without turning his head. ”Acoustic signature matches an MQ-9 Reaper or similar medium-altitude unmanned aerial vehicle. Payload configuration is non-kinetic.”

Viona slowly raised her chin, her voice hoarse and brittle. ”What is it doing?”

”Visual reconnaissance and psychological operations,” Ayanokoji replied flatly. ”It is loitering directly outside the Aegis apex.”

Before Viona could speak, a strange, metallic voice boomed across the entire city of Port Solis.

It was amplified by directional high-output loudspeakers mounted under the drone’s wings, carrying down from five thousand feet with crystalline clarity. The voice spoke in fluent, formal Solarian, echoing off the stone towers and down the empty avenues.

”Attention, combatants and civilians of the Holy Solarian Empire.”

Belis shuddered, lifting his head. ”The voice... it speaks our tongue!”

”This is a broadcast from the United States Armed Forces Joint Task Force Forward Command. By order of Supreme Commander John Smith and Rear Admiral Donovan, the surrounding maritime and terrestrial boundaries of Port Solis are declared an active containment theater.”

The voice paused, letting the words sink into the silent city.

”Your exterior defensive lines have been neutralized. Your agricultural reserves, regional foundries, and transport arteries have been systematically severed. You possess zero logistical depth. No relief columns are approaching. No supply caravans will reach this valley.”

Viona gripped the armrests of her throne, her knuckles whitening until the gold leaf cracked.

”To the imperial soldiers and citizens remaining inside the perimeter: the United States has no quarrel with the common people of this land. We have deliberately withheld kinetic strikes against residential districts. However, unconditional containment will remain in effect until complete cessation of hostilities.”

The loudspeaker clicked slightly as the tone shifted, turning cold and personal.

”To the divine entity known as Viona: your Aegis is not a fortress. It is a glass jar. You have two choices. Disarm the barrier and and initiate formal surrender protocols... or remain inside your dome until your rations reach absolute zero.”

A bitter pause followed.

”You have seventy-two hours to display the white standard from the harbor keep. If no signal is given, Phase Four interdiction will proceed as scheduled. Command out.”

The droning buzz of the propeller faded as the gray shape banked into a wide orbit over the bay, circling high above the golden ceiling like a patient vulture.

The echoing voice died away, leaving the grand hall in a suffocating hush.

”Seventy-two hours...” Belis wept, burying his face in his hands once more. ”Three days. They are giving a goddess an ultimatum of three days.”

”They want us to surrender,” Lord Justin said, his voice entirely devoid of pride. He looked up at the ceiling, then across the hall to the silent heroes.

Viona rose from her throne with a sudden, violent surge of movement.

”Surrender?!” she shrieked, her voice cracking into a ragged scream that echoed through the vaulted roof. ”They dare demand surrender from an immortal deity?! I forged this empire! I granted this land its crops, its rain, and its light! I will not bow to an exiled E-rank reject who commands iron carts and sulfur tubes!”

”I will tear his beating heart from his chest!” Viona screamed, sweeping her arm across the cedar table. Maps, inkpots, and gold goblets shattered against the stone floor. ”I am eternal! I do not negotiate with insects!”

Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, but as her wild gaze met the cold, unblinking eyes of Ayanokoji, her fury withered into cold dread. The empty silence of the ruined city offered no answers.

Her knees buckled, and she slumped back onto the throne, burying her face in trembling hands.

”Belis...” she whispered, her voice breaking into a defeated rasp. ”Signal their flying machine. Tell John Smith... I will speak with him.”