I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra-Chapter 287

Sector 0 Top Floor Building

The office had been built for one person alone.

Inside, Gage’s staff stood silently around a table stacked with neatly organized documents—thirty pages in total. It had taken weeks of exhausting work to compress countless reports, eyewitness accounts, and intelligence leaks into something this thin.

Every page concerned the same entity. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Designation: Lilium.

"This is it?" Gage asked, flipping through the summary with a detached glance. "This is all we have on her?"

Lilium—the newest member of that group.And the one who had personally caught Gage’s attention.

She had been linked to fifteen terror incidents across Abyss. Each one clean. Each one devastating.

"Yes," one of the analysts replied carefully. "We extracted only the core information from our informants stationed in Abyss."

"Ah~ really~" Gage drawled, forcing sarcasm into his tone. "Flawless work."

No one argued. They couldn’t.

The documents were pristine—and utterly useless.

There was nothing that pointed to Lilium’s true identity. No origin. No habits. No confirmed sightings beyond the aftermath. Just a repetitive list of accomplishments:

Destruction completed with a single arrow.Tiger Lily symbol engraved at the scene.Target neutralized.

To make matters worse, Gage already knew all of it.

"U-Um," another staff member ventured, "she disappears immediately after every incident, so there’s very little follow-up data. We suspect her Gift may involve teleportation or spatial displacement—"

"Yeah~ yeah~" Gage waved them off. "It’s my fault for expecting anything use—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

"...Huh?"

The room stilled.

Gage’s fingers froze on the page.

A chill crept up his spine as a realization struck him so hard his skin prickled.

He slowly lifted his head, eyes widening as he stared at his employees.

"She always leaves after firing a single arrow..." he murmured.

Silence.

Then—

"...Then could she—no," he corrected himself, voice tightening, "could she be the Heavenly Marksman?"

"...Pardon?"

"Heavenly Marksman. You know—Khufra? That Heavenly Marksman," Gage said.

It was a ridiculous claim.

The office workers exchanged glances, unsure whether Gage was being serious or simply mocking the situation. They studied his expression for a few seconds before collectively shaking their heads.

"There’s no way it could be Lord Khufra."

"He should be busy doing volunteer work..."

"Right? Right," Gage laughed abruptly. "I was joking too—ha-ha."

The tension in the room eased, but only slightly.

Khufra the Divine Archer.

An Elite-ranked Hero—though only ranked 56th, a detail that often surprised people. He had long since retired from active duty and now appeared only sporadically, popping up in different countries without warning.

"By the way," Gage added casually, "why is he even doing volunteer work?"

None of the office workers answered.

There was no need to.

Khufra was an idol to an entire generation—especially those in their twenties and thirties. His gentle nature and countless acts of charity had earned him an almost saintly reputation. Women adored his kindness; men admired his integrity.

His upright character and overwhelming popularity were precisely why he had reached Elite rank in the first place.

"I just don’t understand," Gage said with a frown. "Why did the GHA place him in the Elite rank class?"

Members of Sector 0 were excluded from the GHA’s ranking system, but Khufra’s Elite designation had always been a point of contention. Gage freely acknowledged that Khufra was the finest archer alive.

The real question was why Khufra held that position instead of Matthias Owen.

"I’d win if I fought him too," Gage muttered unhappily.

Yet, as the words left his mouth, a different curiosity crept in—an instinctive one. Like wondering which would prevail between a lion and a tiger, it was the kind of question that demanded consideration.

"Hmm..."

Under identical conditions... who would win?

Khufra or Lilium.

After pondering for a moment, Gage shifted his gaze to the office workers. "Hey. How strong do you think she is?"

"...I’m not sure," one of them replied cautiously. "Could you clarify?"

"Try estimating her rank," Gage said. "How do you think she compares to Khufra?"

The five office workers fell into silence.

Though each of them had graduated from top-ranking universities and survived the GHA’s brutal screening tests, none could confidently answer a question as primitive—and as difficult—as who would win in a fight between two apex predators.

"Well..." the youngest among them spoke hesitantly, "Lilium probably hasn’t used even a hundred percent of her strength yet, right?"

It was a sharp observation.

Gage rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing as he mulled over the implication.

Lilium’s arrow was undoubtedly powerful. There wasn’t a single confirmed target she hadn’t destroyed with a single shot.

In reality, archers struggled to amplify the power of a single arrow. Ironically, it was also the thing they desired most. An archer who failed to kill in one strike exposed their position—and without a Tank or Fighter to protect them, that exposure was often fatal.

When too much magic power was poured into a magic arrow, its form became unstable—its outline faint, its trajectory harder to control. To maintain precision, most archers were forced to cap their output. Control and power were opposing ends of the same scale.

"Forty—" Gage stopped himself mid-thought.

However, Lilium was different.

She always obliterated her targets with a single arrow.

That meant her control was not merely excellent—it was abnormal. And if her control was that refined, then it followed naturally that she wasn’t firing at full power.

"Maybe it’s only twenty to thirty percent," Gage said calmly.

"Eh? That low?" one of the office workers blurted out, unable to hide her disbelief.

If Lilium had truly only used twenty to thirty percent of her power, then the results she’d left behind were absurd.

She had destroyed a reinforced building capable of withstanding most large-scale explosions.

She had pierced a hideout protected by a high-rank barrier.

She had assassinated an executive of Abyss’ rank 10 private organization.

"That’s exactly why," Gage replied, eyes gleaming faintly. "If she was using full power, the arrow wouldn’t be that clean."

The room fell silent.

"An arrow that powerful should distort, scatter, or at least leave residue," he continued. "But hers don’t. They’re perfect. Too perfect."

He leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced. "If she really wanted to maximize output... she wouldn’t need one arrow."

He glanced at the rest when no one spoke.

"If you’re going to doubt me, don’t ask in the first place," Gage said coolly, looking down on their hesitation. To him, they were brilliant on paper—but still bookworms who rarely touched the real world.

The silence lingered.

"S–So... assuming we’ve only seen about twenty-five percent of Lilium’s full strength..." the youngest office worker said carefully.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, lines of data and formulas flooding the screen as she ran layered simulations—mana density, output stability, barrier penetration coefficients, structural resistance thresholds.

Then she stopped. Her face drained of color. "T-This..." she muttered.

"What?" Gage leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Hurry up and say it."

"Well... strictly in terms of numerical output and efficiency..." she swallowed. "She’s already operating at the level of an Elite-ranked Hero."

"...What?" Gage blinked.

The rest of the office stiffened.

"Are you saying her current observed performance—at twenty-five percent—is Elite?"

"Yes," she replied quietly. "And that’s with zero external amplification and no signs of strain."

For the first time, Gage’s grin faltered.

"...Hah," he let out a low laugh. "You’re telling me she’s casually throwing out Elite-tier results."

He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing with interest.

"Then if she stops holding back..."

The sentence didn’t need finishing.

No one in the room spoke.

If Lilium truly released her full strength, she wouldn’t just rival Elite-ranked Heroes—

She would invalidate the ranking system itself.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

...Wow. Ezekiel had changed a lot in three years.

The approachable, slightly nerdy guy I once knew was gone. The glasses were nowhere to be seen, and the hesitant posture had been replaced by something straighter, heavier. He carried himself like a true crown prince now—calm, composed, and unmistakably regal.

’Is he really the same person?’

"I–It’s been a while..." Ezekiel said, his voice catching.

...Yep. Still the same.

The stutter was there, just as familiar as before, even if the man standing in front of me looked completely different.

"Yeah. Sorry I arrived late," I said lightly. "I had a few things to wrap up before coming here."

"T–That’s not what I meant," he said quickly, then hesitated. "It’s just... your hair."

"Oh, this?" I touched the white strands mixed into my hair. I’d noticed it myself—every time I poured a massive amount of magic into my bow, more of it turned white. I’d tried dyeing it black. It wouldn’t take. I’d even cut it once, only for it to grow back the same way.

In the end, I gave up.

"Fashion choice," I said casually then stared at him.

He blushed when I stared at him a little longer. "W–What? Is there something on my f–face?"

"Oh, nothing," I said honestly. "You just look more mature now. In a good way." I tilted my head. "Women must be courting you these days instead of the other way around, huh?"

He instantly panicked and grabbed a stack of papers, lifting them to half-hide his face. "...A–Anyway. I heard you’ve been taking a break from mercenary work."

"Let’s just say I’ve been busy with other things," I replied.

For the past three months, I’d been occupied with Nightjars missions—robbing a wealthy Rogue who had stolen from civilians, hunting a massive deep-sea monster rumored to drop jewels, destroying hideouts in Abyss, and more. Whenever possible, I made sure my methods resembled those of ordinary Rogues.

No loose ends. No connections.

"Well, we can catch up on personal matters later," I continued. "For now, let’s talk about our partnership."

"Ah, y–yes—wait." Ezekiel blinked. "What partnership?"

"You don’t remember?" I raised a brow. "I said we’d probably end up working together through a mercenary contract."

"...Ah, r–right~ I remember~" He nodded far too enthusiastically. "It’s coming back to me. It was... really sunny that day."

I stared at him.

Yeah. He definitely didn’t remember.

"It was windy that day," I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

"Is it? R–Right, it was windy. So windy that I got confused for a moment," he hurriedly explained.

"I must be the one confused," I said flatly. "It was definitely sunny that day."

"S–Sunny? R–Right—!"

"Or maybe I’m remembering it wrong," I added innocently.

In the end, Ezekiel shut his mouth and glared at me in silent protest.

I couldn’t hold it anymore. I smirked, then burst out laughing.

It felt good—really good—laughing like this with an old friend.

"I’m just joking," I said, waving a hand to ease the tension. Then I reached into my coat and pulled out a thin, neatly bound folder. "Here. This is the contract."

I placed it on the desk between us.

Ezekiel blinked, then straightened. He picked up the folder with both hands, his expression shifting into something far more serious.

"There are only five clauses," I added calmly. "I kept it simple on purpose."

He nodded and began reading.

When he reached the end, Ezekiel didn’t speak right away. He lowered the contract, fingers tightening slightly around the edges, and looked straight at me.

"If you agree to these terms," I said evenly, meeting his gaze, "Talon’s Mercenary will officially partner with the Gilded Sword. We’ll assist Eldoria in dealing with its monster crisis—air, land, and sea. In return, you provide operational access and protection from unnecessary political interference. Nothing more, nothing less."

For a heartbeat, he seemed frozen.

Then his eyes lit up. "Deal!" he said instantly, the word tumbling out of him before he could stop himself.

He stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor, hands slamming onto the desk as if afraid the offer might vanish if he hesitated even a second.

"Thank you," he added, more quietly this time, voice thick with relief. "You have no idea how much this means to Eldoria."