Following the footsteps of the three Ursus mercenaries, Felix soon saw flames and smoke rising in the distance. The air was filled with war cries and desperate screams.
Atop a high slope, the captain of the Ursus Mercenary Group stood alone, watching the slaughter below with a satisfied smile. The two soldiers flanking him looked eager for action. Sensing their anticipation, the captain waved his hand and ordered, "Go. Kill all those savages."
"Captain, do you want us to keep the woman?" one of them asked.
"What the hell? Are you that desperate you'd even touch a savage?" the captain snapped. "There are plenty of women in the mobile city. Get lost."
With a swift kick to the deputy captain's backside, the captain sent him stumbling forward. The man laughed foolishly, drew the large sword strapped to his back, and charged toward the battlefield.
As his men departed, the captain visibly relaxed. He took a cigarette and lighter from his coat, placed the cigarette between his lips, lit it, and exhaled leisurely.
Bang.
A single gunshot pierced the quiet.
[You have killed the leader of the Ursus mercenary team and gained 2000 experience.]
It might not have been the fairest way to fight, but a shot to the back of the head was undeniably effective. The bullet hit its mark—an instant kill. The captain collapsed where he stood, motionless.
They wore standard mercenary protective uniforms, meant to defend against blades and crossbow bolts. Had the bullet struck his lower back instead, the damage would've been negligible. But Felix didn't miss.
He quickly approached the corpse and searched the body. However, screams from below reached his ears, pulling him from the looting. There would be time to come back for it later.
Explosions soon echoed across the battlefield. The remaining Ursus mercenaries turned their heads toward the sound and spotted a lone Sankta calmly reloading his weapons in the center of their camp. They didn't need an explanation—they immediately knew who had disrupted their slaughter.
Seeing their comrades lying on the ground, their fates uncertain, the mercenaries howled in fury. They beat their chests and charged at Felix.
"Take my sword! I'm the best swordsman in Ursus!"
"Hey! Stop spouting nonsense and swinging that whip, you hear me?"
"I don't! I don't hear ya!"
Felix blinked, momentarily thrown off. What the hell are these Ursus guys even saying? he thought. My God... is this really Ursus?
As he retreated step by step, his dual pistols—Double Eagle—unleashed wave after wave of blazing fire. With his gunfighting skills and combat bonuses, he weaved effortlessly between attacks, dodging and retaliating with deadly grace. It wasn't just combat—it was a dance of death.
Down in the settlement, the survivors wiped blood and sweat from their faces, still shaken. But soon they noticed something—something had changed. The pressure from the enemy was lessening. Someone glanced toward the battlefield and shouted:
"There's a Sankta! He's holding them back for us!"
Someone hesitated, voice trembling as they suggested, "Let's run while those mercenaries are distracted by the Sankta."
"Run? And where would we run to?" the leader of the settlement—an old wanderer Lupo—shouted back. "The Ursus Mercenaries are beasts who won't stop until they see blood! Now, we finally have a chance to turn things around. We can only keep our right to live if we fight to the last drop of our blood!"
"Go! Help the Sankta warrior who came to our aid! Use the blood of these Ursus mercenaries to honor our dead!"
"Ooooooh!"
Fueled by fury and grief, the wanderers gripped their makeshift weapons—crudely forged from wood and stone—and charged into battle. The inhuman slaughter they had endured lit a fire deep within them. With every ounce of strength left in their weary bodies, they struck back.
"Cyka! You damned Ursus scum!" someone bellowed in their tongue.
The mercenaries, caught between two forces, quickly realized their predicament. Ahead stood a Sankta warrior, dual guns blazing and nearly untouchable. Behind them surged a mob of bloodstained wanderers, eyes red with rage and vengeance. In an instant, the battlefield turned against them.
With the pressure on him easing, Felix glanced toward the settlement that had now joined the fray on his side. He pulled a bloodstained badge from his coat pocket and raised it.
"Your captain is already dead," he declared. "If you surrender now, I will spare your lives."
"Impossible!" the vice-captain snarled. "The captain was the strongest of us all! You—you despicable Sankta—you must have ambushed him and stolen that badge!"
"You're wrong," Felix replied coldly, golden eyes locked onto his foe. In their depths burned a steady, unwavering flame. "I gave your captain the chance for a fair duel. He lost. It's that simple."
"Lies!" the vice-captain screamed.
"Do I look like someone who needs to lie to you?" Felix asked, voice calm, sharp as a blade.
The deputy captain's composure shattered. He couldn't accept that the man he revered had fallen to a lone youth, seemingly slight of build but radiating power. Grief and rage twisted his expression.
"Break out!" he roared.
The mercenaries, now leaderless and desperate, huddled together and charged in a final attempt to escape the closing ring of wanderers. After losing three more of their own, the remnants of the Ursus Mercenary Group broke free and fled in panic. Their curses and screams slowly faded into the dense forest, disappearing into the distance like a dying storm.
Felix holstered his weapons.
The battlefield grew still, the adrenaline slowly giving way to exhaustion. The wanderers—those who still stood—began to cry, their voices hoarse and low. They had won, but the cost had been steep.
Blood soaked the earth, bearing witness to the horror they had endured.
A middle-aged Lupo man stepped forward, having calmed the survivors. He bowed respectfully to Felix, though he kept a cautious distance.
"Thank you for your help," he said. "My name is Kus. If not for your intervention, I fear our settlement would have been wiped from this land today."
"I don't need anything," Felix replied, shaking his head. "I just couldn't ignore injustice."
He nodded lightly. He had no interest in whatever "treasures" the settlement might have held.
When Kus heard this, he quietly let out a breath of relief. Yet, after only a moment, guilt and self-blame welled up within him. His head dropped, and he found himself unable to speak.
"You need to move," Felix said. "The Ursus Mercenary Group took a loss this time, but who's to say they won't return for revenge? This camp has been exposed."
Kus's heart ached once again. The once-thriving settlement of over 300 people had been reduced to just over 130 after the tragedy. His son was among the dead. As the leader of the settlement—and as a father—he had every reason to mourn.
A breeze drifted through, stirring the hem of Kus's clothes. It lifted just enough to reveal a faint glow on his skin—the imprint of Originium particles.
Felix pretended not to notice, but Kus knew he had seen. Fearful, he lowered his head and remained silent. Before long, he quietly excused himself and went to help organize the settlement.
For players, infection with oripathy wasn't a concern. No matter how far gone their minds became, their bodies in this world would not truly die. But for ordinary humans, oripathy was a death sentence—an incurable terminal illness.
According to records from the Laterano Library, oripathy wasn't a virus that killed its host outright. On the contrary, it could grant the infected the ability to unleash Originium Arts without the use of staves. If they avoided overusing those powers or exhausting themselves, those with mild cases could live lifespans equal to healthy people.
But overwork was deadly. A healthy young adult might simply pass out from fatigue after working through the night. Yet someone with oripathy in the same situation might die without warning.
No one wanted to be infected. To them, oripathy was like carrying a time bomb inside their body—one that could go off without notice.
Even worse, fear itself could accelerate the illness. Once the condition progressed to a critical stage, there was no turning back.
Felix stood still, gazing at the silent wanderers wiping away their tears. They were tending to their fallen companions, burying them with trembling hands.
Some children wept quietly. Others sat blankly, their eyes unfocused. A few stared in the direction where the Ursus mercenaries had fled, their expressions grim and wordless.
Among the group, he noticed a girl with beautiful blond hair. She was unharmed—just as she had been in his previous life. Seeing her safe, he quietly turned his gaze away.
Felix stepped forward, approaching Kus once more.
"I can pray for them," he offered.
Kus was crouched down, gently brushing the hair from the face of a young man—one who looked strikingly similar to him. He raised his head, voice hoarse and unsteady.
"Thank you… May I ask your name, sir?"
"You can call me a pioneer."
"Then I'm counting on you, Mr. Pioneer."
Felix stepped ahead. As someone born in Laterano, he had participated in many church prayers. He recalled the solemn faces of priests as they bid farewell to those who had passed.
The dead could not return. They could only live on in memory.
The young man made the sign of the cross over his chest, silently praying that their souls would return to the sea of stars above—where no hardship could touch them again in the afterlife.
After completing the prayer, Felix turned and gave a nod to the settlers standing behind him. Then, without another word, he began walking away.
"Thank you, Pioneer brother," came the soft, grateful voices of the children behind him.
Felix smiled at the sound.
He made his way back to the place where he had first slain the mercenary team leader in a one-on-one duel. There, he began collecting the bodies again. Stripping the captain proved more time-consuming and cumbersome than he had expected.
"Ark" was an extremely realistic game. Picking up corpses wasn't a matter of simply squatting, opening an inventory window, and dragging items over. Everything had to be done manually.
Of course, this wasn't a real problem for players. Some even enjoyed collecting the corpses of Originium worms, claiming their texture was soft, sticky, and strangely warm—like something still alive—making them oddly satisfying to squeeze.
Telling such things out loud, however, was enough to remind any nun of that infamous story about the man and the fish.
The captain had no valuables or rare items. The only thing Felix found worth taking was the mercenary badge. He also collected their gear, not to use, but because blueprints for the equipment could be deduced from it after research.
As for equipping the gear himself? Felix dismissed the idea immediately. It would negatively affect his attributes.
He was currently wearing an action suit usable by all professions, while the Ursus mercenaries' uniforms were exclusive to guards—sacrificing agility in exchange for higher endurance. Felix had no interest in such trade-offs.
After burying the team captain, he continued onward.
---
Two months later.
Deep within an uninhabited forest—so remote even drones couldn't reach—it looked like it was about to rain again.
Felix sighed and muttered a complaint, scanning the area for shelter. A natural cave would've been ideal.
During this time, he had returned to Florence once to restock supplies. The Saluzzo family still welcomed him with respect, interpreting his long absence as part of a messenger's duties. Lapland and Cellinia had visited him as well. Since Cellinia didn't know how to use a gun, he took the time to patiently teach her, step by step.
For non-Sankta races, mastering the use of an Originium gun was no simple task.
Now, deep in the dark forest, only a faint golden fluorescence illuminated his path.
He trudged through the rain for about ten minutes before pausing. Ahead, at the base of a hill, he spotted a small house.
In the wilderness, one had to obey the law of the jungle—and sometimes, humans were more dangerous than beasts.
His gloved right hand moved instinctively to the double eagle holstered at his waist.
The rain softened the sound of his footsteps. As he approached the modest house made of wood and stone, he noticed a warm light glowing from within the windows.
Could it be that fair-skinned, silver-haired Sarkaz elder sister inside? If so, he would gladly offer her a massage on the spot.
He knocked.
There was some shuffling inside, and then an old male voice called out:
"Who is it?"
"A passing messenger seeking shelter from the heavy rain," Felix replied.
"Messenger?" the old man muttered thoughtfully before opening the door.
As the door creaked open, Felix's heart skipped a beat. The man who greeted him was an elderly Sankta, appearing quite ordinary at first glance. A faint white halo hovered above his head, and he looked remarkably energetic for his age. He gave Felix a quick once-over and said, "Come in and sit down."
Felix immediately ran a scan on the old man.
[Dürrenmatt Lv?]
"Thank you," Felix said with a smile. "I didn't expect to encounter one of my own kind here in the forests of Siracusa."
Stepping over the threshold, he removed his coat and hung it near the stove to dry. "Senior, the weather in Siracusa is truly unpredictable—very different from Laterano."
The Sankta elder, meanwhile, seemed unconcerned about Felix's presence. He walked into the kitchen and returned with two cups of hot cocoa, placing them on the living room table along with a box of sugar cubes.
The old man dropped seven or eight cubes into his drink, downed the cocoa in one gulp, and exhaled with satisfaction. "Laterano… I do miss it. But this place isn't bad either. I still go hunting from time to time. It's a fine place for retirement."
"May I ask your name?" Felix inquired.
"Felix Shawn Lanshem."
"Felix…" the old man repeated softly, his eyes twinkling with a knowing smile. "You're the one who drove away that Ursus squad, aren't you?"
Felix nodded. "If you're referring to the mercenary group that massacred innocents two months ago, then yes. I couldn't stand by and let them continue their atrocities."
"Ha! A typical Sankta response." The old man laughed, his tone layered—part sarcasm, part admiration. "You still look underage. Since when did Laterano's lambs become messengers and start setting foot in these lands?"
Sitting up straighter, Felix nodded and replied candidly, "I felt there was nothing left for me to learn in school. I was always passionate about firearms, machinery, and engineering. I trained as a gunsmith in the Holy City of Laterano, but there wasn't much focus on mechanics and engineering principles. So I became a messenger—to expand my knowledge and to help the suffering people of this land."
"Did that old guy send you to find me?" Dürrenmatt's eyes flickered with complexity.
Felix was puzzled. He had no idea who the "old guy" Dürrenmatt was referring to. Perhaps it was a civil servant from the notary office, or a retired elder from the Holy City.
Sensing Felix's confusion, Dürrenmatt laughed heartily. "I see… so it really was just a coincidence. Fate must have brought us together."
"Come with me."