"Didn't think they'd actually take the risk," Patia murmured, eyes fixed on Felix's live feed. The small black dots on the screen drew closer to the overturned truck. A bit nearer, and their shapes became clearer—long horns jutting from their heads, tails swaying behind them, and clothing so ragged it looked as if they'd walked straight out of a slum.
Their gear might have been worn to rags, but the weapons in their hands were still well-maintained, polished enough to catch the light. Those were their tools for survival.
The group numbered five in total. Each had pulled on the sandstorm masks commonly used in the no-man's-land—good enough to keep grit out of your teeth, useless for keeping Originium dust out of your lungs.
Here, that dust was lethal. One breath was enough to make you an Infected. An open wound exposed to it would do the same. But clearly, these Sarkaz didn't care. Most of them had been born infected; whether their Oripathy worsened or not mattered far less than securing supplies.
Seeing them stirred memories in Felix—memories of Kazdel's civil war.
That war still hadn't ended. Ever since his visit to Kazdel years ago to meet with Kal'tsit, he'd kept a close eye on the situation through the forums.
Back then, a player-built city had been hit by a Catastrophe. Ulšulah led most of the players in retreat, taking construction materials to start fresh elsewhere. A smaller group stayed behind—the facilities there were still in good shape, and aside from the nearby contamination source, it wasn't unlivable.
There'd also been a wave of new Sarkaz players joining. In the mid-to-late 1.0 era, the game had been in a relatively stable phase, and many picked Sarkaz purely for the race's aesthetic appeal. Upon logging in, they split into three groups—those siding with Theresis, those with Theresa, and those joining the player army. The first two camps rarely held onto newcomers for long; sticking together as players simply made more sense for both gameplay and survival. And Ulšulah? She handed out more quests, bigger rewards, and—being a beautiful girl—had no trouble winning over the new blood.
He wondered how Babel was doing these days.
Felix kept his expression neutral as he studied the live feed. Player reports suggested Babel—Theresa's faction—earned plenty of respect but lacked the raw strength to match Theresis's army. In battle after battle, they had yet to score a decisive win.
Why? He had no answer. He wasn't clairvoyant, and in his previous life he'd barely known Rhodes Island's predecessor, Babel, at all. Knowing this much was already more than he'd expected.
"Ah!" Spuria's sudden gasp snapped him out of his thoughts. Patia covered her mouth. Plume frowned slightly. Federico's face stayed blank.
On the screen, two of the mercenaries stumbled and collapsed. Before hitting the ground, they'd managed to hurl their supplies toward their companions, who caught them and stepped back, staring for a long moment at the fallen.
"…Is that—"
"Oripathy flare-up," Felix said quietly. "Look—Originium crystals are already forming on their faces."
He sighed inwardly. No matter how many times he saw life snuffed out before his eyes, there was always a twinge of heaviness. He had no mercy for enemies in combat, but for the sick—for those suffering from Oripathy—there was always a spark of pity.
"When an Infected dies, their body turns to Originium fragments. We can't get close," Federico reminded.
Felix nodded. "We'll wait until they're gone to plan our move. The food—apparently custom ingredients from Artificial Coast's most famous restaurant, one even Mr. Ers and His Holiness frequent—is useless now. But the metals, they didn't take. That's good news. At least we won't have to trade fire with these Sarkaz over it."
As they spoke, the two fallen mercenaries' vitals faded completely. Their bodies darkened, then crumbled into crystalline dust. With a faint crackle, their remains broke apart, drifting upward into the sky.
It was the squad's first time seeing an Infected die right before their eyes.
Aside from Felix, the others looked stunned—frozen in place. They'd read about Infected in books and reports, studied Oripathy testing procedures, but witnessing one fade away in person was something entirely different.
Felix had been through it before, back when he was with the Yeti Squad. That time, they'd buried the body under snow. But here, on the sun-scorched sands, there was no place for a Sarkaz Infected to rest.
After a brief moment of mourning, the remaining three Sarkaz turned and left. Felix brought the drone online and began moving the supplies.
The prototype drone could lift cargo five times its own weight—hauling metal was effortless, and there was no need for the squad to do any heavy lifting. With a few commands from Felix's terminal, several drones rose from the vehicle's trunk and flew toward the Truck wreck.
Drones might be immune to infection, but after working in a heavily contaminated Originium-dust zone, they still needed a thorough cleaning afterward.
The team exchanged glances, realizing the captain was doing all the work himself. Plume and Patia, halfway through putting on their protective suits and masks, froze mid-motion when they saw the prototype drones rising into the air. If the captain was handling everything, what were they even here for?
The first drone returned, carrying cargo with the hook mounted beneath it. That attachment could also be swapped for other modules—gun modules, arts modules, or, if you wanted to be blunt about it, bomb modules.
"I'll check it."
Fully suited up, Patia stepped forward and carefully removed the cloth-wrapped metal from the drone's hook. The material, though exposed to Originium dust, wasn't ruined—but it would need proper cleaning. She sealed it in an isolated metal case; best to do a final decontamination once they were back in Laterano.
Was that really all there was to the mission?
Felix wasn't convinced. It felt like Mostima had handed them something a little too easy.
Plume seemed to catch his doubt. "Without your drones, this would've been a high-risk contamination mission. Depending on how it went, we might have had to request reinforcements from the Notarial Hall."
Spuria shrugged. "I've got drones too, but they can't haul anything this heavy."
"This time, we've got it easy thanks to you, Captain," Patia added, taking over control of one of the drones. She and Spuria experimented with the prototype together—Spuria clearly the more fascinated of the two.
Federico, however, kept his eyes fixed on the distance through his binoculars.
"See something?" Felix asked.
"Not yet," Federico replied, "but there's always the chance those Sarkaz mercs come back."
Even as he spoke, Felix noticed movement in the drone's feed—dozens of figures in ragged mercenary garb emerging from behind a distant ridge. All Sarkaz.
"They after the metal?" Patia had spotted them too.
"A few of them wouldn't matter. But a settlement…" Felix exhaled slowly. "A settlement has craftsmen, smiths—people who can smelt metal into weapons and armor. We underestimated their numbers. Those first five were scouts."
"What now?"
Every gaze turned to Felix. He gave a quiet hum. He was the captain now, and whatever decision he made could decide the squad's future.
"Let's start with a show of force. We're in a fairly hidden position—let the prototype drones handle it."
Felix took back control. Every drone working near the truck instantly received the new command. Their hook modules retracted, replaced by sniper modules.
The optimal choice here would've been caster modules, but those demanded much higher skill from the operator. Felix wasn't a caster, and he hadn't installed the caster modules he'd designed on paper.
Dozens of drones formed a line, slowly advancing toward the cluster of Sarkaz mercenaries—impossible to miss against the clear blue sky.
The mercenaries froze. They didn't know what kind of machines these were, but they knew the shape of the guns slung beneath them.
"What are they saying?" Spuria leaned close to Felix. The feed showed the mercenaries speaking to each other, but there was no audio.
"Probably wondering what these things are," Felix muttered, patting his forehead. "Should've mounted a comms module. Easiest thing now is just to fire a warning shot…"
One drone aimed at the ground near a Sarkaz's feet. The gun flared, and a Arts round buried itself into the dirt.
The shot made them jump. The young one closest to the blast collapsed in shock, too rattled to speak.
An older mercenary stepped in, holding back his angry companion. He shouted something up at the drones, then turned and walked away.
The others followed—some spitting at the ground, others throwing rude gestures at the machines. Within minutes, they'd vanished behind the ridge.
"No clue what they were saying…" Spuria grumbled.
"They said, 'We'll leave. Don't shoot,'" Federico replied.
"How do you know?" Patia asked, puzzled.
"I read lips," he said plainly.
"…Impressive."
No one had expected Federico to have that skill. Felix wasn't surprised—he'd be more shocked the day Federico couldn't do something.
Once the mercenaries were gone, the team resumed operating the drones, ferrying the metal back.
But Felix's attention was elsewhere. The sight of Sarkaz at the border wasn't unusual—what caught his eye was the familiar emblem on the leader's arm.
The Babel insignia.
It wasn't worth reporting. Both sides of the Sarkaz civil war had fighters roaming the border, and Laterano's government hadn't shown any intent to drive them out. As far as they were concerned, the war's outcome didn't matter.
Felix already knew how the story ended. Even if the players' path in this life differed from the last, the result would probably be the same.
The mission wrapped up in a day and a half. In his report, Felix detailed their route and actions, omitting only the identity of the attacking mercenaries' organization—Rhodes Island or Babel. Everything else was submitted as it happened.
Ers wasn't surprised by the outcome. He was, however, satisfied with the squad's performance—especially Felix's individual capability.
For some teams, like Andoain's, this mission would have been a serious challenge. For Felix and Spuria, with their drone tech, it was barely an obstacle. That was the reality—every squad's abilities defined the scope of the missions they could take on.
Ers had high hopes for Felix's squad—they possessed strengths no other team could match.
That evening, after filing his mission report, Felix returned home. With the job finished early, everyone had gone their separate ways to rest. He told the team their next operation would likely be after the New Year so they could enjoy the holiday. The meeting ended just as quickly as it began.
His reasoning wasn't complicated—Mostima's coming-of-age ceremony was approaching, and there was no way he planned to miss it. His own ceremony would be held alongside hers; the exact date escaped him, but combining them was allowed.
Pushing open his front door, Felix was greeted by a sweet scent—something he'd never smelled in Laterano. It was the aroma of food.
In Columbia, Senomi and Mandragora had done the cooking. Back in the dorms, all he'd ever caught was the metallic tang of tools and machinery. In Laterano… the only scent that came to mind was Mostima's fragrance.
"Welcome back. I heard from Lemuen that you all returned," Mostima called from the kitchen, apparently busy with some kind of dessert. "First mission—good work."
"Takeout?" Felix glanced at the bag on the table.
"Mm. I can't make proper meals," she admitted, "but sweets are another story."
She crossed the room in a few quick steps, holding out a small pastry. "Here. Try it—it should taste pretty good."
"…Cream puff?"
"Mm. I made a few other kinds too."