In this age of rapid change, where commerce defines both value and life itself across the land of Kazimierz, the Nearl family chose one word to guide its stance: "Seclusion."
They avoided entanglements with the Chamber of Commerce, refrained from criticizing the flaws of its rules, and carried themselves like the hermit clans hidden deep in mountains—aloof, detached, and unbothered. If no one offends me, I will not offend them.
In this tacit arrangement, the Chamber of Commerce, the Nearls, and other ancient knightly houses with long histories maintained an unspoken understanding: You don't strike at me, and I won't turn my blade on you.
Outwardly harmonious as this seemed, in truth, every knight of noble lineage harbored their own thoughts. Some felt shame at seeing knights reduced to mere commodities of sport. Some worried over Kazimierz's uncertain future. Many more wrestled with unease, or even anger, over their family's declining fortunes.
Felix understood their turmoil. Standing on the side of the Chamber of Commerce, he also understood their resistance. From a player's perspective, nothing the Commerce did seemed wrong—it was simply part of the system. But now, as an NPC himself, Felix could no longer ignore the Commerce's heavy-handed dominance. His own sense of unease was natural.
Margaret Nearl's entry into the tournament shattered this fragile balance. As a scion of a traditional knightly house, her participation broke the unspoken pact. Win or lose, she had dragged herself irrevocably into the Commerce's whirlpool.
---
Kirill leaned on his cane, leading Felix down a long corridor lined with portraits of Nearl knights through the ages. Felix lifted his head, glancing at each in turn.
Every Nearl bore the same soft, sunlit gold hair—hair that carried warmth rather than sharpness.
Swordmaster's hair, by contrast, gleamed like a blade, its brilliance edged with aggression—utterly unlike the Nearl gold.
The two men spoke little about future plans. Their earlier brief exchange had been enough. To Kirill, the Sankta merchant behind him—the one who had taken the Black Knight four years ago—was an oddity. He admired the young man's resourcefulness, yet worried as well.
Margaret's future would not remain in Kazimierz. If he entrusted her to this young man's care, could Felix shoulder that responsibility?
"Begin. Let me see what you've practiced."
Kirill's tone was calm as he led Felix to the family's training hall. The walls here were lined with dulled steel weapons, blunted for practice. Sitting back in his wooden chair, the elder cleared his throat.
Felix's true purpose was not flashy movements—it was technique, mastery, timing. By raising his proficiency with weapons, he could later wield them more effectively. If he could win Kirill's guidance—perhaps even his tutelage—all the better.
The problem was, Felix didn't have much to show. His training with Swordmaster focused on body control and agility, not martial forms. What he did know were evasions, defenses, and escape tactics—hardly the stuff of knightly duels.
"A pity," Kirill said, coughing softly. "At your age, it's late to start learning the Knight path. And with a Sankta body—frail, unsuited to arms—are you sure you wish to persist?"
"I have reasons I can't abandon," Felix answered firmly.
"…Is that so."
"Then… may I become your disciple?"
"?"
Kirill Nearl's lips twitched. He eyed the thick-skinned young man and thought, As expected of a merchant—shamelessness truly is their greatest talent. He worried whether Margaret might suffer losses under this man's care… then remembered the Black Knight affair. No, this one stood firmly on their side.
"My health prevents me from sparring. At most, I can point out your mistakes, guide you along the path of knighthood and martial discipline. Under such conditions, do you still wish to call me your master?"
"Yes."
Felix nearly burst with joy. His high Charisma, his promises for Margaret's future, and the credit from the Black Knight incident had clearly tipped the scales. Kirill hadn't hesitated long before agreeing—an unexpected windfall.
Originally, Felix had planned to seek advice from Margaret's uncle. Instead, he had skipped straight past the uncle and won over the elder Nearl himself. Pure luck… but luck he was happy to seize.
---
The middle-aged man dragged his tired body home. He had spent over an hour cleaning up a colleague's mess and working overtime, which made him miss the bus he usually took home. On the way back, he stopped at the nearest newsstand intending to buy the Knight's Evening Post, but it was already sold out. Reluctantly, he picked up a copy of the Wine Gazette instead… a paper filled mostly with knightly gossip and trivial news. He skimmed through it, but didn't find a single article about his niece, Margaret.
"..."
Mood Down >Awful
No coverage meant no buzz. Clearly, the Chamber of Commerce wanted to handle things quietly, without letting Margaret Nearl shine too brightly in the arena of competitive knighthood. He could understand why, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He also couldn't help but worry for Margaret's safety. The Black Knight incident four years ago was still remembered in certain circles, though everyone maintained a silent, collective understanding to never bring it up.
Her Round of Sixteen was about to begin. As her uncle, he had opposed her entry into the tournament from the very start. If things continued this way, it was only a matter of time before the Chamber of Commerce grew wary and began plotting in the shadows.
"Sigh…"
With a weary breath, he stepped inside his home, still holding the Wine Gazette. From a distance, however, he caught the sounds of shouting and weapons clashing, coming from the family's training grounds.
Maria?
He hesitated for a moment. Normally, he would've settled down to read the paper after work, but curiosity nudged him toward the arena's spectator balcony.
The shouts that echoed from within the yard felt unfamiliar—not Kirill's voice, nor Maria's.
Then he spotted it: a young Sankta on the training floor, practicing precise strikes with a knight's lance-sword against training dummies.
"…"
The uncle was stunned.
Who was this?
A Sankta, not firing off Guns or spells, but earnestly practicing knightly weapon forms inside the Nearl family estate? That wasn't even the strangest part—Kirill, the old warhorse himself, was standing nearby, personally instructing him.
What in Terra… who was this Sankta?
Suddenly, the gossip in the Wine Gazette seemed dull in comparison. He sat at the upstairs window, listening to the shouts below, all the while feeling a deep sense of strangeness.
Just what kind of person is this Sankta?
Later, when the odd young man finally left, the uncle descended into the training grounds. Kirill was already leaning on his cane, ready to leave.
"…Who was that?"
"A rather interesting young man. Cough…" Kirill hacked violently, his body wracked by the fit. After catching his breath, he glanced at Młynar nearby. "Where's Margaret?"
"She's training with Zofia. Said she'll return after the preliminaries."
Młynar's tone was calm, almost detached. "The Chamber of Commerce extended her an olive branch, but she refused."
"As adults, it's our duty to prepare her a path forward."
"So… that Sankta. He's one of those paths?"
"Only a promising piece of material," Kirill admitted. "Though it's a shame he's too old. If he were ten years younger, I could mold him into a body rivaling even the Kurantas in strength."
His eyes followed the direction Felix had departed. "He'll be back tomorrow."
Kirill left the answer hanging, neither confirming nor denying. Młynar escorted the old knight back to his quarters, lost in thought. This Sankta would be back again—there was no doubt. If Młynar had the chance, perhaps he should approach the young man himself.
If work doesn't bury him first…
With the current market booming, and the Knight Tournament drawing endless attention, overtime was practically guaranteed.
The thought alone made the former free knight tighten his jaw in bitter silence.
Office work—if it doesn't drive you mad, you're not doing it right.
Kirill's words weren't wrong. The Sankta body came with plenty of limitations, and mastering the use of a Lance-sword wasn't something you picked up in a day or two… until Felix noticed a new entry appear in his skill bar:
[Beginner Lance-sword Mastery Lv.1 (57/250)]
He grinned.
He could directly spend experience points to level it up — half practice, half shortcut.
NPCs might need years of combat and experience to slowly refine their martial skills, but players didn't. In some ways, players really did feel like they were cheating.
As for Originium Arts, those weren't categorized as skills at all. They were innate traits, impossible to upgrade with experience. Their strength scaled only with intelligence.
He hadn't run into Margaret, and Zofia's absence left him a little disappointed too. But what Felix regretted most was not seeing their uncle. At this hour… don't tell him the man was still working overtime?
Felix figured he had guessed right.
Back at the hotel, he found Senomi chatting in hushed tones with Loughshinny and Muelsyse. The three of them shared dinner before retreating to rest.
The players, on the other hand, went wild.
Nighttime was when things truly came alive. In Lungmen, though, everyone stuck strictly to Felix's orders. After all, Lungmen wasn't just his main city, it was theirs as well. Plenty of players were already planning to settle here long-term, so nobody dared risk lowering Lungmen's favorability.
But Kazimierz was a different story. Here, players indulged in the kind of intoxication and decadence they couldn't at home. A handful of unruly pro players slipped away to a red-light bar, tossing Lungmen banknotes at slave girls swaying their bodies on stage — the same way you'd toss cash in "GTA."
Others wandered into the black market. After loitering too long in the lower districts, they were mistaken for rival thugs trying to muscle in on turf. A gang of punks picked a fight, only to get thoroughly beaten and forced to spill the black market's location.
Inside, the pros split up to compare gear prices — and quickly realized everything was grossly overpriced. Worse, the stats weren't even as good as the equipment they already had from Tomorrow's Development.
"This is a scam," one player muttered.
That single complaint earned him an NPC's glare.
"You got a problem with me?"
"Yeah, what if I do?"
Street brawls were practically routine in the black market, as common as eating sandwich. A few dozen pros clashed with one of the local gangs. But the pros fought in trained formations, and not only held their ground — they pushed back hard.
The gang eventually realized they hadn't bitten into just one tough nut, but a whole sack of them. Outnumbered and outclassed, they begrudgingly called it a draw.
The black market had its own rules, after all. You could fight, but not so far that it killed business.
The pros strutted out proudly, still focused on their real objective. After asking around, they tracked down the slave district. One by one, they inspected the boys and girls whose arms were marked with barcode tattoos.
"You can't be serious," muttered Xi Yiye, dragged along for the trip. She scratched her head. "Even if you bought one, do you actually have time to look after them?"
Blunt, but not wrong. Ninety-nine percent of a pro player's game time went into training and missions. Where was the room for romance? Online dating was one thing, but with an NPC? What was the point — it's not like they could Crossing Field over into the real world.
"We're just looking, just looking, haha…"
They laughed it off. Still, among them were plenty of dreamers. For some, fantasy was hard to let go of.
"Just because we can't find girlfriends in real life due to work, does that mean everyone else has one? For us singles, shouldn't we at least be able to experience the feeling of being loved here in the game?"
Xueyu clenched his fist and spoke with fiery conviction.
Everyone else just stared.
All that, just to justify buying a slave.
The pro players watching him could only shake their heads as Xueyu continued his impassioned speech:
"Saving a slave means saving a life! Sure, this is just a game, but emotions—those are real!"
"…And besides, even if you buy a slave, you can't really do anything with them."
At some point, Yanfei had arrived outside the slave market with a group of female players. Her words carried a cool, cutting tone. The women around her exchanged complicated looks—some meaningful, some just unimpressed, giving off that typical dumb guy vibe.
"Yeah, true. If you get too close to an NPC, the system will just kick you offline anyway."
Xi Yiye quickly tried to lighten the mood with a laugh.
But Yanfei only looked even more forlorn, whispering under her breath, "My Felix…"
The female players all froze, black lines practically popping over their heads. Wait—you too? …Actually… never mind.
"So, are we buying or not?"
Xueyu crossed his arms and asked again.
"I don't mind either way."
"Who asked you?"
"…If we do buy one, we can treat them as a housekeeper or staff."
Xi Yiye cleared her throat and added, "A guild housekeeper isn't a bad idea. After all, we've got gear and supplies piling up, and someone needs to sort them. Buying a slave could save us manpower. Only thing is, we'll need to report the expense to the coach."
"I'll log off and do it now!"
"Great!"
Xueyu rushed forward and pulled Xi Yiye into a heartfelt embrace. "Man, thank you."
"Hey!—back off!."