This was the first time Felix had encountered a player-led settlement—built by players, for players, and consisting only of players. In his previous life, he’d heard of such places in the early days of Ursus, but he was a nobody back then. He hadn’t been infected, hadn’t spawned in Ursus, and had no reason to pay attention to what went on in the Ursus forums.

But now, seeing it firsthand, he understood.

A settlement like this had real power. With the right leadership, player-run communities could unify, sharpen their edge, and become dominant forces in late-game PvP. By version 3.0, these groups would clash for control of newly unlocked zones—fighting wars involving tens of thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands, of players.

Felix stepped out of the truck and surveyed the crowd.

Every single one of them was infected. No NPCs. No civilians. No “normal” faces. Just the outcasts of Terra—driven from towns and camps, hunted by guards, exiled into the frost. Their equipment was battered and outdated—rusty mountain axes, chipped blades, the kind of junk most players would ditch in their first week.

But there was something else here.

They stood together.

Straight-backed. Silent. Focused.

Their eyes burned with the same fire.

They were the most unified group of players Felix had ever seen.

He didn’t give a speech. He didn’t talk about justice. He didn’t claim to be here to help. He just leaned against the side of his truck, opened his shop, and let the silence speak for itself.

No flair. No theatrics. Just quiet respect.

To these players—treated like trash, ignored by merchants, excluded from quests—his presence alone meant everything.

He offered them the dignity no one else would.

And then, he gave them a task.

[You have triggered the E-level mission: “Intelligence Exchange.” Accept / Decline?]

Mission Details: A pioneer from Laterano has arrived. His motives are unclear, but he brings supplies. And you understand: nothing comes for free. If you want to receive, you must give. Share what you know. It may help both him—and you.

Objective: Provide any information to the Pioneer (0/1)

Rewards:

+500 chervonets

+1000 EXP

The infected players stared at the floating quest panel, stunned.

Some of them hadn’t seen a quest prompt in weeks. Months, even.

Their eyes lit up. Their mouths trembled.

A few clenched their fists to stop themselves from crying.

God… it had been so long since anyone gave a damn about them.

And now, here he was.

The Pioneer.

The real deal.

The one who treated them like they still mattered.

What’s more, in this frozen wasteland, money had become meaningless.

Most transactions among infected players relied on bartering—rotten bread for broken blades, rusted axes for a half-can of soup. chervonets, the official Ursus currency, was all but useless here, except for the handful earned from tutorial missions at the start.

Soon, an infected player stepped forward. He hesitated for a moment, then opened Felix’s store menu. Most of his remaining funds were gone in an instant—spent on a windproof coat.

The moment he equipped it, the cold debuff vanished from his interface.

He exhaled deeply, as if his entire body had just been released from a slow, invisible chokehold.

That first step was all it took.

Others quickly followed. Infected players came forward, one after another, purchasing coats, gloves, boots, even basic food rations. Their hands trembled not from cold—but from disbelief.

And standing nearby, Carnelian quietly assisted, distributing supplies as the transactions poured in. Her gaze never left the players’ faces—the mix of exhaustion, relief, and something else:

Hope.

“…Thank you for coming, Mr. Pioneer.”

The voice came from a player standing a little apart from the others—calm, measured, with a trace of quiet authority.

He wasn’t dressed any better than the rest, but Felix could immediately tell he was one of the leaders here. From what he’d learned, this settlement had adopted a simple round-table system: five elected representatives handled all major decisions.

It wasn’t perfect, but it worked—and more importantly, it gave everyone a voice.

This player’s in-game name was Mr. Han, though his friends and followers called him Brother Han. Back on the forums, he was a mid-tier content creator with a modest fanbase. He played as an Elafia—a race known for their resilience to cold and their natural proficiency with Originium Arts.

Here in the frozen reaches of Ursus, that made him invaluable.

Among the five council members, Han was the most popular—and, by unspoken agreement, the pillar of the group.

“No need to thank me,” Felix replied evenly. “I’m just doing what little I can.”

Han chuckled, brushing snow from his sleeves. “Well, it means something to us. People talk a lot about ideals, but you’re the first to actually show up.”

Felix didn’t reply to that. He simply looked him in the eye, steady and quiet.

Han reached into his armor and pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

“Here,” he said, offering the weathered paper. “A map. It’s rough, but it covers the area north of here. Further up, there are a few abandoned villages—used to have adventurers in them, but they’re empty now. And east of here is noble territory, but… well, we don’t know what kind of nobles live there.”

Felix accepted the map, nodded, and placed a hand firmly on Han’s shoulder.

“Thank you. Not just for the map—but for everything you’re doing here.”

Han scratched his head and gave a sheepish grin. “Just doing what I can. I hope it helps.”

Night fell quickly in northern Ursus.

The skies were clear, at least—no snow, for once—and the stars blinked gently overhead.

Felix helped the players set up a few extra tents, then took his place by the central fire, gloves off, hands extended toward the warmth.

He didn’t speak much.

He didn’t need to.

The fire crackled, and in its glow, surrounded by exiles and survivors, the Pioneer sat quietly—burning brighter than any hero’s speech.

The players in this camp lived like they were stuck inside a hardcore survival sim—something between Don’t Starve and Project Zomboid. They’d carved out a life here, each with a role: cooking, gathering, building, guarding.

Sure, the game let them use real-world knowledge to craft makeshift tools—stone axes, sharpened sticks, bone knives—but without proper secondary production classes, the gear had no bonuses and broke fast.

That changed the moment Felix arrived.

With him came a full slate of production-related professions: blacksmith, craftsman, carpenter, lumberjack. Finally, players could craft gear that gave stat bonuses and didn’t fall apart after two swings.

Tonight, they celebrated.

It didn’t matter that this was just a game. For many, documenting these small wins and sharing them on the forums was as important as playing itself. But for the infected players of Ursus, life had been a string of miserable screenshots—until now.

They lit torches, raised a battered iron cauldron, poured in meat and vegetables, and let it all simmer into a rich broth.

Felix and Carnelian were seated at the center of the gathering, next to Mr. Han and the other four council members. Around the fire, they spoke of their harsh life in the north—banished from towns, hunted by patrols, scraping by with rotten food and rusted blades. Felix mostly listened. He didn’t interrupt. Just nodded, sighed when they did, and let them talk.

“Mr. Pioneer…” Han spoke up, his tone soft. “I don’t get it. Why does Ursus hate the infected so much?”

There was no venom in his voice, no bitterness. Just confusion—an honest question from a rational player trying to understand a twisted world.

He had every right to be angry. The day he became infected, he was dragged from the town gates and tossed into the snow by black-clad guards like garbage. It had been humiliating.

But Han wasn’t here for revenge. He just wanted to know why.

Felix gave a tired smile. “I wish I had a good answer. But I’m not from Ursus. All I can offer is what I’ve seen.”

He paused, then said slowly, “Oripathy is feared for three things. First, it can’t be cured. Second, it’s contagious. And third… it shortens your life.”

He looked at them, his voice quiet but firm.

“Those three facts are enough to make anyone afraid. Even me.”

The fire cracked. No one interrupted.

“I’m not a saint, adventurers. I get scared too. But after hearing so many cries, so many screams from those cast aside—I just couldn’t turn my back anymore.”

Han leaned in. “Can you tell us how it spreads?”

Felix nodded. The five players immediately fell silent, eyes fixed on him.

“Infection can happen in several ways,” Felix said, holding up his fingers. “If you stay too long in a highly contaminated area. If you breathe in Originium dust. If you’re wounded by Originium shards. And if you’re born from someone already infected… the disease is inherited.”

He let the words sink in.

“That’s why there are so many infected in Ursus,” he continued. “They built their industry on Originium mining—especially in the tundra. They poured everything into heavy industry and mobile city development. And those mines… they’re soaked in contamination.”

Han’s expression changed. His eyes narrowed slightly in realization. “…You’re saying this all goes back to the mines?”

Felix nodded. “Exactly. Most infected weren’t born cursed—they were worked to death. They were thrown into mines, exposed to deadly dust and ore, and tossed aside the moment they got sick. And once they were infected, their lives no longer belonged to them.”

There was a long silence.

One of the other council players let out a low whistle.

“Ursus built its empire on broken backs,” Han muttered.

“And it’s still breaking more.” Felix’s voice was grim. “Until someone stops it.”

Mr. Han sighed, then shook his head and shifted the conversation.

“Where will you go next, Mr. Pioneer?”

“I’ll head east to restock, then push further north—to the border. I want to provide whatever help I can to the infected there.”

“I understand. I wish you a safe journey.”

The meal ended on a warm note. Felix didn’t put on airs; he mingled with the players like one of them. That humility closed the gap between them and left a strong impression.

Infected players were surprisingly approachable—less cynical, more full of fire and frustration, just like the harsh land of Ursus itself. But at the end of the day, they were still players. This was their second life, an immersive game. That made communication easier.

But NPC infected? Felix could only imagine how deeply their pain and anger ran.

He knew his limits. He wasn’t infected. If he tried to lead a real movement, they’d question his authority. Why should we follow you, outsider?

Felix wasn’t a saint. He had no interest in hearing that kind of talk.

To him, infected players were worth more than infected NPCs—because they could follow his lead. He had no illusions about commanding starving, sick NPCs with no strength or morale. Just look at how long the Reunion Movement took to take Chernobog. Wasting time training a ragtag infected army? He’d rather spend that time blacksmithing.

The next morning, Felix said goodbye to Mr. Han and the others. He climbed into the truck in full view of the gathered players and drove east, disappearing into the snow.

They would meet again.

—

Later that day, Brother Han posted a new video. Usually, his series followed Don’t Starve or Fallout: Wasteland, documenting his infected life in Ursus. But this time, the thumbnail was different.

A man stood tall under the northern sky—the Pioneer, as the players had come to call him.

“What the hell? Isn’t Brother Han in Ursus? How did he meet the Pioneer?”

“You don’t check the forums? The Pioneer went to Ursus a few days ago. He even gave out quests and opened a shop.”

“That’s my husband right there!”

The video mixed footage of daily struggle with a heavy focus on Felix. It captured his firelit conversations, his golden eyes, his calm demeanor. And the players felt it—his presence, his strength.

The angel from the ideal city had descended into the mud to help the lost.

Han’s narration echoed with sincerity.

“The Pioneer didn’t give us supplies for free. He gave us quests—simple tasks, like exploring and hunting. We earned currency and experience to trade in his store.”

“He could’ve handed things out like charity. But he didn’t. He knew people have dignity.”

“He didn’t act out of sympathy. He treated us as equals… because sympathy comes from someone who sees themselves as above you. And the Pioneer never looked down on us. He saw us not as infected, but as adventurers—just like anyone else.”

The video’s comments exploded with praise. Players said Han’s words hit home.

Infected or not, no one wanted pity. What they wanted—what Felix gave them—was respect.

—

“…Who are the nobles in the next city?” Felix asked, still gripping the wheel as the snow-covered road stretched ahead.

Carnelian glanced up from the newspaper. “…There’s one particularly famous family. The Ivanovas.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep