“Ahem, everyone, eyes over here. I’ve got something to say.”

Mr. Han’s face filled the camera, grinning as he waved to the viewers. Bundled up in a thick down jacket and overcoat, he looked like a dumpling.

His chosen race was Elafia—already naturally resistant to cold—yet he was still dressed in layers, a clear sign of just how brutal the weather in Ursus had become.

“Damn, cold!”

“Wait, isn’t Mr. Han supposed to be shy, brooding, and bad at small talk? How come he’s this lively in a video?”

“Pfft, high school classmate here—Mr. Han, didn’t you skip cleaning duty yesterday?”

Felix chuckled at the scrolling comments. The “attacks” were still far too soft. Unlike Magic ZX’s videos, Mr. Han’s content was mostly comedic skits and voiceovers, often in the form of Arknights-themed vlogs. His most popular series was Ursus Survival Diary, filmed entirely by himself. One memorable episode featured him running into an Ursus auntie after weeks of seeing no NPCs at all—his eyes practically lit up—which had become an inside joke among players ever since.

“Winter’s the hardest season to survive. Ursus is just too damn harsh. All I want is to spend New Year somewhere with mountains and rivers. Yan Country sounds nice. Or maybe Iberia, feel that salty ocean breeze.”

As he spoke, Mr. Han walked viewers through the camp, greeting familiar faces who’d appeared in his past videos.

“Not to brag, but ever since I made that trade with Mr. Pioneer, our settlement’s been thriving. Over the last few months, hundreds of fellow fifty-coin brothers have trickled in, all fleeing north after running out of supplies or getting squeezed by the Ursus Patrol.”

“Seriously, Mr. Pioneer is a good man. No, you don’t get it—ever since becoming Infected, no NPC has looked at us with anything close to respect. That feeling of being treated like a person? It’s nonexistent! Well… except with Mr. Pioneer. Honestly, when I first read about other players’ experiences with him on the forums, I didn’t believe it—he’s a Sankta, after all, right?”

“The supplies he traded us are enough to last half a year.”

Mr. Han clicked his tongue. “If Arknights were a gacha game, I swear I’d whale until I cleared the entire banner just to pull Mr. Pioneer!”

The comment feed instantly exploded with laughter.

“Clip this. If he doesn’t do it, we demand a streak through the streets.”

“Here we go, the flag’s been planted.”

“Wait, if Arknights became a mobile game, what genre would it even be? No way it’d be open-world, right? Otherwise it’s just another MMO.”

The chat’s tangent made Mr. Han cough a few times to reel things back. “Anyway, right now there are only three player settlements in northern Ursus. We’re planning an offline meetup to discuss merging. Even if we don’t, we should form an alliance—look out for each other. NPCs already treat us worse than animals, and the Ursus Patrol is breathing down our necks. The last thing we need is infighting.”

“Unity!”

A player leaned into frame, shouting something in Korean, which immediately earned heckles.

“Private Second Class.”

“Private Second Class Mr. Han—loyalty!”

“Right, right, enough of that. The point is, we’re still weak. No power. All we can do is stick together.” Mr. Han clasped his hands, then let them fall. “I don’t know what the level cap will be in 2.0, but one day, we players will sound the horn for a counterattack—and burn Ursus to ash!”

“Yeah! That’s the spirit!”

“666—when the time comes, I’m sponsoring a missile with my oshi’s name painted on it.”

“Already planning a war with NPCs? Bold, Mr. Han. Bold.”

Felix couldn’t help but smile. The players really would sound that counterattack one day—eventually crossing paths with Talulah and the Reunion Movement, even joining their ranks, before finally clashing with Rhodes Island head-on.

In his past life, Felix had fought in that war. He hadn’t known much about Talulah back then, not until reading summaries from community veterans. Only then did he learn how she’d fallen into darkness, been possessed, and—at the climax—found herself again, like a shounen manga scene where the hero drags a friend back from the brink.

Hmm… in his previous life, the players never managed to unite. Without the Pioneer, those in northern Ursus fought separately, clashing over scarce resources. That eventually spiraled into war—the second large-scale player-vs-player conflict after the Kazdel Civil War.

This time, Felix was here. He’d provided them with supplies and, more importantly, taught them a way to earn their keep—bartering with non-hostile Ursus NPC settlements to build trade networks.

Sure, players had tried that before, but they hadn’t known the rules or the true value of goods in the snowfields. The results had been poor; most locals had dismissed these Infected as backwater bumpkins. With Felix’s guidance, they’d begun forming stable ties with several Infected settlements.

All Felix had done was hand them a price list—the actual decisions were left to the players. In moments like this, he avoided acting as their frontman. His identity and status made him unsuitable for negotiation—he wasn’t an Infected, and he was a Sankta.

But his quiet, behind-the-scenes role only added to his mystique. To the players, it was like he had “finished his work, shaken the dust from his sleeves, and hidden away his name.” After he left, the camp was filled with praise for him.

That was the best way to leave an impression—never stealing the players’ spotlight. In an MMORPG, giving players a sense of participation meant letting them live through the moments themselves. An NPC who constantly dragged players forward would quickly become tiresome, especially in an online game. Once boredom set in, people would quit—and if that happened here, it wouldn’t just be one or two leaving.

A certain amount of freedom was essential. Players needed personal involvement; only then would they grow truly invested in the game world.

Felix had learned how to manage that distance from his “green-tea little sister” in his past life—always close enough to care, but never so close as to smother. Comforting them when they were hurt—like when he’d delivered supplies to Infected players—and smiling silently when they were happy—like when Mr. Han and the others completed a successful trade.

This approach worked on players every time. His goal was to become Terra’s very own charmer.

After wrapping up his latest vlog, Mr. Han signed off. It was only as Felix was leaving that he noticed Mr. Han had changed his profile background. The avatar was still the same boy shouting, “My king’s power—ahhh!” But the background image was new: a campfire photo of Mr. Han and the Pioneer sitting side by side, surrounded by others, all laughing at some shared joke. Mr. Han had captured the moment and made it his banner.

It was the kind of picture that warmed you just by looking at it.

Smiling, Felix closed the video site. There were still a few months left in Terra time before 2.0 launched, and his preparations were almost complete. The Emperor had already gone to scout in Lungmen. Felix’s influence there wasn’t small—once he’d made the right introductions, Tomorrow’s Development would have a firm foothold.

He didn’t have too many contacts in Lungmen. With Snowsant now lured away, that left just Nine at the Lungmen Guard Department. He wondered how she’d been doing lately—had she risen to become leader of the Special Operations Squad?

As for Penguin Logistics… well, this time, it probably wouldn’t exist. But other groups, like the Lee’s Detective Agency, were still around. He could always drop by and chat.

And as for Penguin Logistics’ staff—Lemuel aka Exusiai—recruiting would be easy. Texas was someone he’d once planned to “raise” in his own way. After all, who could resist a cool, black-stockinged, sneaker-wearing, aloof Lupo girl? But when the players first arrived, they were far more important to him than Texas, no matter how charming she was.

When exactly had Cellinia been exiled from Siracusa after her family was wiped out? Felix couldn’t quite recall. Better to have the Emperor keep an eye out.

If it was Sora, all Felix needed to do was tell the Emperor, and he’d go find her at Siren Records.

As for Croissant… Felix honestly had no idea where to track down that “buttery horn.” He knew nothing about her backstory. Finding her in Lungmen would just have to come down to luck.

“You’re awake?”

“Mmm…”

It wasn’t Federico. He seemed to keep an almost mechanical sleep schedule—once he decided on a rest time, nothing woke him until it was over.

The first to wake was Patia, sitting in the back row. She stirred at the vibration of the vehicle, then spotted Felix still driving without a trace of fatigue. Leaning forward, she spoke softly.

“Are we almost there?”

“Yeah, about an hour out,” Felix replied, glancing at her in the rearview mirror as she rubbed her eyes. She was still holding the firearm she’d gripped tightly even in her sleep, now carefully wiping it down. “You can still grab a bit more rest.”

“Talking with you is better than sleeping.”

Patia’s golden eyes met his. “Let us handle the work when we get there, Captain. We’re a team—you shouldn’t shoulder everything alone.”

“Alright,” Felix said with a nod, “but make sure you wear full protective gear.”

“Got it~”

Her weapon was crafted by the same gunsmith who’d made Fiammetta’s, a rare and powerful gun even by Laterano standards. Earning a permit to wield it had nothing to do with Fiammetta—Patia’s own mastery of firearms had won her that qualification.

Federico was the second to wake, right on schedule—exactly two hours after falling asleep, just as he’d said. He didn’t say a word, simply began suiting up in his gear.

Plume and Spuria followed suit.

In the far distance, beyond the mountain, they saw it: a massive Originium pillar rising from the earth.

“This is already outside Laterano territory—inside Kazdel,” Federico reported with his usual precision. “The coordinates we were given were wrong.”

“Think we’ll run into Sarkaz?”

“No… even Sarkaz wouldn’t approach an Originium pillar. Infected or not, no sane person would get that close and worsen their infection.”

The squad traded quick opinions. Felix pulled the truck over. They were still far away, but this was the place to get ready.

The prototype drone rose steadily under Felix’s control. Spuria leaned over his shoulder, eyes gleaming, watching the display on the back of his glove with anticipation. Plume and Patia also stepped closer, curious to see how he operated it. Even Federico, while keeping watch, stole glances at Felix’s hands.

“…Originium dust contamination’s pretty bad,” Felix murmured, reading the data feed. “Given the Catastrophe happened in the past couple of days, that level’s normal.”

Not far from the pillar, he spotted a truck overturned on its side. At this range, a full-gear cargo retrieval wasn’t impossible—but it was risky. With the Catastrophe so recent, contamination would be at its peak.

Felix narrowed his eyes as the prototype drone climbed higher into the sky.

“Captain, what is it?” Federico noticed the shift in Felix’s gaze and asked.

“…Huh. Looks like Spuria was right,” Felix clicked his tongue, pointing at the live feed on the screen. A few small black dots moved slowly across the ground.

“Are those… Sarkaz?” Spuria asked uncertainly.

Felix gave a short hum. “Most likely. Saw the overturned truck and came to scavenge. There’s not much worth taking in Kazdel anymore—the civil war’s been dragging on for years. Ordinary mercenaries are either dead or living under false names. Hard to say which camp these ones fall into.”

Federico silently drew his firearm—not his ceremonial guard gun, but a standard-issue weapon from the Notarial Hall. The rest of the squad’s expressions also shifted subtly. Having grown up and trained in Laterano, they all understood exactly what Sarkaz meant.

They were enemies. But in this cold-war era, the approach was caution and watchfulness, not the bloody kill-on-sight of years—or decades—past.

A large reason for that was the Sarkaz being too busy fighting their own civil war to focus on anyone else.

“What’s your call, Captain?” Spuria asked.

Felix pressed his lips together. “Besides some food, that truck was carrying metals for firearm manufacturing.”

“The food will be contaminated in this environment, but the metals—we have to secure those.” His tone was calm but firm. “For maximum safety, we move only after they make their move. The Sarkaz want provisions, not rare metals. To them, those are worthless.”

Now that he was the squad’s captain, the safety of his team naturally came before anything else.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep