“Andoain, stop!”

Lemuen thrust out her hand. The moment she stepped forward, those strange whispers wrapped around her like a shroud. Her body swayed as she clenched her teeth, but she steadied herself and held her ground.

Mostima caught her by the arm, supporting her, then cast a questioning glance toward Felix—only to notice he had already drawn Lumen into his grip without her realizing.

“I can see your heart… Tell me, why is it that you cannot save everyone? Why only a few? Isn’t that unfair?”

“Unfair? Fair? Then why is the law you cling to so weak, powerless against the suffering of Terra’s people? What will you do…?”

“…What will you do?”

Andoain froze mid-step. His eyes—normally clear as mirrors—clouded over with a pale haze. He clenched his jaw and pressed a hand to his head, shaking it as if to drive the voices away.

“—Take hold of me. Claim me.”

“I can give you the answers you seek.”

“I am truth itself.”

Andoain jolted. For a fleeting instant his clarity returned. Then, almost as if compelled, he resumed walking—slow, deliberate steps toward the altar.

“Captain Andoain! As a member of the Notarial Hall, I order you to halt!”

Lemuen raised her sniper rifle and fired a warning shot into the cavern ceiling.

Andoain turned his head slightly. Half his face was lost in shadow, the other half smiling with calm warmth—yet in that moment, it was unsettling.

“Ah… with truth before me, how could I possibly stop walking forward?”

Desire. Longing. Expectation. Ecstasy. From that hunger for truth surged a violent tide, crashing over the Sankta around him. Mostima and Lemuen both paled. Federico, like Felix, reached instinctively for the sidearm at his hip.

“Andoain!”

Lemuen leveled her rifle. “Stop where you are!”

“Would you defy the law, Lemuen?”

Andoain’s voice was quiet, his eyes still calm—yet stripped of their usual warmth.

When she refused to lower her weapon, he sighed faintly, smiling in resignation.

“Always so stubborn, Lemuen.”

“—Watch out!”

Felix’s drones whirred into place, their Arts fields expanding to shield the group.

An instant later, Andoain’s

Arts struck.

Boom!

The ground shuddered violently. The whole mountain quaked under the blast, rocks tumbling in showers as if the peak itself had been cleaved in two.

Lemuen’s face had gone pale, but her rifle remained steady in her grasp.

“That attack—were you trying to kill me, Andoain?”

“How could I? With Felix here, I have no reason to worry.”

Andoain’s tone was even, almost casual. Seeing Plume’s axe-spear leveled at him, and Federico and Mostima raising their handguns, he only smiled faintly.

“Felix, don’t you have anything to say?”

His gaze settled on Felix—those golden eyes calm and unreadable.

“This is the road you’ve always sought, isn’t it?” Andoain said softly. “Stand beside me. Together, we can search for it… the way to save everyone.”

Felix remained silent.

From him, Mostima and Lemuen felt a calm, a quiet sorrow—and a sigh.

That emotion… how much did it resemble Andoain’s?

“Felix?”

Mostima looked at him. Though he stood right in front of her, she felt as though he was drifting farther and farther away…

Andoain’s expression softened with faint delight.

“Come, Felix. I can feel it—the bitterness in your heart, the anger, the grief. This is our redemption. It is also the redemption of all who suffer upon Terra. In the end, they will save themselves—but we are the ones who can give them that chance.”

Federico’s eyes shifted between Felix and Andoain. “Captain—”

“I do feel bitter,” Felix replied, turning his gaze toward Andoain.

In his past life as a player, he hadn’t been one who enjoyed being force-fed storylines, but he did appreciate a well-written plot. Thanks to countless forum veterans who compiled guides and records, he had learned much about Terra’s history, and about the events unfolding across other nations and factions.

As a logistics player for Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals, he had taken part in few Operation. He had watched firsthand as players aligned with Reunion tried to persuade others to join them, to change this rotten world. Back then, the impact on him had been real.

Why?

Why should it be this way?

As a player, perhaps he could treat the story as mere entertainment. But after being reborn as an “NPC,” Felix found everything was different.

What had once been a diversion became bloody reality.

He had often marveled at his own luck. If he had been reborn as another race instead of a Sankta, he never would have the life he now possessed.

If he had been born an Ursus in the frozen north—or worse, an Infected—his only path would have been death.

“I do want change.”

His golden eyes were clear. Andoain faltered, struck by the strange illusion that within Felix’s gaze, he saw Aslan.

“You question the law?”

“As you can see.”

“But have you considered this?” Andoain pressed. “It is not that the law ‘refuses to save’—it is that the law cannot save.”

Why is Laterano the only holy land in this world?

Why does the Light shine only upon the Sankta?

Nothing comes without cost. So what is the law?

Why is it that when a Sankta turns their gun upon their kin, they fall? Who set that rule?

Questions like these weighed heavily on Felix. Naturally, he sought answers.

“I don’t believe in the law. I believe in terran strength.”

The words burst forth, shocking to any Sankta who might hear them.

“Yes, our existence has been aided by the law. The law surrounds us, sustains us, allows Laterano to endure.”

“But it is people who plant food. It is people who carry out the missions of the Notarial Hall. It is people who travel this land as messengers. I believe in the strength of people.”

“I believe we can carry hope and power to every soul struggling on Terra.”

“Empty words,” Andoain said.

A flicker of pain crossed Andoain’s eyes, followed by the cold edge left behind when his gentleness vanished.

“Alone… what can you possibly do?”

“I’m not alone.”

Felix raised Lumen toward him. “Put down your staff now, and maybe we can still speak in your favor before the Notarial Hall’s higher council.”

Andoain chuckled softly. Even surrounded, outnumbered beyond hope, he still carried himself with that same elegance.

Once, they had been close friends. Once, they had been comrades in arms.

Mostima and Lemuen both sighed. Together, they had weathered countless missions, and for years there had been no secrets between them. They knew Andoain bore a heavy weight—but never that he held such views of the law.

“I will not be alone either.”

Andoain’s hand reached out and touched the staff.

And at once, the world before his eyes shattered.

Silver-white light burst forth. Golden rain fell in sheets. From the heavens, strands of radiance descended like threads.

It was… the dew of faith.

The birth of the Sankta?

Andoain’s eyes went wide as he strained to take in the sight. The threads converged, flowing together into an ocean of faith.

Then the vision wavered, and a new scene took form—

A cliff cleaved as though by a heavenly blade.

A figure dressed like a priest stood at its edge.

Around him… stood Sarkaz.

… Sarkaz?

Andoain’s pupils shrank. He watched as the canopy of light enveloped them. Faces once burdened with grief softened, transfigured by something… holy. They fell to their knees, praying with sincerity.

Halos and wings appeared upon their bodies.

“…Impossible. Impossible!”

His gaze grew wild. Was this truly the past? Was this the history of the Sankta?

The Sankta were Sarkaz? Then what had this endless war been for? Had the Sankta betrayed the Sarkaz, or had the Sarkaz betrayed the Sankta?

“No… lies. All lies.”

Clutching his head, Andoain dug his nails into his scalp. His jaw clenched, his body trembled as he collapsed to his knees.

But it was true.

It was the past. It was truth.

He had been devout, loyal to doctrine, yet now—what had he been worshiping? What had he been doing all along?

“Ahhh—!”

Light erupted around him in a blinding flood.

Felix’s face tightened. “Get down!”

The cavern flared as though grenades had detonated within. His prototype drones raised barriers, only to be torn apart and forced to reform under the crushing surge of arts. Felix threw himself forward, dragging Mostima and Lemuen down, shielding them with his own body.

“Kh…!”

Blood spilled from his lips. Andoain’s suicidal blast had ripped through everything—five prototype drones weren’t enough to contain the raging force. In the end, his shield modules were still too underdeveloped.

Over a thousand health points gone in an instant. Only his successful intellect and willpower checks spared him from collapse.

Fingers danced across the screen. The drones extended their submachine guns and lightning-bolt modules, unleashing fire on Andoain’s retreating figure.

Pft!

Andoain’s figure moved with eerie swiftness. The arcane barrier around his body absorbed most of the drone fire, only a single bolt of lightning grazing his waist. It failed to paralyze him. Without so much as a backward glance, he leapt straight off the cliff.

“Ha… hahahaha—!”

His laughter, ragged and broken, echoed from the abyss below.

“…”

Felix steadied Federico, who was staggering with clenched teeth, and helped him sit down to rest. Then he turned his attention to the others.

Plume had collapsed, unconscious. She had taken the brunt of Andoain’s blast head-on, her injuries clearly serious. Felix had medicine on him, but he couldn’t judge her condition just by her pallor.

Mostima and Lemuen pushed themselves up against the cavern wall. Their faces were pale, still shaken. Lemuen noticed Plume’s state immediately, hurried over, and dropped to her knees, examining her wounds with care.

Mostima wiped the blood from the corner of her lips, then seized Felix’s hand and tugged him down to sit.

“Don’t move. Let me check your injuries.”

“Alright.”

Felix smiled faintly at her firmness.

“You can still smile in a moment like this?”

Her fingers clenched around his hand, then loosened. Without another word, she began tending his wounds in silence.

But Felix’s attention was elsewhere—on the flicker of a system prompt.

[You have triggered an S-rank mission: [Atavism]. Accept / Decline?]

[Mission Details: From Andoain’s reaction, you sense something abnormal… What did he see that drove him to madness? Delve into history—you may uncover the answer.]

[Mission Requirements: ?]

[Rewards: ?]

An S-rank mission?

In the long history of the game, players had triggered such missions before. Strategy veterans had even explained the conditions—S-rank missions always carried brutal difficulty, filled with overwhelming trials. Unlocking them was one thing; completing them was another, requiring immense time and power.

Yet in all the S-rank missions Felix had ever read about, none had been called Atavism.

Atavism… return to what ancestor? Did the Sankta even have forebears?

Felix frowned. Could it mean wings changing into true feathers—an angel soaring freely across the skies?

…Absurd. But still.

He accepted.

Whatever the case, he knew he’d need to seek answers in the libraries of Laterano—or perhaps even Columbia.

“Lemuen, give me some bandages.”

“Got it… ah, that wound is deep.”

Having secured Plume, Lemuen returned to Felix’s side. Her eyes tightened at the sight of his injury, a wound blooming like a torn flower across his body. Worse still, his waist bore a deep gash from Andoain’s blade of arts, blood still flowing in steady streams.

Felix glanced at his status panel. Just a bleeding condition—nothing fatal.

The cavern they were in held no minerals, no traces of Originium contamination. He wasn’t at risk of becoming Infected, which was why he hadn’t feared being wounded in the first place.

“No need.”

He stopped their frantic movements, tapping the cracked screen on his arm. A drone floated out, unfolding into medical mode. It sprayed a mist of coagulant across his wounds, cooling the burn of pain as the bleeding debuff vanished. His lost HP, however, would only come back through food and rest.

It was only then that Felix realized—this squad had no medics at all. How had they been completing missions until now? Pure brute force? Were they really just that unbreakable?

“You’re all alright?”

He looked toward Mostima and Lemuen, then cast a glance at Federico, who had mostly recovered.

“What are you saying… you’re the one hurt the worst.”

Mostima’s fingers brushed his cheek and lingered there. “We owe you our lives.”

Just then, the trackers—Fiammetta, Patia, and Spuria—returned together. They froze at the scene before them: the cavern looking as if a nuclear blast had gone off, comrades wounded on the ground. They rushed forward.

Fiammetta knelt to check on Plume, then came to Felix, fury flashing in her eyes. “Was this Andoain’s doing?”

“You knew?”

“These traces—the blast, the arts signature. This was him.”

Her jaw tightened, voice sharp. “Why? Why betray us?”

“…”

The Sankta who had felt Andoain’s emotions before were silent. Fiammetta clenched her fists. To see her comrades bloodied, and still not know the truth—that burned.

Felix answered flatly, “Because of different beliefs. Andoain chose another path.”

“And that justifies betraying his comrades?”

“Maybe… his way of choosing was simply too violent.”

Seeing Felix smile, Fiammetta bit down hard. “You can still laugh at a time like this?”

“It’s not a fatal wound. It’s already scabbed over.”

He pushed himself up by his knee, gaze settling on the two weapons lying not far away. “These… they’re strange. Better let the Notarial Hall’s researchers examine them.”

Mostima and Lemuen stood at his side. To their surprise, this time there were no whispers, no inexplicable murmurs.

Felix reached out and took the two weapons from the altar.

[Acquired: “Lock and Key”]

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep