Mechanics weren’t exactly popular in Laterano. At best, they were briefly mentioned in scattered lines across a handful of books.

Aside from the mechanic class, Felix still hadn’t found the job transfer book for the craftsman class, which left him scratching his head. He couldn’t just start as a construction worker and then change to a craftsman as a secondary job, could he? If he had the time, he figured he’d ask the staff at the notary office how they repaired buildings damaged by explosives. Who knows—he might find a chance to obtain the craftsman job book that way.

Still, the boost from his talent was undeniable. Whether studying or working with machinery, Felix felt completely in his element. He continued building wrist guards and knee pads, fully equipping himself piece by piece.

He first took his long-worn travel jacket to a tailor to restore its durability. Afterward, he rushed back to begin modifying it—adding mechanical elements to enhance its capabilities and unlock potential bonuses from the clothing itself.

At the same time, he kept refining his mechanical armor, aiming to upgrade both the armor and the coat for better performance.

One limitation, however, was nagging him: the Sankta race couldn’t wear protective headgear. Hats were a no-go, which meant he couldn’t make a full-face helmet. On this front, he was truly envious of the Sarkaz mercenaries, who could be fully covered from head to toe. For them, masks weren’t just protection—they were part of life.

In his workshop, Felix tested a pistol against a standard Sarkaz mask. Even his two most powerful revolvers only left a deep dent. In real combat, a shot like that might rattle the mercenary’s brain and possibly apply a concussion debuff.

Of course, these were just his own speculations.

Curious about head coverage, he ran various tests on how much of a Sankta’s face could be concealed.

Wearing a baseball cap caused a dizziness debuff to flash across his field of vision. The world began to spin, and he nearly threw up.

But when he pulled up the hood of his coat—just like Mostima had done in the original story—no such dizziness appeared. This discovery made Felix’s eyes light up.

The Sankta’s halo was inherently linked to the individual, and through emotional sharing, could even connect with others of their kind—much like the Protoss in StarCraft. Covering the entire head seemed to sever this connection, leading to discomfort. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure why the hood didn’t cause the same effect. Maybe it was the thin material, or perhaps the fact that it didn’t fully enclose the head.

As for facial protection, the only option was to take inspiration from the Sarkaz mercenaries and craft a mask. Unfortunately, he hadn’t unlocked the blueprint for it yet, and the market didn’t have any available either. For now, mask production would have to wait.

A shame, really—hiding such a handsome face should be a crime.

Standing before the mirror, Felix was quite satisfied with the equipment he had spent months developing.

His lean upper body was clad in sleek mechanical armor, layered with a black hooded coat. Light gray mechanical attachments were integrated into the coat’s design. On his lower half, he wore black travel pants, with black mechanical components extending from his knees down to just above his ankles. His feet were fitted with finely modified military boots, giving the entire ensemble a sharp, tactical look.

[Skywalker Mechanical Armor (Upper Body)] [Broken Coat · Revised Ver. 1] [Dune Travel Pants · Revised Ver. 1] [Mechanical Extension Unit · Calf] [Laterano Type III Military Boots · Revised]

There hadn’t been any major changes to his weapons. Felix’s combat rhythm still revolved around his two boss-tier revolvers: Spade ACE and Dawn, with Double Eagle Kai II serving as his backup.

Spade ACE and Dawn Breaker—just like their names implied—were as contrasting as night and day, one black and one white. Their aesthetic gave Felix the feeling of being some brooding, mysterious lone wanderer. If this were a fantasy world, he might be called the “Black Swordsman.” But with his gear and secondary class… “Black Pistol Brother” might be more accurate, and that sounded way less cool.

Staring at his current loadout, Felix let out a sigh. Production classes really were expensive. The 1.7 million LMD he’d earned from the Saluzzo family had dwindled down to just a little over 100,000. If he were to risk another blueprint gamble now, he’d be broke enough to start begging on the streets.

Still, this overwhelming sense of security… was something no amount of LMD could buy. Sure, he’d still get sent flying if someone like Saria landed a punch on him—but at least now, he could shout, “Come at me head-on!” and hold his ground against ordinary Sarkaz mercenaries in standard settlements.

“There’s still… thirty-two days until the public beta goes live,” Felix muttered, checking the date. It was now early September, 1087. Time to move on—this time, his destination was Kazimierz .

Kazimierz ‘s living conditions were slightly better than those in Siracusa. Some of the novice villages in Siracusa were buried under yellow sand and dust, and new players might not see any greenery until they reached larger towns. Kazimierz , on the other hand, was different. Its beginner areas were rural communities surrounded by grasslands and open skies. Blue sky, green meadows—the kind of visuals that offered players a refreshing, immersive experience.

Thinking back to the Dantart he had reluctantly left behind before logging off last time, Felix shivered.

Bro… I’m not into guys.

Mostima hadn’t come by much in the past few weeks. Her team had been busy running reconnaissance missions, and she’d only returned to Laterano a handful of times.

Meanwhile, Felix, a supposed messenger, had been slacking for nearly three months. His job hadn’t changed at all. But now, whenever he strolled through the streets in his flashy new gear, he’d inevitably draw attention from curious Sanktas.

That was the one downside of being a mechanic. Unlike Iron Man, who could just call his suit to assemble at will, Felix had to manually suit up and remove everything. The whole process was tedious. So after putting the gear on once, he decided it was too much trouble to take off again.

Thankfully, the Sankta people were naturally romantic in disposition. They didn’t judge his eccentric outfit with suspicious looks—instead, they approached with interest, asking which clothing store he’d bought the cool outfit from.

Felix didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He patiently explained that the gear was custom equipment crafted by a mechanic, and that it enhanced his mobility as a messenger.

After hearing his explanation, the onlookers quickly understood. Their curiosity turned into admiration the moment they learned Felix was a messenger. Some of the Laterans present had never once stepped foot outside the paradise of the Holy City in their entire lives. Now, seeing someone from the younger generation—much younger than themselves—venturing into lands of suffering, they couldn’t help but feel a mix of respect and emotion.

The mild commotion on the street soon drew the attention of the patrolling Laterano Guard.

“Something interesting going on here?” one of them asked as they approached.

“Don’t you think this guy’s outfit is cool? It reminds me of that thrilling feeling during an explosion,” someone joked with a grin, gesturing toward Felix.

The Laterano Guard, an official peacekeeping force of the city, was responsible for tasks like patrolling, law enforcement, and emergency combat. They were equipped with standard-issue axe rifles and primarily composed of Liberi from Laterano and Iberia—citizens who, like the Sanktas, followed the Laterano doctrine and enjoyed the full suite of the city’s thirteen civic rights.

“Yeah, he’s got a great look,” one guard remarked. “What do you think?”

“This must be a mechanic’s outfit. Looks sharp. Think we could get one?”

“I’m tempted to put in a request to change our uniforms. I’ve been wearing this same one for over ten years. Honestly, something with a bit more style wouldn’t hurt.”

The group of Liberi guards chuckled among themselves. Despite being part of an official organization, they carried no arrogance—just warmth and friendliness.

Felix gave a small shake of his head and turned to leave. To him, this was just a brief interlude.

He gave a polite nod to the guards, but then—his gaze briefly locked with one of them. For a moment, his expression flickered with recognition. He offered a faint greeting and quickly turned away, walking off as if nothing had happened.

He had seen someone—someone who had appeared multiple times in the original plot.

At this point, their paths were still separate. As for the future… who could say? Now that he was here, even the gentle flapping of wings might eventually stir a hurricane.

“Hey, Patia,” one of the female team members whispered playfully into the ear of a Liberi girl with black-streaked hair, “did you notice that handsome guy just now kept glancing at you? Do you two know each other? Or is there… some juicy secret you’re hiding?”

Patia shook her head, answering truthfully, “This is the first time I’ve seen that Sankta. I don’t know him.”

Still, she couldn’t shake a strange sense of familiarity. She prided herself on having a sharp memory, yet no matter how she searched her thoughts, she was certain—this was their first meeting in a crowd.

Even so, the way that stranger had looked at her left her puzzled. Judging by his attire, he clearly wasn’t an ordinary citizen. But she kept her thoughts to herself. She’d ask Fiammetta about it later—maybe she’d know who he was.

The encounter with Parthia was nothing more than a coincidence among many. In the future, Felix knew he would inevitably cross paths with more and more characters from the main storyline. The most important thing was to maintain a calm and grounded mindset.

After visiting the notary office for a routine mission check and taking on a few assignments near Kazimierz , his brief stay came to an end.

His current identity didn’t permit him to act too conspicuously. It wasn’t suitable for him to complete missions in the same manner as the players, farming loyalty points. For now, it was clear he needed to maintain distance from the Laterano Vatican. After all, a Laterano Cardinal, someone positioned within the Vatican itself, would never leave the Holy City so casually or take spontaneous trips.

The role of a messenger still had its value.

Before his departure, he made sure to say goodbye to Mostima.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Felix said, tasting one of the macarons Mostima had brought back from the dessert street.

Mostima, as calm and composed as ever, didn’t show much emotion. She neither laughed nor frowned—just observed the world quietly, her lips curved in a gentle, elegant smile.

She nodded slightly. “We spend more time apart than together. But that’s the life of a messenger. When do you think you’ll be back?”

Felix thought for a moment. “Maybe in a year or two. I’m headed to Kazimierz , and I’ve accepted two missions there.”

“Next time you return, I’ll make you a cake.”

“Mostima, you know how to make desserts?”

“Almost every Sankta does… Felix is probably the only one more interested in steel.” Mostima chuckled, then added with a softer tone, “Kazdel’s been a bit unstable lately. If you’re assigned a courier mission near there, be careful.”

Felix nodded, immediately understanding. The civil war in Kazdel had likely begun. Rumors about the feuding siblings—so entangled in love and hatred—were spreading. Judging by the timeline, the Tower of Babel must have already been established.

“Thanks. You take care too. The special forces team is under Captain Andoain, right? With great power comes great responsibility.”

Mostima laughed lightly, a sweet sound that melted into the moment. She popped a piece of cake into her mouth, the sweetness bringing a soft curve to her lips.

“It’s a pity you spent most of your time in the studio. I didn’t get the chance to introduce you to Lemuen, Lemuel, or Fiammetta.”

“We’ll meet eventually if fate allows.”

“…Next time you come back, let’s visit the church together.”

“Alright.”

After accepting Mostima’s gentle invitation, the evening had grown late. She stood, as though sensing the proper moment to leave—avoiding any unnecessary disturbance.

“See you later.”

They waved goodbye at the door, which closed softly behind her.

Mostima truly was a captivating NPC. Just like when he was still a player, Felix could still say it without hesitation: “I will always love Mostima—and everyone.”

The next day, Felix put on the best equipment he currently owned and began loading crates of weapons into the military pickup truck early in the morning. There was a significant amount of weaponry and gear this time, so he folded down the back seats to increase storage space and even stacked several boxes on the passenger seat.

After finishing the loading, Felix drove slowly along the main road, following the messenger convoy. Not far ahead, he spotted Mostima, accompanied by her special forces team.

Andoain led the group with a friendly and composed expression. Standing next to Mostima was a gentle-looking, pink-haired girl. Behind them trailed a Liberi woman with red hair.

Recognizing the vehicle, Mostima raised her hand and waved at Felix.

He rolled down the window and returned the gesture with a warm smile.

Andoain also recognized Felix. Though they had only met once, their relationship felt closer than that of mere acquaintances. In a way, Andoain had once been Felix’s mentor in the field. Upon seeing him, Andoain performed a priest’s salute with gentlemanly grace and offered a sincere blessing for his journey.

Lemuen, having heard Felix’s name from the bomb maniac’s sister, gave him a gentle smile and waved.

Fiammetta studied Felix intently. She had heard from her juniors about this enigmatic Sankta. As a notary office staff member, she was curious about his strength and his unique gear.

Mostima, as always, smiled quietly.

What a harmonious team!

But Felix knew the truth—he knew the knot in Andoain’s heart was a heavy one. That pain was something only Andoain could understand, something he carried alone. The team, though seemingly united now, would inevitably collapse in a few years—shattered by betrayal.

Felix had no right to judge Andoain. He understood his pain all too well.

“Why can’t the teachings of Laterano save the people of this suffering land?”

He did not approve of Andoain’s actions. And that was why—he would return.

He pressed his foot on the accelerator, and the wheels rolled forward, carrying his thoughts toward the city gate.

…

“Mostima, is he the one you mentioned…?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I didn’t expect even Mostima to have a heart-throbbing moment. Lemuel would be shocked if she found out.”

“…We’re just good friends.”

As she listened to the subtle back-and-forth between the two women, Fiammetta sighed. In truth, she hoped that the Sankta they were discussing could join their team.

That way, she wouldn’t be the only one getting teased by a certain sly, mysterious someone every single day.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep