With his advancement to a new tier as a Machinist, Felix went all in. He shut himself inside the workshop, burning through his remaining money and experience in a gamble for blueprints.

To grow stronger—strong enough to survive assaults like Andoain’s—he needed more than just sturdy shields and armor. That day, even his Lost Series mech armor had been torn apart by Andoain’s spells. His shell simply wasn’t hard enough.

The further the game pushed into its later stages, the more versatile crafting classes became. They weren’t necessarily built for duels and could still be gunned down by players with better stats, yet their influence on both the battlefield and the economy was immense. The path of Artisan, Engineer, and Machinist that Felix followed could indeed tip the balance of wars with ease.

But Terra wasn’t a fair world. Here, individuals existed whose combat power defied all logic. In his past life’s reality, under bombs and artillery, everyone was equal. But on Terra, countless ancient long-lived beings wielded extraordinary Originium Arts. With a flick of the wrist, they could slaughter hundreds of players in an instant.

It wasn’t fair.

Against such monsters, Earth’s human-wave tactics were nothing but child’s play. Shells and bullets couldn’t even pierce their arcane shields. It was like the tiny soldiers in Night at the Museum hurling toothpicks and matchsticks at a full-grown man—completely pointless.

Felix knew that the 2.0 era was his time to lie low. As long as he didn’t go out of his way to provoke those with overwhelming power, he would survive. But before 3.0 arrived, he had to secure individual strength—methods to fight one-on-one without being instantly crushed.

The problem was, he had no clear solution. With Helena’s Sorrow unusable, his offensive options boiled down to mechanical constructs and firearms—both laughably ineffective against top-tier individuals. His only real hope lay in Originium Arts.

With his high intelligence, his MP pool dwarfed that of most people. As Professor Naumann and his wife had suggested, if he could probe and awaken his second Originium Art, he might actually stand a chance.

The Support class he had chosen also provided some bonuses to casting, since support archetypes covered everything from melee to staff-users—a bit of a mixed bag, but not useless.

“If only I could learn new Arts… or even copy existing ones,” Felix muttered.

He recalled a unique reward from NPC personal quests: the Originium Art Learning Device. As its name implied, once used, it allowed a player who hadn’t maxed out their Arts to permanently inherit one of the NPC’s abilities.

For instance, take Lungmen’s well-known NPC Lin Yühsia. Completing her personal quest could, if one was impossibly lucky, drop the device. A player who used it would gain her signature Art—Sand Manipulation. Of course, reaching Lin Yühsia’s level of mastery would demand staggering amounts of experience, but the potential was there.

The problem was that the drop rate was practically nonexistent. During the 2.0 era, there had been a rumor of a new player in a starter town actually getting one, but the Art turned out to be a completely ordinary skill. When the story hit the forums, the community erupted in outrage—”Why has this never dropped for me?!”

On paper, it sounded game-breaking. In reality, acquiring a powerful Originium Art this way was nearly impossible.

High-level NPCs often didn’t even have personal quests—only main storyline arcs. Rhodes Island’s Kal’tsit, for example, was the NPC with whom Felix had the highest affinity, yet she had no personal quest available. Lower-level NPCs did have quests, but their Arts were too weak to be worth the effort.

And the truly terrifying enemies players loathed? There was no hope of ever learning their Arts. They were enemies, not allies—why would they hand you a personal quest?

Under such conditions, the chance of obtaining a useful Art was essentially one in a billion.

Felix sometimes wished fate would just hand him one of those Learning Devices. But relying on luck was never his way, and he knew better than to expect it.

Better to ask Degenbrecher directly about combat techniques… After that, his next stop would be Kazimierz. He was already planning to sit down and talk things over with his uncle.

The old Lost Series mech armor had finally been retired. In its place, Felix now wore the freshly rolled and crafted Vanguard-Class Modified Mech Armor, its chestplate etched with the Tomorrow’s Development logo. This piece would serve him for a long time—being blue-grade, it could very well last him through the entirety of 2.0. His gear needed to bear the mark of Tomorrow’s Development.

And not just his own. Degenbrecher’s instructor’s uniform, Loughshinny’s secretary attire, even the items players bought from the shops—all carried, or would carry, that same insignia. It wasn’t just branding; it was a declaration of faction identity, a reminder of loyalty. After all, Felix’s gear was not only affordable but also rare. Once stamped with the logo, it became exclusive. Players would think: “Only Pioneer sells gear like this.” Naturally, demand would only grow.

On top of that, Felix crafted himself a blue-grade sniper rifle: [Survivor]. Thanks to his Agent subclass, he could use it with bonuses. He didn’t expect to need it often—he was usually charging head-on rather than sneaking around—but it gave him another option. A silenced sniper rifle had its uses for long-range operations.

Besides, it would make a fine gift for Lemuen someday, maybe even raise her favorability toward him.

After a period of hammering and tinkering, the Tin Man finally reached out again on behalf of the Maylander Foundation. The long-discussed deal was ready to begin.

The terms had already been settled: Rhine Lab and the Maylander Foundation were striking a long-overdue agreement. Felix, serving as mediator and inventor of the prototype drone, earned the Foundation’s favor. His reward: a near-military transport plane, capable of carrying more than a hundred passengers, with cavernous cargo space for freight.

Rhine Lab’s coffers swelled once more. Even the military, previously cold and dismissive toward them, signed this new contract with smiles. From their attitude, Felix realized that Kristen hadn’t been involved in the army’s experiments after all—a development that might slow Rhine Lab’s growth in Columbia, where military power carried enormous weight. Was that necessarily a bad thing? Hard to say. Felix only knew he would keep designing, keep trading with the military on his own terms.

Rhine Lab, he believed, would hold onto its original purity.

At least, that was the faith he carried.

By mid-June, Felix bid farewell to Kristen, Yara, and the rest of Rhine Lab’s staff. He boarded the transport plane he had only just purchased half a month earlier. In that short span, he had even earned his pilot’s license. Now, flying posed no problem at all—he could bring whoever he wished, and take them wherever he wanted.

Carnelian and Avdotya stayed behind in Trimount, serving as his proxies in negotiations with the military and the Maylander Foundation. The “four little ones” had yet to graduate, though the eldest, Senomi and Mandragora, were on the cusp. They expressed a desire to attend university in Lungmen—which, in truth, was just an excuse to stay closer to Felix. He agreed without hesitation. He had grown fond of his adopted sisters.

Before leaving, Felix also met with Feist’s grandmother, Catherine.

The elderly woman, with short white hair and dressed in Rhine Lab’s work uniform, cut a sharp, capable figure. Truthfully, she had only joined Rhine Lab’s industrial division out of boredom, and to keep Feist company.

Unlike her grandson, Catherine still carried Londinium in her heart. With a smile, she told Felix that she might return there soon, back to the military factories, back to her old trade.

Felix supported her decision wholeheartedly. He would return to Londinium one day himself. And in this world, the more friends he had, the better. Still, he couldn’t help feeling reluctant—losing someone of Catherine’s caliber was no small regret.

The transport plane rose steadily, cutting a lone path through the deep night sky. Down below, the airport staff lowered their guiding batons, watching silently as the aircraft disappeared into the distance.

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows, Kristen set her coffee cup down and quietly exhaled, her eyes carrying a glimmer of hope for the future.

The door opened with a soft click. Saria stepped inside, pausing just behind her. Kristen turned, her lips curving into a faint smile.

The young had, by twists of fate, gathered together—kindred spirits bound not to part, not until death itself came to claim them.

—

In the cockpit, Muelsyse, the water-spirit’s avatar, perched in the captain’s seat, curiously studying the controls and switches. Degenbrecher, the cool-headed swordswoman, sat in the co-pilot’s chair, assisting Felix. The plane was already on autopilot when Felix glanced over at Muelsyse.

“It’s late. Aren’t you going to rest?”

“I just wanted to spend a little longer with you.”

Fweet.

Degenbrecher let out a playful whistle, grinning as she gave Felix a pat on the shoulder before stepping out to pour coffee, leaving the two of them alone.

“You’ve got a meeting tomorrow, don’t you?” Felix asked.

“I know… I just don’t want to close my eyes yet.”

Muelsyse’s silky hair fell across half her face. “When I open them, it’s Rhine Lab I see—but Rhine Lab without you.”

“Mumu…”

The lonely elf reached out her hand. Felix clasped it tightly.

“The day we meet in our true forms won’t be far away.”

“Mhm… I know. It’s just a little lonely for now.”

She leaned against him, her touch cool and weightless. After a moment, she yawned softly, brushed a kiss against his cheek, and then dissolved back into the bottle at his side.

“Did I just miss something?”

Degenbrecher returned, handing Felix a cup of hot cocoa. He leaned back in the captain’s chair, looking perfectly at ease.

“Degenbrecher… am I moving too slowly?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to use my own strength to influence things, to change what’s happening on Terra. But it’s been years since our paths first crossed, and I still feel like I’ve made little progress.”

Felix felt no different from the weapons dealers of old, playing both sides while realizing how limited his own reach still was. Even within Columbia, his reputation in scientific circles was modest at best—enough to be recognized, but hardly enough to reshape the world.

“No,” Degenbrecher said softly, her voice steady and reassuring. “I think you’ve moved fast. Who else could earn a fortune in such a short time, save me from my fate, become a shareholder of Rhine Lab, and found their own company?”

She smiled faintly. “Boss, your ambitions are vast. But that kind of vision can’t be achieved overnight. Don’t worry. Whether it’s me, Carnelian, or those adorable little ones like Senomi—we’ll all be by your side, moving forward with you.”

“You really know how to comfort people,” Felix muttered, sipping his drink. “I want to start your martial training.”

“Oh?”

Degenbrecher arched a brow, intrigued. “But I remember you never planned to follow my path with the sword.”

“My craftsmanship and engineering can carry me far in large-scale battles. But against powerful individuals, these weapons are nothing but dead weight.”

He spoke with the weight of experience—after all, he had once challenged Saria himself, only to watch his painstakingly crafted weapons shattered by a single punch. It was not an experience he ever wanted to repeat.

At the close of Version 3.0, Rhodes Island made its move on Londinium, clashing head-on with the vast Sarkaz host entrenched there. Among the Sarkaz stood the royal court, each one bearing an ancient lineage and a level of strength that players could never hope to match. Against such foes, numbers meant nothing—only Rhodes Island’s elite Operators could stand their ground.

Even warriors like Degenbrecher and Carnelian found themselves with no choice but to retreat when confronted by the Sarkaz royalty.

Felix gripped Helena’s Sorrow. To wield such a weapon merely as a staff was, without question, a waste.

Degenbrecher smirked, running her tongue across her lips. “My training isn’t for the faint of heart. Even if you’re the boss, I won’t go easy on you.”

“That’s exactly what I want.”

—

Far away, in the northern tundra of Ursus, Yelena stood watching. In the distance, the white-haired, blue-eyed Elafia was teaching a small group of infected children. Yelena drew her gaze back in silence.

Power demanded responsibility. Felix had taken that path—so she would not lag behind.

Her safety, the safety of the Yeti Squad… no, the safety of everyone in this camp—she would be the one to protect them.

From this moment on, no one else would die.

Pioneer… Felix… is this what you meant by responsibility?

The young teacher had no combat ability, and so needed someone constantly at her side. She had only just joined the camp not long ago. What was her name again?

Yes—Alina.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep