The Lungmen administration office was overflowing with people—”packed like sardines” was an understatement. Beyond the outskirts of Lungmen, hundreds of thousands of adventurers had gathered. The sheer sight of it was like a tide of refugees stumbling upon a promised land. Their expressions toward Lungmen were unified: loyalty, pure and absolute.

The clerks working inside had never seen anything like this. The largest group of “refugees” they’d ever processed before were those fleeing the civil war in the Higashi States. When Yan opened its borders, only several thousand—at most ten thousand—came through.

But now? Tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands—at once. The scale made the staff swallow hard. And the people themselves looked nothing alike.

Some sported buzz cuts or bald heads, sunglasses glinting, dressed like wasteland raiders clad in scavenged gear. Others were men and women of striking beauty, styled as if they’d stepped out of a heroic romance, unsheathing weapons or posing dramatically as though some distant horizon demanded it. And still more were walking rainbows—clothes dyed in gaudy palettes, hair and brows in shades of green, purple, pink, or blue. One glance across the crowd was dizzying, like a festival of mismatched colors.

—

“They’ve arrived… the ‘Undead.'”

Wei Yenwu sat on a bench at The End of the Earth, one leg crossed over the other, sipping at his drink. A few gulps of alcohol softened the hard lines of the city’s Chief Executive, leaving behind the air of a weary patron. His tone turned sardonic, but his eyes were sharp.

His ties with Yan’s central government were close. Through certain intelligence networks, he had learned the truth: there were nearly ten million of these “undead” living within Yan’s borders alone—and more kept appearing every day. They came from nowhere, without pasts or records, but lived harmoniously among themselves. No riots. No wars.

That was what unsettled Wei Yenwu most. He had heard whispers of Kazdel, where mercenary armies of the undead had turned civil strife into something bloodier, darker. To him, beings who could not die were not a resource. They were a threat.

Yes, he could spend money and pull strings to hire them into his service—but so could others. And then what? A second Kazdel? Endless war fought by soldiers who could never fall?

The world was already restless, storms gathering on all horizons. The thought pressed on him like a weight. He drained his cup, knowing all too well he could only face it with another drink.

“A face that sour? My wine can’t be that bad.”

Wei Yenwu glanced sideways at someone beside him. He knew full well who this “guest” really was. With a scoff, he muttered, “You look far too at ease.”

“Mm. Your new favorite has taken an interest in the undead. Naturally, I’m inclined to see the same way.”

“Favorite? You really don’t mince words.”

The Emperor flicked a wing with a dismissive grunt. “Call it what you like. I simply find it… entertaining. Terra has long been shattered. A bit of upheaval now may not be such a curse.”

“You mean to say the undead are not a threat.”

The Emperor met his gaze, lips quirking. “Afraid for the future of these adventurers, are you? It suits you, Wei Yanwu. Fear, yes—but even so, haven’t you already been courting them? Even if the day of reckoning comes, I suspect you’ll have your contingencies lined up well in advance.”

“Your employer’s ambitions aren’t small.”

Wei Yenwu fell silent, sipping again before replying, “His eyes are not fixed solely on Lungmen.”

“A saint… If such a title holds meaning, I’d use it for him.”

The Emperor let the liquor burn its way down his throat. “To walk out of Laterano’s glass cage and stand here as he does—that alone shatters most people’s idea of the Sankta. I see a future worth betting on.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because he has ambition. And because he acts on it.”

The Emperor’s gaze slid back to Wei Yenwu, calm but firm. “Not empty talk. Not blind action. He leaves an impression on everyone who crosses him. Even his dealings with adventurers—it’s not new. Maybe it’s in the blood of the Sankta to treat others that way.”

Wei Yenwu snorted. “Can Tomorrow’s Development even handle this many undead?”

“And if they can’t?”

The Emperor shrugged. “Most don’t even see adventurers as people. They call them monsters, outsiders, anything but equals. From the start, they’ve never stood on level ground with Terra’s natives.

“Relax, Old Wei. The boss already said it—you’re the chief here, you get the respect. If any of Tomorrow’s people cause trouble, you can arrest them. He’ll even help you hunt down offenders.”

“He actually said that?”

“Tch. What reason would he have to lie? I know what’s in your head. You think these undead are reckless lunatics, that they don’t value life, and once they enter the city they’ll do nothing but plunder and destroy. Another tired stereotype—like how Terra sees the Infected.”

Wei Yenwu’s face twitched. He set the cup down, stood, and exhaled a long breath of alcohol. “I’ll head to the gates. I understand his intentions. Pass him my thanks.”

“You’ve been drinking, and now you’re going on patrol instead of home?”

Wei Yenwu froze for half a beat, ignored the Emperor’s needling, and climbed into the waiting car outside. The engine hummed, and he was gone in moments.

The Emperor grinned wide.

“Tsk, that brat really is unpredictable. While every other faction is still sitting on the fence, he decides to make his move… If this were a chessboard, he’s been laying down his pieces years in advance. What a fascinating fellow.”

Back in Columbia, he had once met with the Tin Man, who bluntly declared that Felix was ambitious—too ambitious. That he wanted to spark a war, that he sought to become the so-called King of the Undead.

The Emperor chuckled to himself. What a ridiculous, chuunibyo title. Surely no one actually calls him that? …Or will the day come when they do?

—

“Achoo!”

Felix sneezed, rubbing his nose. He had the odd feeling someone was talking about him behind his back. Great, what now? I haven’t even done anything and I’m about to be painted as some kind of monster again?

At the moment, he was sprawled across his bed, enjoying Mostima’s latest experiment: the “half-time-stop massage.”

According to her, it was both a way to refine her Originium Arts and—since she was performing it under the watchful eye of the Overseer—perfectly safe.

The principle was simple enough: within a frozen slice of time, she could press down on multiple points of the body. Once time resumed, the overlapping sensations would hit all at once, leaving the recipient with an almost overwhelming rush of relief and pleasure.

Felix privately thought that if Mostima ever gave up being a Messenger, she could open a massage parlor and make a killing.

The only catch was that whenever the time stop ended, he was left with an odd tingling around his lips… and judging from the way the Overseer kept side-eyeing him while scrolling on her terminal, he clearly wasn’t the only one suspicious.

“This week, Lungmen is officially opening immigration,” Fiammetta read from her device. Her sharp eyes flicked upward, landing on Felix—and on his suspiciously swollen lips. Her gaze immediately shifted, narrowing at Mostima, who sat beside him in light, breezy clothes, hands kneading firmly into his back.

Mostima looked innocent, but just before Fiammetta turned away, she flicked her tongue across her lips with deliberate slowness.

Fiammetta: “…”

When did she get this bold? And since when was she such a damn tease…?

“What’s your take on it, Felix?” she asked flatly.

He gave a thoughtful hum. “Adventurers are already massing outside every mobile city. They clearly trust that the authorities will open the gates for them… and, truth be told, that’s exactly what’s happening.”

“As for how I see it? Well, adventurers are free spirits, just like every other Terran. They can set out on a whim, go where they please, chase whatever adventure calls them. Getting them to walk through the gate is easy. Getting them to pledge loyalty? That’s another matter.”

“What about Laterano? Are they opening their borders too?”

Fiammetta nodded. “Federico had a messenger deliver two letters—one addressed to you, which I assume you haven’t read yet?”

“Nope.”

She sighed. Of course not. The man was constantly buried under work, and now he had the excuse of hiding behind swollen lips too.

“The Holy See has made their decision. Laterano will allow adventurers into the city—so long as they’re free of Oripathy. But they won’t be granted citizenship.”

That matched how Felix remembered things unfolding before. No citizenship meant no civil rights. But to players, who cared? What mattered were Laterano’s firearms. And the Holy See, quick to adapt, had already opened the Notarial Hall to adventurers. If they worked and contributed enough, they’d eventually earn citizenship through merit.

In his past life, Felix had gone through the process of registering at the notary office to become a Laterano citizen, so he knew exactly how it worked.

“How many people are we talking about?” he asked.

“Close to a hundred thousand.”

“…That’s about the same as Lungmen—wait, what? Why so many?”

Felix was dumbfounded. He clearly remembered that when Laterano first opened in his past life, only around forty thousand players entered. How did it suddenly swell to a hundred thousand this time?

“As soon as these adventurers got into the city, they started pestering random passersby with questions: ‘Where’s the Pioneer? Where does the Pioneer live? What’s the Pioneer’s favorite restaurant? It is surprising that locals have not yet protested the government decision to accept this many immigrants.”

Fiammetta fixed her eyes on Felix. “These adventurers… are your fans, aren’t they?”

She deliberately chose a trendy word to describe their behavior.

Felix’s face darkened. Fans chasing a celebrity all the way back to their hometown—seriously?

“Federico also mentioned that Lemuel is about to graduate. Lemuen has already started packing her things and is preparing to come to Lungmen.”

“So now you’ll have two more Sankta girls hovering around you. How lucky, Felix.”

Fiammetta congratulated him, though her tone carried a teasing lilt he couldn’t miss.

Before he could reply, Felix suddenly realized his body had shifted—Mostima had straddled him without warning, leaning down for a kiss.

Fiammetta immediately raised her hand to cover her eyes… but curiosity got the better of her. She peeked through her fingers, watching the fiery scene unfold. To be honest, she felt like a third wheel intruding on something too intimate. And the truth was, Felix had only ended up in this situation because of something she had said. With a sigh, Fiammetta reflected bitterly—she wasn’t like this in the past.

As she wallowed in her inner monologue, Felix coughed twice and wriggled free from Mostima’s hold. He slipped into the bathroom to wash up, then returned freshly changed.

“It’s already late. Are you really heading to the city gates now?”

Mostima flicked her hair back. After that “battle,” her face was still flushed with a healthy glow.

“Yeah. You two should rest.”

With players flooding into the city, Felix couldn’t just sit idle. Even while enjoying his spa earlier, he’d been watching MagicZX’s livestream.

As one of the first players to side with Felix—and also among the very first to enter Lungmen’s main city—MagicZX naturally drew massive attention. In just a few days after the launch of 2.0, both his streams and videos had climbed to the top of the platform, making him one of Arknights’ hottest creators.

Right now, he was livestreaming at Lungmen’s city gates, personally welcoming each new player receiving their temporary residence permit.

“Magic-sensei! Nice to meet you, I’m a fan—I’ve watched all your videos!”

“ZX-sensei, this is my first time seeing your character model in-game. You really made him look amazing.”

“ZX-sensei, could you take us into Tomorrow’s Development?”

The crowd of several hundred surrounding MagicZX instantly latched onto that last question, staring at him expectantly.

Truth was, 99.9% of the players entering Lungmen wanted to join Tomorrow’s Development. After all, it was the protagonist’s faction—joining was a no-brainer. The tiny fraction who didn’t were only hesitating because they wanted to scout things out first before signing on.

And it was no surprise. Only a short while after 2.0 launched, the Pioneer had already cemented his reputation with players during 1.0. He’d left a lasting impression, built goodwill, and carved out a powerful brand. Both he and the faction he founded—Tomorrow’s Development—had become the focal point of every player’s gaze. Everyone wanted in. Everyone wanted to play under Felix.

To say otherwise would be a lie. After all, if top-tier players, streamers, and even pro gamers had stuck with Tomorrow’s Development this long, it was proof the benefits were leagues ahead of the competition. These players cared about strength and efficiency above all, and following them was simply the smart choice.

“Hold your horses. I’ll report this to the Pioneer.”

Magic ZX glanced at his task log, then at Dreamchaser and the other players standing in the distance. Tomorrow’s Developments had issued them a mission: welcome the newcomers to Lungmen, explain the city’s rules, and guide them around—veterans leading the rookies.

Magic ZX wasn’t sure if Felix would actually recruit these adventurers, but he knew one thing for certain: the Pioneer genuinely cared about the players. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have personally arranged for them to greet and help the new arrivals.

“Teacher ZX, why are you streaming here of all places?”

“Hmm… the Pioneer asked me to come here to welcome you.”

“No way—the Pioneer himself…?”

At the same time, similar conversations were taking place between other Tomorrow’s Developments members and the waves of new players entering the city.

“Pioneer is too real—I’m actually crying!”

“Does a man like him really exist? I feel so seen right now.”

“Wuwuwu… Mr. Pioneer, my Husband!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep