Yanfei’s order snapped the players to attention. Some rushed to ping offline teammates, telling them to log back in and grab their weapons for a counterattack. Yanfei herself led Margaret to a strategy meeting with the high-level adventurers, where they also met another player leader—Lao Silais.

Margaret had heard the rumors about adventurers. People whispered that they were “undead,” wielding Originium Arts that shielded them from death itself. For years they had lingered around the borders of Kazimierz, but only after this past summer had they been allowed into the city. Margaret had never dealt with them directly, so she had little beyond second-hand impressions.

Now, seeing them face-to-face, she realized how distorted those rumors were. To call them demons or monsters was unfair. Perhaps people simply feared their unnatural resilience. But after spending time alongside them, Margaret could not see them as anything other than ordinary people of Terra.

There was one key difference, though: their youth. Almost all of them looked strikingly young—barely older than green mercenaries fresh from their first contract. Yet when it came to analyzing the battlefield, arranging formations, or making tactical predictions, they worked with the efficiency of seasoned officers. Margaret couldn’t shake the impression that she was surrounded by a room full of lieutenants rather than rookies.

Another thing stood out: their inclusiveness. She noticed Sarkaz and Sankta chatting together without a trace of hostility. All the bloodstained stories in newspapers and history books about age-old Sarkaz–Sankta hatred felt like a joke here.

“Yanfei, are you sure it’s a good idea to bring her along?” Lao Silais asked in a low voice.

“What do you mean?” Yanfei turned to him.

“She’s supposed to be in the finals tomorrow. If she gets hurt—or worse—because we dragged her into this, what happens to the storyline? What if the main quest fails?”

He wasn’t wrong. To Lao Silais, Margaret Nearl was clearly the central NPC of the Kazimierz arc, the very reason the Pioneer had led them here. Taking her into a dangerous raid wasn’t like risking another adventurer. If she died, there’d be no resurrection stones to bring her back.

Sure, Margaret had already proven her strength. But both Yanfei and Lao Silais knew the truth—at their age, they were still just high-school kids in the real world. The idea of someone that young wielding a blade on a battlefield was surreal. Setting age aside, actual combat experience mattered, and Margaret was still untested compared to them.

Yanfei and Lao Silais had fought through countless MMOs before Ark. PVE raids against brutal NPCs, PVP clashes between guilds—every battle had been a grind through blood and corpses. They were warriors who had died and respawned more times than they could count. Death never stuck to them.

But Margaret wasn’t like that.

“I trust her,” Yanfei said firmly. She admired Margaret—more than that, she looked up to her. As a girl herself, Yanfei thought the young knight was beyond cool. She wasn’t just a character—she was like a fairytale heroine, rebelling against fate with sword in hand.

“She’s a knight, Lao. She’s ready.”

“…Fine. But keep an eye on her in the fight. If this main quest fails, after everything the Pioneer did to bring us here, we’ll never forgive ourselves.” Lao Silais muttered and walked off.

Yanfei checked her crossbow and gear one last time. Everything was ready. Time to strike.

Meanwhile, in another corner of Kazimierz, Kramer seethed with rage. Tonight, the Windfang Bounty Gang had taken devastating losses. He had been ready to lay low, to let things blow over quietly. But then disaster struck—out of nowhere, a fully armed knight had stormed into his camp, cutting down his hunters without hesitation. Dozens already lay dead.

His younger brother’s death left him grieving, but the slaughter of his gang filled him with rage—and a gnawing fear.

There was also a trace of regret.

Had he known this job would be so difficult, costing the lives of his own men, he would never have accepted that damned commission from the K.G.C.C.

“How much dynamite do we have left?”

“…not much, boss. The brothers have been soaked in the rain all night. Their strength is fading.”

Kramer gritted his teeth. “Strap the rest to your bodies. Even if it kills us, we’ll drag that meddling knight down to hell.”

“…Understood.”

The underling opened his mouth, then shut it again and slunk off. Inwardly he cursed—the boss has lost it. But suicidal charges weren’t his problem; he was already thinking about how to slip away.

He wasn’t alone. The other bounty hunters shared the same thought. They weren’t assassins bound to their target until death. They were mercenaries. For men like them, life outweighed money, and talk of honor was meaningless.

“Die!”

Several burly veterans lashed explosives to their bodies and charged at the mysterious knight. He seemed to sense danger and moved to retreat, but two dying hunters clamped onto his legs like iron shackles.

“Burn with me!”

One bellowed, jerking hard on the fuse—

Thwip!

The blast never came. A crossbow bolt tore through his hand, the impact nearly flinging him to the ground. His scream was raw and animal.

“Next one’s yours, Boss!” someone shouted.

“Together!”

Their commander, Lao Silais—a Kuranta born in Kazimierz, a knight even in his secondary vocation—drew his longsword. Without a mount, he still thundered forward like a warhorse, leading the charge against the bounty hunters.

The melee players followed, venting their rage with every strike. Behind them, Yanfei led the sniper squad, crossbows and handguns cutting down the fugitives one by one.

The hunters’ levels were higher—averaging forty-three against the players’ thirty-two. On paper, the fight should have been a slaughter. But after a night of rain, a failed assault, and mounting casualties, their morale was shattered. They faltered against adventurers who still fought with relentless fury, and one by one, they fell.

It wasn’t just the players. The knights too, their bodies covered in cuts and bruises, fought like men possessed. If not for the adventurers, their outpost would already have fallen. Each recalled the comrades who had died earlier that night, and with grim determination, they swung their weapons harder. Only blood could settle the score.

“Are you unharmed, Sir?”

Margaret broke through the hunters’ lines and reached the mysterious knight. He was battered, his once-pristine armor stained with blood, but his rapier remained steady. Just moments before, he had skewered a would-be assassin with a precise thrust.

“I’m fine… What of you, Lady Margaret?”

“No serious injuries. We’re preparing to counterattack.”

She wasted no words on sympathy—it wasn’t the time. On the battlefield, they were comrades. What mattered now was the plan. She quickly laid out the adventurers’ proposed strategy.

The knight listened in silence, then nodded. Wiping his bloodied blade, he said firmly, “Then take me with you.”

“Thank you… Light knight.”

“I am but an ordinary knight who cannot turn away from injustice,” he replied calmly, then strode forward to help clean up the field.

He never asked how Margaret had recognized him. After all, his swordplay was identical to when they’d last crossed blades. Even if she had seen through him, it didn’t matter. He had no need to admit anything.

Only now—wearing real knight’s armor, face hidden beneath a visor—did he truly feel like the knights he once read about in his cherished Kazimierz novels. This was the image he had always longed for.

And he knew: in this lifetime, such a chance might come only once. He would cherish it.

Kramer’s death, however, had been pitiful. A level 60 powerhouse, someone that no solo player—or even a small squad—could take down in direct combat, was instead reduced to a farce. Deafened by a thrown explosive, his Originium Arts scattered, and in that moment of weakness, players riddled him with arrows and blades until he collapsed like a broken effigy.

When the experience points rolled across the players’ panels, their cheers erupted. Joy, disbelief, triumph—this was the weight of a main story quest. This was why they followed the Pioneer.

Not just scraps to sip from, but a full meal.

As for loot, the deal had been clear from the start: an even split, fifty-fifty, between the players and the knights. The knightly order needed the funds to repair the devastation left by the bounty hunters’ raid, and to provide stipends for the fallen knights’ families. Players, on the other hand, needed their share to fuel growth and momentum.

Some knights stayed behind to help clean up and secure the order’s headquarters. A handful, however, chose to march on with the adventurers, eager to strike at the next stronghold.

One block away, players discovered the spoils left behind by the Windfang Bounty Group: heavily modified off-road motorcycles, customized to blaze across any terrain at breakneck speed. The bounty hunters who once guarded them had long fled, gunning their own rides to escape with their lives. These abandoned machines became trophies of war—and more importantly, the players’ transport for the night.

“Gear up—we ride to reinforce Huangtian Houtu!”

MagicZX swung a leg over one of the roaring bikes, heart pounding with fire. There was another reason for his excitement—Młynar might be there.

At Huangtian Houtu’s position, things had gotten grim. They had been hit by the fiercest wave of attacks—three bounty groups in concert. Even as commander, Huangtian himself had been wounded. And the players? They had taken casualties, their avatars bursting into white light, timers ticking toward respawn.

Glancing back at the weary NPC knights dragging their feet, MagicZX could only shake his head.

His squad was built of professional players, and they had chosen this battleground precisely because of its proximity to the city—meaning heavier fire. Huangtian Houtu and the Dynasty squad, proud of their tanking reputation in the pro scene, had stepped forward to bear the brunt. Alongside them were guilds like Baitu and Blue Rain, professionals hardened through countless matches. Yet even they were flagging. Buffs for hunger were manageable with supplies, but the damp debuff from fighting in rain-soaked nights was gnawing at their morale.

Some pros had even chosen to log out for a few hours’ real rest before returning.

“Boss Huangtian,” a voice cut through. Cheng jogged up beside him, “Lao just messaged me. He and Yanfei have already smashed through their bounty hunter force. They’re heading this way now.”

“So fast? Wait—they actually defeated an entire group?” Huangtian frowned.

“Yeah. He said a high-level NPC showed up to help. That tipped the fight.”

Huangtian’s eyes sharpened. “Then we move. Prepare to break out!”

Ten minutes later, just as the three bounty groups gathered for another offensive, chaos struck. Their rear lines were suddenly torn open—Lao Silais and Margaret leading a savage charge straight through their ranks.

“Target the bounty group leaders! Damage share splits the XP and loot!”

Lao’ cry echoed as players surged forward, carving a path like fire through dry grass.

At once, Huangtian Houtu’s eyes lit up. Lao Silais and his group had no idea, but after enduring wave after wave of assaults, Huangtian knew exactly where the hunters had been massing their forces. Which meant their command post was close.

“Push forward! No mercy!”

His roar cut through the night. Dreamchaser and Dandao Dantart charged shoulder to shoulder, their blades gleaming, rampaging through the collapsing bounty lines like twin storms.

At that moment, a pair of unseen eyes was quietly watching them from the shadows.

Młynar noticed there was no longer any need for him to intervene. His niece was holding her own against the bounty hunters without fear. Even though she still couldn’t help but pull her strikes at the last moment, Młynar was more than satisfied with Margaret’s performance tonight.

Still… by the time he got home, the newspaper stand would be closed.

He turned his gaze once more toward the distant explosions and caught sight of those so-called “adventurers” in Tomorrow’s Development uniforms, fighting in perfect sync. Something unreadable flickered across his eyes.

He said nothing. Just turned away and left. Sigh… another late night. And tomorrow I still have to wake up at six-thirty, get to the office, and polish the director’s speech draft and PowerPoint slides.

Tonight, the Kawalerielki City would know no peace.

“Area secured here! How’s the situation in North America and Europe?”

“No idea. Doesn’t matter—either way, we’re lending a hand. Come on, let’s farm some EXP!”

“Woohoo! Charge!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep