Felix’s reason for seeking out the Sargon Contract Assassins was simple. He was beginning to realize the value of having a force that moved unseen in the shadows.

Just as emperor had his Emperor’s Blade, and Old Wei his Shadow Guards, Tomorrow’s Development needed its own hand in the dark—agents who could act where sunlight never reached, and work in the dark to serve the light. Building such a force from scratch would take years. Far better to absorb an existing one.

The Sargon Contract Assassins were not limited to Rosebloom’s small squad. Their numbers totaled only around fifty, all young women in their twenties. In assassin terms, that made them a fresh and inexperienced cell—exactly the kind of group the Emperor had recommended to Felix. Their lack of worldly seasoning could easily be turned to his advantage.

After all, the Emperor knew Felix’s thoughts well enough. Recruiting a young, untested team into his fold wasn’t just possible—it was desirable. Especially since his logistics network was already facing pushback from hard-nosed rivals, competitors looking to trip Tomorrow’s Development at every turn. If Felix wanted to strike back, shadows would serve him better than steel.

In this kind of business nothing is true, everything is permitted.

—

Having officially taken in the Verdant and Foam Knights, Felix had each pick a callsign for future operations. Something short and sharp, like “Degenbrecher.” Their choices? “Verdant” and “Foam.” Not exactly brimming with imagination.

The two knights spent the next few days packing up, saying their farewells, and preparing to leave with Felix.

The night before, Felix had humored his companions with a long round of shopping. But the following day, as planned, he went to a high-end restaurant, where he met Rosebloom—the assassin who billed by the hour.

“…You show up to a date in your mission gear?” Felix asked.

“Boss, I didn’t bring a mask. That’s me giving you face.”

Rosebloom turned away with a huff, then shot him a warning look. “I’ll accept a meal. Nothing more.”

Felix wasn’t surprised. Contract Assassins weren’t like the women of Lungmen’s red-light district. A meal was already the limit of what they would offer.

“Once the K.G.C.C. finishes its move, I’ll be leaving. Will your squad be coming with me?”

“If your transport has room. Our usual range is around Lungmen anyway. Kazimierz’s gray zones are crawling with bounty hunters now.”

Fifty-odd outsiders like them had no hope of competing against entrenched locals. There was simply no room for them in that market.

“I see… Then let me put it plainly. For the future of your squad, I’d like to invite you to join Tomorrow’s Development.”

Rosebloom frowned. “Sargon Contract Assassins only take bounties. We don’t join organizations.”

“Then how about this,” Felix countered. “I’ll pay you a fixed sum each month. In return, you work for me. Call it a long-term contract.”

Rosebloom fell silent, considering. On paper, it wasn’t much different from their usual arrangement—just steadier, with guaranteed pay. As long as the terms didn’t contradict the Assassins’ long-standing rules, there was no reason to refuse.

Besides, who else in Lungmen would pay more than this “Boss”? And even if someone did, the jobs would likely be far riskier.

From the look in her eyes, Felix knew she was wavering. He’d simply dressed up a salary in different words, and she hadn’t even noticed. The details could be ironed out back in Lungmen. For now, he just needed her to consider the possibility.

When her silence stretched long enough to count as assent, Felix waved for the waiter. Rosebloom, who had been subsisting on energy bars to stay sharp for his missions, wasted no time once the plates arrived. With food finally before her, she ate heartily—hardly the picture of an aloof assassin.

After their last mission, her squad received a hefty bounty, enough for her sisters to spend their downtime vacationing comfortably within the Grand Knight Territory.

Once lunch was over, Felix took her for a stroll through the city, then to a theater to watch the latest popular knight-action film, and afterwards they enjoyed a quiet afternoon tea together. In short—it was the full standard date routine. They finally parted ways reluctantly.

He had to admit, the price for “other activities” was a lot higher than for straightforward business. Still, Felix believed that with enough money on the table, even the contract assassins of Sargon would be willing to bend their traditions.

Over the following days, Felix announced new assignments for the players: they were to continue defending against bounty hunters recruited by the K.G.C.C. Meanwhile, he himself simply waited.

Waited for the Organization to make its next move.

Waited for characters from the original storyline to appear.

Truth be told, Felix didn’t know exactly where Margaret first encountered the Followers Duo in his previous life. The only certainty was that the two hadn’t gone anywhere near the kawalerielki at that time—they had simply been wandering across Kazimierz. This time, he asked Rosebloom and her squad to track them down. Talented medics were something he was sorely lacking.

He remembered the whispers from his past life: though he had never worked with the Followers directly, players assisting Rhodes Island’s medical team often marveled at the pair’s insight and skill. Unlike most who focused on patching physical wounds, they specialized in treating injuries from arts-based attacks. And since nearly every enemy of that era wielded Originium Arts, players naturally sought them out for healing.

Today, the seats felt unusually cramped.

Młynar sat at the far right, reading his paper. Felix was seated near the middle. And then—without warning—two more people appeared and took the spots beside him. Familiar faces, unfortunately.

“You two don’t have jobs to do?”

What had been a casual exchange with his “uncle” turned sour in an instant, courtesy of Roy, one of the Lazurite Bigwigs. The other was that same girl who had once complained to Felix about wanting to switch careers.

“Well, we do have free time outside of work, you know.”

Roy grinned, plopping himself down right beside Felix as if they were old friends.

“Do you really?” Felix shot back flatly.

“…”

After a long, suffocating silence—and Felix’s unblinking stare—Roy finally looked away.

“…No.”

“So you’re really just here to provoke Młynar, to see if he’ll take a swing at you?”

Felix glanced at his watch. The screen displayed nearby assassins’ movements. None were heading this way—they were clearly just passing through on another mission. Which meant Roy had shown up out of boredom, trying to stir up trouble.

Not that it mattered. Felix was here. He had just closed a knight-trading deal with the K.G.C.C, and even if his relationship with Młynar was close, the Organization had no authority to interfere. And Roy… well, he couldn’t beat Młynar in a fight anyway.

“Come on now, Młynar and I get along great! We just had a nice little ‘exchange’ the other day.” Roy chuckled, then turned toward Felix. “By the way, I heard you’ve acquired Foam and Verdant Knight. Any interest in doing a little business with us?”

“The Union wants to dabble in slave-trading now?” Felix’s eyes narrowed. “Knights have market value, which is why they’re bought and sold. But the Union is nothing but assassins operating in the shadows. What capital do you have to deal in that kind of trade?”

He leaned back slightly, tone cool. “And even if I were interested in one of you, I’d talk directly to the person, not the Union. Understand?”

“Ha! As blunt as ever, Pioneer. Refreshing.” Roy laughed, then cast a glance at the silent Platinum beside him. He opened his mouth to continue—only for Felix to cut him off.

“Are you talking about the girl next to me? She’s thinking of switching jobs?”

Felix cast a glance at the silver-haired girl, his tone calm.

“Full benefits. I can help you get residency in Lungmen, find housing, five-day workweek with weekends off, thirty days of paid vacation each year, nine-to-five schedule. For talent like you, salary isn’t an issue—the only thing is, work hours might not always be fixed.”

“Wow, even I’m tempted hearing that.”

Roy chuckled, still smiling as he turned toward Platinum.

“Little pegasus, that’s a solid deal. If I were you, I’d take it.”

“…It is very tempting.”

Platinum gripped her bow tighter, shooting her superior a glare. If he weren’t standing here, she’d probably jump ship without hesitation. But with her boss right next to her, she couldn’t be that obvious. Still… hearing terms like that, she suddenly felt holding back her true feelings was the wrong move.

“Mr. Pioneer, I have a very good impression of your company, Tomorrow’s Developments. Please give me some time to think it over.”

That was what she finally managed to say.

Felix nodded. As Roy called out “mission time’s up” and left with Platinum in tow, he couldn’t help but feel that their sudden arrival—and just as sudden departure—had an oddly surreal quality.

“…What did those two even come here for?”

“They came to test the waters.”

Młynar, who hadn’t spoken until now, folded his newspaper.

“Lately, aside from the traditional knight orders, the ones secretly clashing with the Armorless Union… are the adventurers, aren’t they?”

That caught Felix off guard. He’d kept that operation strictly confidential—so how did Młynar figure it out?

“The other day, I saw one of them at a battle site. Same adventurer who chatted us up in the arena lounge. He greeted me like an old friend, insisted on taking a photo together, even asked for my autograph. I don’t understand his behavior.”

—

Who?

Wait. You’re kidding me—it was Magic ZX?

Of course. Felix remembered clearly from his previous life: Magic ZX had been obsessed with Młynar, ranking him above all other NPCs. This time around, ZX had met him even earlier. And while Felix himself had already made a deep impression on him, Młynar’s presence had clearly reshuffled ZX’s personal Top 1 and Top 2 for “Most Charming NPCs.”

“Adventurers are too conspicuous. If Tomorrow’s Developments gets exposed to the K.G.C.C, that’ll be trouble—not just for you, but for your company as well.”

Młynar tucked the folded paper under his arm, adjusted his sword at his side, and with those final words, ended the night’s intel-sharing session.

“…That was a warning, wasn’t it?. Thanks, Uncle.”

The Armorless Union was stepping in. Players might be able to hold their own against bounty hunter groups, but against the Union they wouldn’t last more than a few rounds. It was about time to start pulling the players back.

More importantly, though—the K.G.C.C. was striking back.

“Shocking! Margaret Revealed to Be an Infected!”

The next morning, the Knights’ Daily screamed its headline across the entire front page. Felix read carefully. The report laid out why Margaret was an Infected—how she regularly visited specific locations to “pick up medicine,” with witnesses testifying to it. It even claimed this was the reason she could so easily defeat light knights: because as an Infected, her strength was far beyond the norm.

The article dropped like a bomb into still water, sending ripples of panic everywhere.

In Kazimierz, Infected remained a taboo subject, unfit to be spoken of in polite company. Most of them were forced to live in the filthy sewers beneath the roaming cities, never again to see the sunlight.

Margaret was one of the Infected.

The revelation spread like wildfire. Her fans recoiled in fear and unease, while the so-called “orthodox” knights refused to accept the truth. The Major did not forbid Infected contestants, yet almost all who entered the tournament were untainted.

Now, an Infected had taken the Major. Worse still, she had never spoken a word about her condition. To many, it felt like betrayal.

Almost overnight, Margaret found herself an enemy of the public. She could no longer walk the streets. Reporters and paparazzi swarmed the Nearl residence and her aunt Zofia’s estate, barricading them entirely, desperate for a direct answer from her.

Investors who had once courted her fame quickly withdrew, canceling contracts in the dead of night. It was their way of currying favor with the K.G.C.C. Her victory posters were torn down as though she had never stood on the podium at all.

Only one remained.

In a quiet corridor of the Kazimierz Major’s arena, a single painting still hung: Margaret Nearl in her armor, radiant and unyielding, silently watching over the city that had turned its back on her.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep