The three squads advanced in full gear toward the abandoned village. Aside from the van they had spotted earlier, there were no signs of life. No footprints, no trails, no smoke—nothing. Just as Mahayu’s intel suggested, the place had long since been deserted. After the battle months ago, the village had fallen into ruin once more, a ghost town swallowed by silence.

Normally, such a settlement would be taken over by the Inquisition. If not, it would quickly become a haven for outlaws—bounty hunters without a home, fugitives on the run. Ordinary villagers might avoid such places, but for criminals, abandoned hamlets like these made perfect hideouts.

And yet, despite the months that had passed, this village showed none of the telltale signs of terran activity.

Felix exchanged a glance with Lance. Both sensed something was wrong.

Part instinct, part experience—years as a player and as an NPC in this world had honed Felix’s awareness of danger. This feeling, this faint prickle at the back of his neck, was the same he’d only felt when facing high-level anomalies far beyond his own rank in his previous life.

He wasn’t like the Little People’s hero Finn, whose thumb would ache in the presence of peril. But after wandering across countless battlefields, Felix had learned to trust his intuition.

“No biological signatures detected.”

His drones whirred back into view, shimmering as they disengaged stealth mode and docked at his side. He ran a quick check for tampering or magical interference before sending them skyward again.

“Could it be the church?” someone murmured.

“They’re the only ones who’d set up here… Let’s move.”

Mahayu stepped forward, face set in determination.

“Pioneer, Captain Lance—please, allow us to take the vanguard.”

The meaning was clear. They were players. They couldn’t die—at least not permanently. Death was only a matter of respawning after a countdown. But the NPCs? Once gone, they were gone forever. Mahayu wasn’t about to let Felix, or his squad, or Lance’s people take that risk. If she wanted to remain by Pioneer’s side in the long run, then this was the right choice—be the shield, the expendable scout.

“You…”

Lance opened his mouth, then closed it again, his expression complicated.

He knew the truth: these people were the so-called “Undying.” Wielders of strange Originium arts that let them rise again after death. Rationally, sending them ahead was the most efficient choice. But in his heart, he couldn’t shake the unease—the sense that it was cowardly, even shameful.

Did the Undying feel pain when they died?

It was a question Lance had pondered more than once.

But as he glanced at his squad, he had to admit—this was the best plan.

“Very well. If that’s your choice, I’ll respect it.”

Felix nodded, moving to the truck’s rear compartment. He popped the latch and hauled out several heavy weapon cases.

Mahayu, Yui, and Itō Ritsu hurried over. The moment Felix cracked open the crates, Mahayu’s eyes lit up like twin lanterns.

Was that—mechanical chest armor?

In Tomorrow’s Development’s internal market, this was endgame gear—worth seven figures in contribution points or resource credits. By all accounts, 2.0’s graduation equipment. Granted, the model before them looked somewhat stripped down compared to the screenshots circulating among players, and the stats weren’t quite so overwhelming.

Even so…

“This is just a small bit of aid from me,” Felix said calmly. “Even if you’re adventurers who can’t truly die, I won’t send you in unprepared.”

He clapped Mahayu on the shoulder. The latter was so moved she nearly burst into tears, her voice trembling.

“P-Pioneer… sir…”

“This is my gift to you. Wear it well.”

The players were on the verge of sobbing.

Pioneer truly was the most charismatic NPC of all. The Inquisition treated them as fodder—first wave, second wave, always thrown into the meat grinder, their undying nature reduced to a resource to be spent. It wasn’t unfair, and none had complained. But Felix’s gesture was different.

Yes, he needed their strength. But he also gave back, gave them tools to grow stronger, to endure.

And in that moment, they understood: Pioneer wasn’t using them as tools. He was recognizing them as comrades.

Mahayu glanced down at the chestplate emblazoned with Tomorrow’s Development’s insignia. Though she still belonged to the Iberian Inquisition faction, in her heart she already felt like part of Pioneer’s cause.

She quickly realized something else—the armor Pioneer had given them wasn’t the same as the one sold in the faction shop. After all, even if Pioneer handed it over, their own attributes wouldn’t meet the requirements to equip it.

And yet, once they strapped it on, every player changed. Their postures straightened, their expressions hardened, and in their eyes toward Pioneer shone a loyalty unlike anything before.

“Our backs are yours now, Pioneer. Yui, stick close to him as rearguard.”

“Understood.”

With quick affirmations, the players took their positions. Pioneer and Lance’s squad followed, moving in step toward the church at the village’s heart.

Once, its walls had been pristine white, the picture of sacred devotion. Now, the outer walls were choked by creeping dark-green weeds, its facade stained in blotches of black and sickly blue, as though splashed with ink. Months of battle had left the building cracked and broken—the tower stood only half its height, jagged and ruined. What should have been a place of grace had become a vision of decay.

Felix had walked into many churches before. For two years after arriving in Terra, when he had nothing else to cling to, the role of a priest had been his lifeline. Prayer had been his disguise, and the altar his anchor.

“This place feels… wrong.”

“Like…the smell of heresy.”

Patia whispered, and every head nodded. The air was thick, oppressive. The salt-tinged wind off the sea slapped cold across their faces, and no one could shake the dread coiling in their guts.

Rustle.

Something moved.

Mahayu, leading at the front, froze mid-step. Her boot sank slightly, and a chill numbness shot up her leg. She immediately signaled for the others to stop.

“What… what is this?”

Beneath her feet, the ground wasn’t stone at all but a bluish-green gel. Her muscles twitched uselessly as paralysis crept upward. Even worse, her HP began ticking down.

Itō Ritsu reacted instantly, yanking her back. The moment her boots struck solid earth again, Mahayu exhaled hard, face pale.

“The hell was that…?”

“Something tied to the Seaborn…”

Felix stepped forward, crouching low. His gaze sharpened.

“Its composition’s the same as the gel tissue that makes up the Seaborn themselves. This ‘floor’… it’s alive.”

“Wait—what? This entire thing is a living creature?!”

As if to answer her shock, the ground began to quiver, rippling like liquid flesh, as though something massive was about to push free. But after a few long moments, it subsided, returning to eerie stillness.

“There’s only one way to deal with this.”

Felix touched the ring on his finger. Commissioned from a master goldsmith in Lungmen, it wasn’t just jewelry but a carefully wrought conduit for casting. He wasn’t an Infected, and without a staff he had no hope of using Originium Arts freely. This ring, embedded with the purest shard of Originium, was his answer—a crafted medium.

In a way, it wasn’t unlike the Vongola Rings.

A pale-blue flame sprang to life in his palm, licking outward in waves. He pressed it to the gel-like surface, fire searing across the living ground until the area was purged and safe.

Mahayu took point again, lips pressed thin. At the church doors, she drew her blade, squared her shoulders, and—

Bang!

—kicked the doors wide open.

“FBI! Open up!”

The shout was brash, full of bravado—until her eyes fell on what lurked within.

Seaborn. Not just the dog-like ones Felix had first encountered, nor the coral-like horrors, but new forms: grotesque flower-shaped abominations. And they were feeding.

Not on flesh, not on anything so grotesque.

But on crates. The very cargo of sweet ingredients bound for Laterano.

The scene before them was so bizarre that even Mahayu, blade drawn and ready for battle, faltered. Lance and Felix exchanged glances, equally dumbfounded.

Seriously? These things are Seaborn?

The creatures weren’t attacking. They weren’t screeching or lunging. They were… quietly eating, as docile as cattle in a pasture. It was nothing like the reports.

“Are they… being domesticated?”

Fiammetta’s voice was low.

“If they’re really just deep-sea creatures, maybe as long as they’re fed… they act like pack beasts.”

Everyone turned to her. She shrugged.

“Just thinking out loud.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed. He could feel traces of terran presence deeper inside the church, as if someone had only just passed through. But his gaze lingered on the so-called Seaborn. Staring too long, he realized—they weren’t menacing at all. No matter how he squinted, they looked nothing like the nightmares he’d fought before.

He pulled an energy bar from his pouch and cautiously extended his hand.

One of the dog-shaped spawn wagged its tail and bounded toward him. Its teeth gleamed sharp as daggers, but what clung between them wasn’t blood—it was frosting.

Felix’s scalp prickled. Still, the handoff succeeded. The creature devoured the bar and wagged harder, like a puppy begging for more.

What the hell is this? Someone please explain. Since when do Seaborn act like pets?

Maybe next time he’d have to drag this question straight to Kal’tsit. After all, who on this earth understood monsters better than her?

“There’s terran presence deeper inside. Let’s move.”

“Right.”

Even after feeding them, he could still feel faint hostility lingering. But it was muddled now, tangled with something stranger—confusion.

And yet, as the group walked past the feasting monster, no attack came.

Mahayu was just as baffled as everyone else. She looked at Pioneer and Lance, both wearing equally lost expressions, and suddenly felt ashamed. I’ve been in Iberia since day one, from 1.0 until now. If even I can’t explain this… how could Pioneer be expected to?

They passed a corroded statue, and under a tattered carpet discovered a trapdoor leading to a staircase that spiraled downward.

“This… should be one of the Deep Sea Church’s hideouts.”

Felix’s voice was steady as he descended. To his surprise, the underground wasn’t the narrow cave he’d expected but a chamber spacious enough to fit steel gates. The place bore scars of violence—walls shattered, scorch marks splattered across the stone.

“Looks like the Inquisition hit this place before.”

Mahayu’s assessment was the only reasonable one.

“Were you part of that fight?” Lance asked.

Mahayu half-nodded, half-shook her head.

“Only at the start, the encirclement. Once the defenses broke, the main force handled the rest.”

Lance clicked his tongue, displeasure plain.

“Use them up, then toss them aside… So that’s how the Inquisition treats its own.”

Despite his years on the battlefield, Lance still carried the stubborn heart of a Sankta who clung to loyalty and righteousness. Hearing how the adventurers—these “undying”—were treated, his anger rose naturally.

Mahayu was moved. This was only the second time adventurers had been valued this much by an NPC. The first had been Pioneer himself.

“There’s movement ahead.”

Itō Ritsu’s hand fell to the hilt of his greatsword. His tone was grave.

“This presence… it’s them.”

“But they should—”

He didn’t finish.

Darkness surged forward, swallowing the players at the front in an instant. Not mist—malice. An Arts attack, thick with corruption.

“Purification!”

Yui thrust her staff forward, light flaring as she invoked her cleansing arts.

Felix raised his hand, forming the shape of a gun with his fingers. A burst of flame roared forth, burning away the suffocating black mist. In moments, the corridor ahead was swept clean.

“—The time has come to give our loyalty to the Church.”

A rasping voice echoed from within.

“Run!”

“It’s an ambush!”

They rushed into the chamber at the end of the corridor, only to find a figure cloaked in dark green, face hidden behind a grotesque mask, leaning heavily on a cane. His tone was chilling as he issued his command.

And he was not alone. Several others clad in the same dark-green garb of the Deep Sea Church stood at his side, weapons glinting in their hands.

“So it was you…”

Lance muttered under his breath.

Scattered among them were a few straggling Seaborn, their movements restless.

“Offer yourselves—”

At his words, the cultists’ faces twisted into sickly, ecstatic smiles. Without hesitation, each drove a blade into their own flesh.

“What—!”

“Now… give your blood and flesh for the children.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep