Ulšulah’s emotions were unusually stirred.

This wasn’t the Ulšulah Felix remembered from his past life. According to player intel, she had once joined Theresis’ forces, rising to the rank of a senior officer in the Military Committee—famed on the battlefield for her wisdom and composure. Her fondness for drink had even added a touch of charm to her otherwise daunting image.

But the Ulšulah before him now, gazing at him with tears gathering like pearls, was nothing like that composed strategist.

“I’m back,” Felix said softly. “Sorry… I’m a little late.”

They sat alone in Ulšulah’s office. The companions who had come with him were waiting elsewhere in the hall, leaving the two of them this quiet moment together.

His hand hovered for a moment, hesitating, before he finally sighed and brushed away the tear at the corner of her eye.

“…I lost my composure.”

Ulšulah shook her head quickly and wiped her own face. In just a breath she steadied herself, regaining the dignified presence that years of leadership had forged. That commanding aura—stern yet unspoken—settled back over her like a cloak.

Her pink eyes lingered on him, filled with something close to astonishment. Years had passed since they last met. The Felix she remembered had been a nouveau riche Sankta, clumsy, still needing her and Degenbrecher to shield him. But now… both his aura and his bearing had utterly transformed.

Ulšulah was no master of combat, but she had lived long enough with a blade at her throat to recognize the killing edge when she felt it. Felix radiated the honed presence of a warrior. No doubt Degenbrecher had tempered him, she thought with a pang. That sharpness, that pressure—it wasn’t something he could have found on his own. And yet… was that a flicker of jealousy in her chest?

Three days apart, and you must look with new eyes, she mused. And it had been years. Merely sitting across from her, Felix exuded a quiet dominance that was impossible to ignore. Intelligence and steel in one man’s frame—an allure that was… disarming.

As for Ulšulah herself, her aura was little changed, though her body had. Sarkaz physiology, after all. Time had only made her… more. In that regard, she thought wryly, Sankta could never hope to compete.

“How long will you be staying this time?” she asked at last.

“Not long. I’ll be going to Babel.”

“Babel… Her Highness’s dream.”

Ulšulah pressed her lips together. Felix’s eyes invited her to go on.

“It feels beautiful… but too unreal. And the Sarkaz don’t need unreal dreams. From what I see of the current situation, most still believe war is the only way to reclaim what was stolen from us.”

Her words, steeped in conviction, didn’t surprise him. In his past life, after all, Ulšulah had pledged herself to Theresis.

“That’s why I need to meet with Her Highness Theresa. If I can speak with her directly, all the better.”

“…Boss, Babel is not an ally to our side. Please, think carefully.”

“When it’s just the two of us, call me Felix.”

“Then… Felix. But if others are present, should I still call you Boss?”

“You may call me Leader.”

He could hear the lightness in her tone at that. Smiling faintly, he went on:

“That’s the reason I came back to Kazdel. This civil war won’t last much longer. No matter which side triumphs, Kazdel itself will change.”

He leaned back slightly, voice low, deliberate.

“The question is—are the people of Kazdel ready for that change?”

At that, Ulšulah fell silent.

This city was filled with Sarkaz who were lost, uncertain of the future. Too afraid to choose between Regent Theresis and Princess Theresa, they had chosen instead to flee. That was the root of this so-called “third faction” of Sarkaz—those who neither fought nor believed, but simply drifted, waiting.

Avoidance might be shameful, but it worked. For the players, the Sarkaz NPC population in this city was by no means small—back in the height of the war, new arrivals had been coming in every day.

“Speaking of Babel,” Ulšulah said, retrieving a folder from her desk and handing it to Felix, “they once purchased supplies from us. With their forces locked in a stalemate, they required large amounts of medical goods. Since our faction here in Kazdel remained neutral, many merchants chose this city as their marketplace.”

“That gives me yet another reason to go to Babel,” Felix murmured.

He rose, and Ulšulah instinctively stood with him. Without thinking, she reached out and caught his hand.

“…”

“Ah.”

She tried to pull back, but Felix gently closed his fingers around her palm instead.

“This is my second stronghold,” he said quietly. “I won’t abandon it. I won’t abandon you.”

His hand brushed lightly through Ulšulah’s pink hair, fingertips grazing the curve of her demonic horn. The Sarkaz girl shivered at his touch.

“Give me time, Ulšulah. The Sarkaz must find their own answers. As a Sankta, I can’t lead them there.”

“How could you say that…” Ulšulah’s voice trembled. “Felix, your vision has already created a sanctuary on this soil. If it’s you—”

“Reaching this point is enough for me.”

She stepped forward, pressing her body against his chest. He stiffened as he felt the weight pressing firmly into him, sucking in a sharp breath.

So this is the true worth of a Sarkaz Woman… No wonder so many players chose to make female Sarkaz characters and male players simping for Sarkaz NPC, he even heard spoilers saying that in the past the doctor left his “wife” for the pink-haired Sarkaz.

“I’ve always wanted to thank you,” Ulšulah whispered against him. “Our people don’t know it, but the one who built this city—the true master of this place—is you. They owe you their gratitude.”

“I don’t care about that.”

Felix’s arm circled her gently, steadying her. After all these years, after nothing but the occasional exchange letters between them, he knew he owed Ulšulah far more than he had ever given. She had been the second person, after Degenbrecher, to follow him. If she wanted to lean on him now, to show a little vulnerability, he would let her.

After a moment’s quiet warmth, Felix and Ulšulah made their way to the main hall. A long table stretched across the chamber, with his companions seated to one side—and several unfamiliar faces seated opposite.

“Leader,” Ulšulah said, “these are captains from the Scar Market mercenaries. We’ve conducted several successful trades with them over the years. Nowadays, most of their time is spent stationed here.”

Felix’s eyes swept over the men, noting the tension etched into their expressions.

“…You’re joking, Ulšulah. You actually call him—”

A bearded mercenary lurched to his feet, his hand instinctively dropping toward the hilt of the sword strapped to his back.

“Hoederer—”

Before Ulšulah could intervene, Shining, who had been shadowing Felix in silence, suddenly opened her eyes. A razor edge of killing intent flashed in their depths.

Hoederer stumbled back three steps, sweat beading on his brow, his mouth twisted in a grimace. “What kind of joke is this, Ulšulah?”

Felix’s gaze flicked to Ulšulah. She remembered his words from earlier and sighed inwardly. How could the Sarkaz accept that the leader of their third faction is a Sankta?

“Hoederer,” she said calmly, “before you stands the man who proposed the founding of this city. He is the leader of Kazdel’s third faction.”

Her eyes swept the others at the table. “The only reason your mercenary companies sleep without fearing a blade at your throats is because of the Pioneer.”

“This…”

“Tch.”

Another mercenary scowled, rose abruptly, and stormed out. He shot Felix a glare full of venom, lips twitching as though to hurl a curse—but one look at Felix’s placid expression killed the words in his throat. He left in silence, steps heavy with frustration.

“Hoederer,” Ulšulah continued, turning to the bearded man who had resumed his seat, “I’m entrusting the matter of secrecy to you. There won’t be a problem, will there?”

Hoederer exhaled, shoulders sinking. Slowly, he nodded.

“Even if I told the other mercenaries, they wouldn’t believe me.”

Hoederer cast a furtive glance at the silent blond Caprinae seated nearby, then at the Sarkaz siblings who hadn’t taken their eyes off him since the start. With a helpless shrug, he added:

“Pioneer… sir, was it? My name is Hoederer. I lead a small mercenary band—nothing more than a minor business.”

The initial shock had passed, and Hoederer quickly regained his composure, steering the conversation toward Felix. He had already noticed how Ulšulah had ceded the main seat to him, leaving no doubt who truly held authority here.

“You don’t seem all that surprised,” Felix observed.

“No… in truth, I was very surprised.” Hoederer gave a strained smile.

“But because you’ve been to Babel, seen other races serving under Her Highness, it doesn’t strike you as impossible, does it?”

The words hit home. Hoederer fell silent, his grin fading as he regarded Felix seriously for the first time. After a long pause, he gave a small nod. “It’s just… your race, Pioneer, is far too unusual. That’s all.”

“I can understand that.”

Felix laced his fingers together. “I didn’t come here to change anything. Everything has always been the choice of the Sarkaz themselves. I traded with those you call the ‘undying.’ I simply helped them build their own refuge. After that, I never returned to Kazdel.”

He gestured faintly around them. “Yet this nameless city has endured all this time. Isn’t that, too, the choice of some Sarkaz?”

“…”

Hoederer had no rebuttal. It was true—many Sarkaz had settled here, most of them children left behind while their parents lived the dangerous lives of mercenaries. They had entrusted their sons and daughters to this place instead of the moving city of Kazdel, because they knew that here their children would not be dragged into the endless spiral of conflict between the Military Council and Babel.

That, more than anything, was why Hoederer and his band had chosen to base themselves here. In this city, no one feared a knife in the dark or being caught in a street shootout. Outside the great moving city itself, this was arguably the safest place in all of Kazdel.

“The ones who make choices, the ones who can change the present,” Felix said evenly, “are the Sarkaz. And only the Sarkaz. I am merely someone who nudges the current along.”

His gaze lingered on Hoederer, thoughtful. The moment he had heard the name, he had matched it to records from his previous life. Yes—this was the man he had expected.

“My apologies,” Hoederer said at last, bowing his head. “I won’t let anyone spread rumors. If you ever require our services, we’ll take your commissions at market price. Of course, since you are the city’s master, you’ll have our discount.”

At that, he cast a glance toward the remaining mercenary captains, who had kept their mouths shut since the moment they felt the killing intent radiating from Shining and Degenbrecher. They quickly nodded in agreement, thumping their chests in a show of loyalty.

There was no profit in spreading this truth—only pointless enmity. And all of them owed Felix far too much already. They knew full well where their survival had come from.

Once the mercenaries had departed, Ulšulah finally let out a long sigh, lowering her head. “So the prejudices of the Sarkaz… they’re as impossible to erase as the war itself, aren’t they?”

“They have to find the way out themselves,” Felix replied calmly, rising from the long table and walking toward the door.

Beyond the long staircase, Felix caught sight of the mercenary captain who had spoken out of turn earlier, as well as Hoederer and the others. Yet now, all of them were swallowed by the surging tide of players, unable to move an inch.

The players, upon seeing Felix, erupted in joy. Some laughed and cried at once, some clapped wildly, others switched on screenshot and recording functions, while many more simply lifted their voices in thunderous shouts.

“”Offer your hearts to the Pioneer!””

Hoederer’s body swayed in the press of the crowd. He had never imagined that, in the eyes of these Sarkaz “undying,” the Pioneer stood at such an exalted height. They seemed never to have borne the old hatred of the Sarkaz race; in their eyes, there was no such thing as difference of blood.

And this city was not filled with Sarkaz undying alone—many other races dwelled here as well.

“I am the Pioneer.”

Felix’s voice rang out, calm and steady. Standing tall at the top of the stairs, the sunlight poured down behind him. In that instant, it was as though he had shed all bounds of race and origin. He spoke not as a Sarkaz or a Sankta, but simply as one person of Terra.

At his words, the players slowly fell silent.

“We gather here because of our own choices.”

His gaze swept across the sea of bright, eager eyes. “To offer a haven for those who explore, labor, and fight upon the soil of Kazdel—that was the reason I built this city. That reason has not changed, and never will.”

“In Kazdel, the Catastrophes are relentless. We cannot guarantee this city will stand forever. But where people live, there is Kazdel; and where people build homes, there is family.”

“From this day forward, the place where like-minded companions stand together shall be called the Frontier Zone.”

“No matter if we must wander without end—so long as we remain, the Frontier Zone will endure.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep