“No, Your Highness. I’ve said about all I can. What I’ve shared is only what I’ve observed—your ‘reforms,’ their present effects, and the future they may bring. It’s nothing more than my personal view, watching Kazdel’s history as an outsider.”

He shifted into a more comfortable posture before continuing.

“Now, let’s talk about your brother—General Theresis.”

“The greatest problem with him? His sword has always been pointed forward.”

“In the beginning, when everything was still fragile, that blade could sweep aside obstacles, strike down enemies, and carve a path for the Sarkaz. But once he became a ruler, he still wished for his sword to face only forward—never to turn, never to cut inward against his own people. He refused to confront the divisions and resistance festering within. And therein lies the greatest obstacle to reform: not the enemies outside, but the ones within.”

“For a time, that stance united the Sarkaz under a single banner. But as the years passed, the tide of the people swelled. That tide, fed by war and poisoned by hatred, grew into an overwhelming flood.”

“All he could do was try to ride it, to control it—steering it outward, away from internal collapse. Directing it at foreign powers. These years, aside from skirmishes with Laterano, wasn’t there also Victoria?”

“His sword is sharp beyond question—but it will never turn inward to cut away the barriers choking his people’s future.”

Felix allowed himself a faint smile. Under Theresa’s gaze, he spoke his conclusion.

“Whether it’s you, Your Highness, or the General, both of you have made sweeping reforms. Yet neither has managed to touch the root—the governance of Sarkaz society at its foundation. Your path is too gentle, your vision noble but too far away to resolve Kazdel’s present plight or to heal its inherited hatreds. Even the smallest conflict can unravel everything in an instant—let alone an invasion from outside.”

“And your brother? From protector he became the unwilling standard-bearer of resistance to reform. Never once could he turn his blade on the true obstacles within. In such a doomed struggle, he is dragged further and further by the distorted will of the people, bound to a future of tragedy—for himself, and for the Sarkaz as a whole.”

“…”

Theresa blinked, her smile still present, though faint. She gazed steadily at him, her eyes gentle as water.

Her lips parted at last.

“So clear… truly so clear, Mr. Felix. This is the first time I’ve heard Kazdel described so plainly—by a Sankta outsider, no less. Mm… how should I say it? It feels strangely refreshing.”

“Mr. Felix.”

She drew in a deep breath, raising her hands to her chest.

“Your insight alone could make you a teacher of kings.”

“I’d say anyone who studied Kazdel’s history could reach the same conclusions.”

He shrugged off the compliment. To him, it was simple—any player who had read the story or lived through that game’s campaigns could piece it together.

Theresa leaned forward suddenly and clasped his hands again. Her smile softened.

“Did you know, Mr. Felix? I have the ability to glimpse a person’s emotions—and fragments of their memories.”

Her tone turned almost playful.

“Forgive me… I used it on you, just a little, back in the reception room.”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

“And what I saw was both light and shadow. Kindness and ambition, side by side. I felt your respect for Babel, your goodwill toward me… and even a trace of pity.”

“Mmm… and also, a thought about how pretty I am.”

She covered her mouth and let out a light laugh.

“…That’s cheating, you know. Having an ability like that.”

Felix’s mouth twitched. In this moment, Theresa no longer seemed the lofty leader of Babel, but a radiant young woman—like a girl who had somehow held on to centuries of youth.

No way she’s only a few decades old, he thought. Kazdel’s history stretches back far too long. Her name has appeared in records for ages.

“Probing a lady’s age is hardly gentlemanly, Mr. Felix.”

Expression unreadable, Felix pulled his hands free and leaned back into the sofa.

Theresa smiled as though nothing had happened.

“Mr. Felix… will you help me?”

“I know it’s an unreasonable request. I know it may trouble or burden you. But still… I must ask. Please, give me guidance. Show me the way forward—for myself, and for Kazdel.”

Her voice was tender, her eyes tinged with sorrow.

She loved.

She seemed to love everyone.

She loved the Sarkaz, she even loved those who oppressed the Sarkaz, and she loved the future itself. For every resistance, every act of defiance against her, she could offer a thousand reasons for forgiveness—yet none of it ever slowed her steps.

She was a woman of boundless compassion. Perhaps she held preferences for some, but never in excess, never in narrowness.

Felix felt he had begun to glimpse a part of Theresa.

Her love was vast, yet carried its shades—selfless in some ways, personal in others. Each kind of closeness she offered carried a different hue.

Her gentleness was unique. She always left the choice in your hands, even when she herself was not ready for the consequences.

Perhaps this was Theresa’s essence, her distinction.

“Is it really wise, Your Highness, to pose such a question to a Sankta?” Felix asked at last.

Theresa laughed softly. “Wasn’t it you who guided Ulšulah down her path?”

“So, Your Highness already knew?”

“Hehe~ Babel’s intelligence network can’t afford to fall behind.”

Her smile turned light, but her voice carried a quiet sincerity.

“I truly am grateful to you. The city you and the Undying built has given shelter to so many Sarkaz children. It relieves me to know that, in their time of exile, they found another haven besides Babel.”

“I’m not nearly as great as you imagine.”

Felix’s tone was calm. “In truth, I’m selfish. All I want is to keep the people beside me safe. All I wish to create is a place where they can survive in peace.”

“This land of Terra is far too cruel, conflict without end. That is the limit of what I can do—and the only thing I want to do.”

“I’m not a great man, not a hero, not a champion of justice. I only hope I can give those around me a little piece of happiness they can call their own.”

Theresa pressed her hands together in front of her chest, smiling warmly.

“Isn’t that a most beautiful quality? To fight for the sake of protecting the ones close to you… Mr. Felix, I feel I’ve come to understand you a little more.”

Then she lifted her gaze to him once again. That gentle expression of hers—it was difficult to refuse.

“Thank you for your invitation, Your Highness.”

Felix let out a sigh. “But right now, I already have my work. I lead an organization devoted to exploring Terra, to seeking truth… and to searching for a path where the Infected and the uninfected can live together.”

Theresa’s eyes lingered on his. What she saw there was honesty.

“And that includes… the Sarkaz?”

“What sort of question is that, Your Highness? Of course it includes the Sarkaz.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“To me, race doesn’t mean much. If anything… I sometimes think the Sarkaz have more advantages than others.”

“Ara? And why is that?”

Theresa tilted her head in an almost childlike gesture.

“First, their physique. Sarkaz men and women alike—your bodies are extraordinary. To someone like me, a Sankta, you seem like superterrans. Musculature evenly developed, strength honed… perhaps it’s the legacy of generations in mercenary life, but still, it’s a natural advantage of your race.”

“Second, your affinity with Originium. Almost every Sarkaz is Infected, and with that comes natural mastery of Arts. You’re born warriors. If one day a cure is found to halt Oripathy’s spread, then the Sarkaz as a people will have no more shackles.”

“And third…” He gave a small shrug. “It’s not really a reason, but—your people, men and women both, have striking looks and figures. The Sankta aren’t bad-looking, true, but when it comes to physique, we fall short. And that, I suppose, ties back to my first point: the Sarkaz have superior bodies.”

Theresa laughed softly.

“Thank you for your honesty—and the compliments, Mr. Felix.”

“If becoming part of Babel is unlikely, then… how about being its ally?”

“…What do you mean?”

“I confess, it’s a little shameful. Kazdel has long since closed its doors to the outside world. Only Babel has drawn in talent from across Terra—but even then, not in great numbers. What I long for is dialogue with the world beyond Kazdel. To speak with them, to learn how they see us.”

Her voice lowered, touched by quiet longing.

“Mr. Felix… will you give me this chance?”

Felix paused in thought.

Dealing with Babel wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. After all, he had carved out a special zone in Kazdel, and securing ties with one of the major factions could be useful. Yet in the war to come, Babel would lose, Theresa’s death all but certain.

From the standpoint of interest and survival, siding with her was the wrong move.

In his previous life, Felix had joined Rhodes Island, that spiritual successor born from Babel’s legacy. He had only been an ordinary player, yet wasn’t his choice of Rhodes Island driven by the belief that it was the faction better suited for players?

If he reached an understanding with Babel now—if he chose to cooperate—would it alter the story yet to come? He truly didn’t know. Babel’s downfall in his last life had been abrupt, shrouded in confusion, and Theresa’s death remained just as much a mystery to players like him.

She and he had always walked alone, two parallel lines that should never have crossed.

And then Theresa reached out her hand to him. She asked, invited him to walk forward at her side.

Did he have reasons to refuse? Of course—many.

But reasons to agree… those, too, were real.

For someone like Theresa truly had the power to shift Terra’s future, even if only a little. Her wish was to see the Sarkaz live in peace upon this land, no different from any other race. Felix wished to press on, to survive, to one day carve out a Shangri-La free of Catastrophes. In that sense, their ultimate goals overlapped.

“I’m glad we could reach an understanding, Your Highness.”

Under Theresa’s slightly moved gaze, Felix extended his hand.

“I am but an ordinary man. To move forward alongside you… it surprises me. And yet, I can’t deny it brings me a secret joy.”

“You are not ordinary at all, Mr. Felix. I know more about you than you think.”

Theresa stepped forward and took his hand. For the first time, her faintly sorrowful smile gave way to something gentler—a warm, quiet smile.

She did love to smile.

“Let’s discuss the details of our cooperation back in the conference room. I’ll call for Kal’tsit and the Doctor.”

She turned with a girlish air, laughing softly.

“And… about my brother’s reforms and mine—may I ask you to guide me again this evening?”

“Guide is far too strong a word. At best, we can exchange ideas. Kazdel is not mine to rule. I don’t belong to Kazdel. Its path forward lies with you, Your Highness, and with General Theresis.”

“Then call me Theresa.”

With that, she offered her hand once more.

“In return, let me call you Felix… Let’s walk together, Felix.”

And so he clasped her hand again.

A humble man, a radiant dream. The future gathered in her eyes; the path unraveled beneath their feet.

Two lines that had been parallel now bent toward one another, touched, and moved forward together. It would be a road of thorns, yes—but as long as a road exists, it can be walked.

Kristen had ceased to be a solitary figure since Felix’s arrival. And perhaps Theresa, too, from this day onward, would no longer shoulder the weight alone—for she now knew that beside her was a Sankta who would listen, and who would, with the sharpness of both mentor and friend, point out her mistakes and help her find her way.

How unexpected, she thought with a quiet smile. Felix hadn’t even lived a century, yet already possessed such insight. Truly, he was someone remarkable. She and her brother had spent a hundred years striving to grow, transforming from bodyguard and seamstress into today’s Sarkaz King and General.

And at Felix’s age back then… what had they even been doing?

When they arrived back at the conference room, Theresa greeted those within with a light smile.

“Doctor, where’s Kal’tsit?”

A voice, neutral and faintly distorted as though passed through a machine, came from beneath the Doctor’s hood.

“She’s still double-checking data with the medical staff. She’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“This is… the Pioneer.”

The Doctor turned toward Felix. The depths of the hood remained shadowed, expression unreadable. Setting aside the report in hand, the Doctor extended one gloved hand, and Felix accepted the handshake.

Then his eyes flicked toward the report left on the table.

“This is… last September’s issue of Science, isn’t it? Originium and Ecological Balance: Biodiversity and Environmental Protection?”

“…Eh?”

The Doctor picked the report back up, glanced at the title, and then nodded.

“You recognized it that quickly? How?”

“Because I wrote it.”

The Doctor’s gaze fell to the author’s name printed on the page. Three words:

Felix Shawn Lanshem.

The man himself chuckled.

“As a matter of fact, I also happen to be a scholar holding more than a few doctoral degrees.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep