Felix was not a mercenary, nor was he an operator of Babel. He was merely a collaborator. For someone of his status to participate in a Babel mission was, strictly speaking, inappropriate. Still, the Doctor had arranged for him to take on a relatively safe assignment:

Protect Theresa.

Did Her Highness Theresa actually need protection? Not at all. Which meant Felix’s role was essentially to tag along and do very little. He didn’t mind. With his weapons slung at his side, he set the Sarkaz siblings to keep watch, Degenbrecher sat nearby with her own arms at the ready, while he focused on controlling his drones, maintaining constant reconnaissance.

Babel itself now fielded a batch of drones as well, finally catching up to the Military Commission’s capabilities.

In recent years, the Commission under Theresis had clashed with, and occasionally traded with, Victoria. The dukes of Victoria pursued their own agendas, and to them the Sarkaz were little more than “damned mercenary demons.” But the Commission had money, and the dukes were always willing to sell weapons and technology for the right price. Even though negotiations often devolved into disputes over cost, the Commission’s combat effectiveness had undeniably grown with Victorian aid.

This, in Felix’s previous life, was exactly why so many players chose the Theresis faction: follow the Military Commission, and you’d have plenty to eat. Follow Theresa… and you’d feel her love. But what use was love? Not every player came to Arknights for a pretty NPC girl. When pragmatism mattered, people were ruthlessly pragmatic.

And that was why Felix wasn’t worried that players aligned with Tomorrow’s Development would defect to Babel just because of this cooperation. Babel had little to offer beyond ideals—and ideals, in the face of harsh reality, shattered all too easily.

He understood Theresa. He admired her. But he could never become her.

She was too compassionate—so much so that even as a Sankta from Laterano, Felix found himself astonished. Not even among his own people had he ever seen anyone quite like Theresa.

—

“This is ACE. Mission complete.”

The voice came crisply through the earpiece. “Both positions secured.”

“Theresa, Pioneer—you may advance,” the Doctor said calmly. “We have sixty-five hours left.”

Theresa gave a firm nod, her steps gentle yet resolute as she moved forward.

The weather was dreadful. Sarkaz civilians groaned in misery; some terminally ill with Oripathy could not last much longer in this cold. Babel’s mercenaries remained silent, conserving their strength.

They had already endured pursuit, and though they had beaten back the Military Commission’s mercenaries, Babel’s own forces had suffered losses. In the heavy snow, survival itself was becoming tenuous.

“Your Highness!”

“Her Highness is here—we’re saved!”

“Your Highness, when can we leave this place?”

As Theresa stepped into the camp, both mercenaries and civilians alike looked to her. In their eyes shone a brilliance—so dazzling it seemed to rekindle hope, the hope that they might still go on living.

After speaking to the civilians, Theresa went among Babel’s operators. She knew each mercenary by name. When she saw their wounds, her expression softened with sorrow. When she learned that several familiar operators were missing, she pressed her hands together and silently prayed for the fallen who had not yet been laid to rest.

Inevitably, Felix drew stares as well. Many of the Sarkaz civilians glared at him with open hatred—but he had long since grown indifferent to such looks. And even among them, hatred was rarer than numbness.

That vacant, lifeless gaze—Felix had only ever seen it in the eyes of the infected. It was the look of people who had long since given up on the future, their lives already rotting like the wastelands of Kazdel.

He studied the infected in silence. It was not his first time seeing those in the late stages of the disease. By this point, their bodies were riddled with Originium; movement was impossible. They lay helpless in the tents, while grieving families trickled water between their lips, desperate to keep them awake. For if they closed their eyes now… it would be forever.

The Sarkaz siblings were deeply shaken. Their own infection levels were low—thanks only to Felix, who had saved their lives before an Originium storm claimed them. Without him, they would have ended up no different from the civilians lying here.

—

“This is Mantra. Arrived at B43 mountains. Enemy detected.”

“This is Ascalon. Two squads of mercenaries are moving toward the camp. I can only hold off a few.”

Felix nodded, then glanced at the eager Sarkaz siblings.

“That squad will be yours.”

“Your command is our will, leader.”

Felix wasn’t worried for their safety; Degenbrecher was there to guard them, and that was enough. Instead, he pulled out a small notebook and began scribbling down observations—symptoms of Oripathy among the patients around him.

Back in Columbia, Felix had once heard rumors of black markets trafficking infected—sold off to be dissected, experimented on. Though a scientist, he had at least some conscience. Now, surrounded by so many living subjects, he began to carefully record their wounds and symptoms.

His progress in medicine was steady. Perhaps, in time, he might begin attempting genuine research into the treatment of Oripathy.

The next moment, both he and Theresa lifted their heads. From the peak of the snowbound mountain, an ominous presence surged downward.

Felix drew his lance. Shaking his head faintly at Theresa, his body ignited—azure flames roared to life, enveloping him from head to toe. The heat was so intense that the snow beneath his feet vaporized in an instant. He stood at the center of the camp, blazing like a sun.

“So warm…” Theresa whispered to herself.

It was not like Margaret’s radiance, which carved a path of light ahead. Felix’s flames instead burned a passage straight through the world.

At the gates of the camp, the enemy appeared. Their figures were swathed entirely in black cloth, the horns that once marked them as Sarkaz brutally severed. No longer individuals, they had been reduced to nameless thralls, dead men walking, Heirbearers. They lived only to obey orders.

For all his years in Kazdel, Felix had seen countless Sarkaz mercenaries fall. Yet this was the first time he had encountered such eerie foes. With a sharp sweep of his blade across the ground, walls of flame surged upward, isolating the deathless soldiers from the civilians behind him.

And behind him stood Theresa.

Her eyes were filled with sorrow, recognizing in those twisted forms shadows of people she had once known. She parted her lips to speak—but the thralls had already begun their charge.

Felix was no stranger to fighting alone against many. His level now exceeded one hundred; his stats and vitality far outstripped these nameless soldiers, most of them scarcely above seventy or eighty. They were no true threat.

One swing cleaved apart the tide itself.

Another swing split the snow of B43 Mountain in two, like the sea parting before Moses. The shockwave hurled the deathless back, flames devouring their bodies.

The survivors pressed forward, voiceless, undaunted. They were met by a horizontal slash that tore through them, fire searing deep into their bodies and carving its mark into the very mountain. The peak shuddered violently, avalanches cascading down to swallow the rear ranks whole.

Two strikes—yet they drained nearly all of Felix’s mana, leaving him lightheaded. Just as in the game of his previous life, when a player exhausted their MP, dizziness would follow. An unsettlingly realistic effect.

“So… strong,” a mercenary whispered behind Theresa.

To them, these thralls were not unbeatable—but their sheer numbers made survival uncertain. Had they broken into the camp, it would have been a massacre.

But this Sankta had displayed power equal to any of Babel’s elite operators. Already, many mercenaries assumed he must be one of their newest recruits.

“This is Ascalon. My apologies—it was my oversight. I was caught in a duel with an old foe and failed to notice the deathless.”

“Ascalon,” the Doctor’s voice came over the earpiece, calm but edged with rebuke, “after this mission, I expect a full report.”

Then, softer, “The failure to anticipate the deathless was also mine. The camp stands thanks to the Pioneer.”

“Remaining squads, continue the operation. Mantra, report any anomalies—”

Orders flowed with mechanical precision. Even under immense pressure, the Doctor directed over twenty teams while monitoring every drone feed without faltering.

Theresa stepped forward and took Felix’s hand, giving him strength.

This was no fantasy world—there was no such thing as “mana transfer.” But there were ways to recover. Felix pulled an energy bar from his coat and chewed it down quickly. The dizziness faded.

“Are you all right, Mr. Felix?”

Her gaze lingered on the scorched land where his flames had scoured away snow and soil, exposing bare stone. Her voice was laced with grief.

“This should have been my burden. It should have been me who granted them release…”

“Once you step onto the battlefield, death is the fate of everyone. We were simply lucky to have dodged the reaper’s scythe.”

Felix spoke calmly. “They intended to massacre these Sarkaz civilians, and I had no reason to stand by and watch.”

“…”

“Their targets were the Sarkaz civilians… So General Theresis didn’t want Babel to gain more civilian support doesn’t he?”

Theresa gave a wry smile. “Mr. Felix, you see so clearly. No… you have long since seen through the very essence of this civil war. What he and I have done, what we’ve thought… in your words, it all falls short.”

“I respect you, Theresa. That’s why I will support you.”

Under Theresa’s slightly peculiar gaze, Felix gently ruffled her hair. Though he was probably much younger than her, his height exceeded hers—making it almost the same as when he had ruffled Senomi’s hair.

After Felix left, Theresa remained standing, her gaze heavy with sorrow as she looked at the fallen warriors buried under the thick snow, slain by Felix’s sword. She brought her hands together once more, silently praying for the souls of these fallen compatriots.

Then, she reached up and touched her own head.

The last time someone had ruffled her hair like this… it seemed so long ago. Back then, she had still been just an ordinary seamstress. But who was it that had given her such warmth?

Theresa could not remember. She had already walked through too many years, observing the Sarkaz and guiding them forward. Even now, despite her differences with her brother, she felt no regret.

She had found her treasure. She had affirmed her beliefs and was willing to act upon them.

This was Theresa—her love had surpassed the bounds of civilization, incomprehensible to most. She bore betrayal and insults alone, pushing forward under immense pressure. Everyone knew she was the pillar of Babel, sheltering all under her wings. Yet even she could tire, could cry, could love.

Now, it seemed she had found someone beyond Babel who supported her ideas and convictions. That feeling… was truly exquisite.

Babel’s mercenaries began cleaning the area—those who needed to retreat did so, those who needed medicine took it—but still, many severely infected had not survived long enough to receive it. Under the dim, snow-filled sky, their bodies returned to the terra as pure Originium particles, leaving the world of suffering behind.

It was liberation.

Felix approached the siblings, Dawn and Nightfall, who had just successfully intercepted and slain a mercenary squad that had been paid by the Military Committee. He showered them with praise.

Around him, a small group of Babel mercenaries had gathered—some had just had their lives saved by Felix, others had witnessed the scene via drones. They slung arms over one another’s shoulders, promising that once back, they would buy Felix a drink.

Theresa’s gaze softened as she watched it all, then she stepped forward.

—

The day of parting arrived sooner than expected. In early November, Felix bid farewell to Theresa, the Doctor, Kal’tsit, and little Amiya, leaving Babel behind. Along with the few companions he had brought, Ines and another mercenary, responsible for liaising with Hoederer Squad, would fully manage the intelligence connection between Hoederer and Felix.

Upon returning to Lungmen, Felix prepared to depart for Columbia.

He had heard the news—his Cellinia, his waifu Texas, had returned to their home in Columbia in early November.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep