Lappland’s disappearance troubled Felix more than he cared to admit. According to Cellinia, the two had become separated during the mission, and afterward, there had been no further contact. Judging from the reports, the main pursuit force had been focused on Cellinia’s side—whatever small groups remained shouldn’t have posed a threat to Lappland.

Still, worry lingered in Cellinia’s voice, though she tried to mask it with reason. Lappland’s survival instincts and combat skills far exceeded her own. She could live through nearly anything… or so Cellinia told herself, again and again.

Even so, she kept searching. Any lead, any rumor—she wanted to know everything.

Felix had already posted a notice with the Pioneer Association, requesting help to locate her. It wasn’t difficult to do, and many were willing to lend a hand.

Meanwhile, in Columbia, the year 1092 had marked a dark turn in its scientific community. Researchers began conducting experiments on terran subjects—implanting devices, altering Originium Arts, striving to create “enhanced” individuals.

Rhine Lab hadn’t directly participated in those experiments, but they had accepted a batch of such “subjects” for observation.

Most of them were infected—terminal cases beyond the reach of medicine. There was little the researchers could do but record, with cold precision, the final moments of their lives.

Felix felt little sympathy for the experiments themselves; terran experimentation had always disgusted him, in both the real world and the game. Yet he couldn’t stop Columbia’s scientists. They offered the infected enormous sums of money—enough for their families to live comfortably after they were gone. Many went willingly to their deaths.

He flipped through a thick stack of reports—the profiles of the newly arrived test subjects now residing within Rhine Lab. Tucking them under his arm, he made his way to Saria’s department.

To his surprise, the usually quiet place was unusually lively. Adjusting his glasses, he paused at the doorway, surveying the room.

Saria’s division—the Defense Department—was responsible for the internal safety of Rhine Lab. They also reviewed experimental procedures across all divisions, holding the authority to halt any that were deemed too dangerous. In all the years since the Rhine Lab’s founding, however, Saria had rarely had cause to exercise that power.

She wasn’t alone in the department. Her subordinates were all carefully vetted by Yara and personally selected by Saria herself—disciplined, capable, and discreet. They rarely drew attention, but they formed one of Rhine Lab’s most reliable foundations.

At that moment, a man in a patient’s uniform stood before one of the Defense Department officers. From Felix’s angle, he could only see the man’s back—but even from behind, the sheer mass of his muscles radiated pressure. Felix couldn’t help nodding slightly. Not bad.

He drew out a report and immediately recognized the man’s photo.

Jesselton Williams.

His Originium Art: metal manipulation—a technique with high potential. Formerly a subject of modification at the Columbia Central Laboratory, he had metal grafted into his body, making his very flesh as hard as steel.

That such a man had ended up as a “test subject” at Rhine Lab was, in itself, a coincidence. Felix glanced through his report—it listed his physical data and the amplification effects of his Arts, but little else.

After all, who would bother to record the personal interests of a lab rat?

As the Director of the Mechanical Engineering Division, Felix had no intention of interfering with another department’s affairs.

“So,” Jesselton said, his tone carrying an unshakable arrogance, “I’ve defeated your so-called Defense Division ace. Tell me, is this truly the best your department can offer?”

His voice was smooth, refined even—with just a hint of theatrical pride. Had there been a breeze and a glass of wine, Felix suspected the man would’ve recited poetry to the wind.

Beneath the posturing, though, there was no denying his strength.

“What’s going on here?” Felix asked, turning to one of the Defense members who’d been watching the scene with interest.

Recognizing the ID card on Felix’s chest, the man straightened and saluted.

“Director Felix, sir. Jesselton requested to join the Defense Division. He’s applied for the entry assessment several times before but always lost to the captain. Today, though… he seems stronger than usual.”

Felix’s brow twitched as he noticed Jesselton posing, shifting his weight flamboyantly from one foot to the other.

“And the other test subjects?”

“Ah—well, the infected subjects are all resting quietly in their rooms,” the man explained. “The rest are practicing their Originium Arts or moving about under supervision. Each one has a Defense staff member assigned to watch them. Jesselton is… unique. He’s easily the strongest of them all.”

Felix nodded. The data matched that claim—Jesselton’s report had indeed been marked with a “Special Observation” label.

Then—

“You again.”

The voice that rang out silenced the entire room. The chatter faded instantly, and Felix turned toward the doorway.

Saria, dressed in her Defense Division uniform, had just stepped inside. She surveyed the scene with calm, steady eyes. When her gaze fell on the smirking Jesselton, a faint crease appeared between her brows.

“I believe,” Jesselton began with a showman’s flair, “that I’m now more than qualified to join the Defense Division. Don’t you agree, Miss Saria?”

He even gave a gentleman’s bow—and were it not for the patient’s uniform he wore, the gesture might have almost seemed dignified. One had to wonder what kind of man he’d been before becoming an experimental subject.

“Victory followed by arrogance,” Saria said evenly. “Is that what you consider strength?”

“Arrogance?” Jesselton chuckled, spreading his arms. “Isn’t pride part of terran nature?”

His smile warped slightly, the composure on his face slipping into something feverish. His eyes locked on Saria with a heat that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“I’ve always wondered,” he murmured, “whether you’re truly stronger than me.”

Around them, the Defense officers exchanged uneasy glances. Slowly, they began to step back, widening the space between themselves and Jesselton. They had once thought him a potential colleague—now, it seemed he might simply be unstable.

Still… ignorance was no crime. Perhaps he could be forgiven.

Saria’s expression didn’t change. Over the years, she had faced more than a few who coveted her position. To them, the title of Defense Chief was a trophy for strength alone. Yet to Saria, true qualification required far more than power.

Without another word, she clenched her fist and began to move toward him, her steps deliberate and heavy.

Jesselton opened his mouth to speak—but before a word escaped, a single punch was already driving toward him.

His pupils shrank to pinpoints. Every hair on his body stood on end.

From that one strike alone, he felt an overwhelming force—one that told him, if he didn’t use his Art right now, he would die.

With a roar that shook the air, Jesselton’s arms gleamed with metallic sheen. His skin hardened into steel just as Saria’s slow, unhurried punch connected.

Bang!

The impact thundered through the hall. Every Defense officer instinctively stepped back.

Jesselton’s confident grin vanished instantly—replaced by a twisted grimace of pain. His metallic arm creaked and splintered under the sheer force of the blow, cracks spiderwebbing up from his knuckles to his shoulder.

In another second, it might shatter entirely.

The sound of grinding echoed through the hall. Listening closely, everyone realized it wasn’t just Jesselton’s arms creaking under pressure—his clenched teeth were grinding too. His jaw tightened so hard it seemed his molars might shatter, yet he refused to utter a single sound.

“Still want to continue?”

Saria lowered her fist. She hadn’t even used her Originium Arts—just pure, refined martial skill. Perhaps after so many years relying on calcification-based Arts, her physical strength had naturally grown to extraordinary levels. These days, aside from her sparring sessions with Carnelian, there were few opponents who could even make her consider using her Arts.

Compared to the Saria of the past, this one stood firmly at the peak—stronger, calmer, and still climbing higher.

“Hah… hah…”

Jesselton staggered back a few steps. His arms no longer felt like his own—they’d gone numb, tingling painfully with alternating waves of burning and stabbing sensations. Sweat poured down his face. Simply staying upright was now a challenge.

“…Hah… So this is it?”

Boom!

Jesselton’s body was sent flying, soaring right past Felix before crashing into the corridor wall outside the Defense Department’s hall. The impact left a large, terran-shaped dent before he slumped to the floor, completely limp.

All Saria had done was throw a punch. Jesselton, on the other hand, had needed every ounce of strength just to remain standing.

Felix glanced at him briefly and sighed when he saw the man already unconscious. Honestly, what was the point of provoking Saria in the first place?

If she had actually been angry—which she wasn’t—Jesselton wouldn’t just be unconscious; he’d be gone. Physically obliterated.

“Felix.”

Saria turned her head slightly, acknowledging him with a nod.

He pointed casually toward the crumpled form on the floor. “You still need this guy? If not, I’ll take him off your hands.”

“Do as you wish.”

Felix hummed in response. From behind him, two drones floated into view, each extending a mechanical claw that effortlessly latched onto the unconscious Jesselton, lifting him into the air.

“Appreciate it.”

Their tone and attitude toward Jesselton were no different from scientists discussing a test subject. Although Saria disliked the cold, utilitarian mindset of Columbia’s research culture, Jesselton’s repeated provocations had exhausted her patience. Watching him hang limp like a broken puppet, she found no words to spare.

Felix, at least, wasn’t one of those deranged scientists. The man wouldn’t be in danger under his care.

Still, Felix couldn’t help but think it was a shame. Jesselton’s Originium Art—metal manipulation—had solid potential. In Mechanical Engineering, such an ability would be invaluable. If refined properly, he could’ve become a sort of “Iron Man,” clad in specialized armor controlled through his Arts, allowing him to engage enemies with both precision and adaptability.

Yet Jesselton’s current combat method—simply hardening his own body—was unimaginative and crude. Against superior opponents or trained squads, he was doomed to lose.

From what Felix had gathered through the Defense Department, Jesselton was ambitious. His earlier conversation with Saria made that even clearer. His goal wasn’t to serve; it was to rule. He wanted power and authority—things Rhine Lab could never offer.

Rhine Lab’s corporate structure and scientific culture left no room for men like him to rise too high. Even if he managed to join the Defense Department, the best he could hope for was the role of a small-unit leader—nothing more.

But Tomorrow’s Development—Felix’s Company—could give him exactly what he craved. He’d been growing weary of Emperor’s constant chatter about “female personnel” anyway; perhaps it was time to add a strong male enforcer to the team. That alone would shut Emperor up.

Jesselton regained consciousness slightly earlier than expected. His vision swam, his body ached, and his mind felt foggy, as though he’d just survived an earthquake—or a night of heavy drinking.

“You’re awake.”

He blinked, looking up toward the voice. Despite having spent a fair amount of time within Rhine Lab, Jesselton prided himself on knowing every major figure of influence. Yet this was the first time he’d seen someone like this inside the facility—someone of the Sankta race.

Jesselton glanced at the badge on the man’s chest and immediately understood—this person was a department director, someone on the same level as Saria.

What could a man of that rank possibly want with him?

His eyes flicked toward the floating drones beside him, their mechanical claws still extended. It was obvious now—these were the machines that had hauled his unconscious body here.

“Sir… you are?”

Even in pain, Jesselton dared not show arrogance before someone of such status. His body ached to the bone, and standing felt impossible, but he forced himself to stay alert, taking in his surroundings.

He appeared to be inside a workshop. Blueprints and schematics were scattered across the desk, while on a nearby conveyor table lay neatly arranged tools. Two robotic arms hung motionless from the ceiling—lifeless for now, though they looked ready to spring into motion at any moment.

“I am Felix Shawn Lanshem, Director of the Mechanical Dynamics Department.”

Felix tapped the badge on his chest. “Most of my work keeps me traveling across the continent. I rarely return to Rhine Lab.”

“…I don’t understand what business you have with me, sir.”

Jesselton nodded stiffly. Mechanical Dynamics Department—just the name alone sounded like a purely technical branch, the kind filled with researchers buried in equations and designs. It wasn’t his world. He had no interest in becoming another scholar locked away in a lab.

“You want power,” Felix said calmly, crossing one leg over the other. “You want strength—and you want respect.”

He leaned back slightly, his tone steady, almost casual.

“Swear loyalty to me, Jesselton. What you desire—I can give you.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep