“Swear… loyalty to you?”

Jesselton immediately noticed something odd about the man’s choice of words. It wasn’t ‘join the Mechanical Dynamics Department’, nor ‘become one of its test subjects’—but ‘swear loyalty.’

“Sir, I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

Jesselton kept his posture low and respectful. He might enjoy bullying the weak and flaunting his strength, but that didn’t mean he was a fool. To stand out among so many test subjects required more than raw power—it required cunning and the ability to read people.

His Originium Arts, the manipulation of metal, was a valuable ability. In the military, he would’ve thrived—but he lacked both the qualifications and the connections. With no other route forward, he took the shortcut, joining a tech company’s terran experimentation program, and eventually being transferred to Rhine Lab.

That was Jesselton Williams.

He knew of the Mechanical Dynamics Department—Rhine Lab’s most profitable division, the one that kept relations with the military stable. That was also why Jesselton had wanted to climb into the Defense Division—to move closer to power.

“I’m not just the Director of Mechanical Dynamics,” Felix said evenly, taking a sip of water. “I’m also one of Rhine Lab’s shareholders.”

He paused briefly, then added with that same calm tone, “And beyond that, I own another company—a private firm that deals in the mercenary business.”

Jesselton blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then, forcing a respectful smile, he asked, “Sir… are you suggesting that I become a mercenary?”

“No,” Felix replied, voice smooth as still water. “Becoming a mercenary would be wasting your potential.”

He leaned back slightly. “Serving as my enforcer—my hound—would be a far better use of your talents.”

He didn’t sound like the quiet, scholarly type one might expect from a research director. The refinement was still there, yes—but now, it was wrapped in authority. Years of negotiating with nobles, entrepreneurs, and even Governor Wei had shaped Felix into a true leader, one who exuded calm, controlled power.

Jesselton felt it immediately. That invisible weight pressing down on him—the same hunger he recognized in himself. Ambition. Desire.

Choosing the right leader to follow was as important as choosing the right company. Pick wrong, and you’d rot in the same position forever. To Jesselton, this Sankta before him was no ordinary scientist. He was the most profitable division’s head, a shareholder of Rhine Lab, and the owner of another enterprise. A man of both ambition and means.

And if I’m his hound… then protecting him is my duty, isn’t it?

Jesselton lowered his head further, voice steady. “Sir, my loyalty belongs to you.”

“Good.”

Felix gave a small, satisfied nod. He already had the Lightbearers, his elite public guard—but he needed others too. Shadows to work in the dark. He had his contract assassins, those foxes killers, but strong individuals like Jesselton could be just as useful.

And really, being punched across a room by Saria wasn’t that shameful. Who hasn’t been sent flying by her at least once?

Felix led Jesselton to a nearby platform where a sleek, streamlined exosuit stood displayed. Unlike the bulky, fully armored models used by the military, this one left parts of the body uncovered, designed for flexibility and comfort. The smooth, fluid curves of its plating made it look more like the product of the next century than the current one.

This was a prototype designed jointly by Felix and Ferdinand—a concept model. Though never mass-produced, it was fully functional, with no risk to the user. Its output power was lower than that of standard combat suits, but its responsiveness and mobility were unmatched. The military had no use for such a design—but for Felix and Ferdinand, it had been a passion project.

“Try this on,” Felix said, gesturing to the suit labeled Fluere Mk.1.

Jesselton nodded immediately. As he put it on, he instinctively activated his Originium Arts, feeling out the structure of the machine.

A spark of surprise flickered in his eyes. The armor wrapped around his clothes seamlessly, without discomfort or weight. It felt almost natural—like donning an elegant coat. His movements became quicker, his punches heavier, every step carrying newfound force.

“So, you’ve noticed.”

Felix clapped lightly, drawing Jesselton’s attention back to him. “The Fluere Mk.1 is equipped with an Originium-powered drive that enhances the user’s Arts and provides boosts to strength and speed. Since your ability is metal manipulation, you can control the suit directly, adjusting the feedback energy as you wish.”

“This model isn’t compatible with many people—but you,” Felix said, his golden eyes glinting, “fit it perfectly.”

“Yes, sir!”

Jesselton’s voice trembled with excitement. With this suit, facing Saria again… catching one of her punches might finally be possible.

Felix glanced down at his wrist display and tapped the screen. From the shelves behind him, dozens of drones rose into the air, forming a silent, floating formation at his back.

“Alright, let’s begin the testing phase.”

“Sir…?”

Jesselton froze as the drones’ undersides shifted, revealing rows of dark, hollow gun barrels. His pupils constricted—an instinctive reaction to the sudden, tangible sense of death that washed over him.

In the next instant, hundreds of Arts bullets roared toward him.

Under normal circumstances, Jesselton’s combat style was straightforward—brute strength and direct clashes. But against this storm of Arts fire, charging headlong meant suicide. The moment his toes brushed the floor, his body exploded into motion, retreating several paces while raising both arms to shield his face.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The bullets struck like a torrential rainstorm. Some whizzed past harmlessly, but many others slammed into his arms and torso without mercy, each impact drawing a guttural cry from his throat.

Even though his body had turned to metal, pain still came with every strike.

For a long moment, Jesselton’s anguished cries echoed through the room. But as the barrage ended, he realized something strange—his strength hadn’t drained, and he felt no trace of blood. Slowly, he lowered his arms and glanced down.

Several Arts bullets were lodged in his armor, true, but most had been repelled by the mech suit’s reinforced structure and the amplifying effect of his own Originium Arts. It hurt, yes—but not fatally. No blood flowed.

On the battlefield, blood loss was far deadlier than pain.

“Seems to suit you well,” Felix remarked, waving a hand. The drone barrels retracted silently.

“Sir…”

Jesselton’s face broke into a grin. The agony faded beneath a surge of exhilaration—he could feel how well the armor resonated with him. His expression shone with the raw, youthful joy of newfound power.

“Next, we’ll test its reaction to Originium Arts.”

Felix fiddled with the ring on his finger. Flames burst forth instantly. Above the hovering drones, a rectangular module unfolded—an Arts emitter. The drones themselves became extensions of his will, his floating staves. Blue flames rippled to life around them, and cold sweat ran down Jesselton’s back.

He had thought Felix’s expertise lay purely in mechanical engineering. He hadn’t expected this—an oppressive aura of power on par with Saria’s own.

The fire wasn’t meant to explode or destroy. Instead, its searing heat alone could scorch and sap his strength away.

“Sir… please, go easy on me…”

Jesselton’s voice was dry and cracking. If Felix roasted him for real, he might well end up literally red-hot.

“Just a burst test—to measure endurance.”

Felix had no intention of killing his new subordinate, but he did want to make a point. Men like Jesselton, ambitious and eager, required a clear reminder of their place. A show of strength ensured loyalty—and eliminated any thought of betrayal or divided allegiance.

He raised a finger. Dozens of drones behind him flared, flames licking the ceiling. Fire alarms shrieked. Sprinklers engaged—but every droplet vanished in midair, vaporized before touching the ground.

By the time Saria arrived—shield in hand and several Defense Division members in tow—the alarms had already been silenced. Felix stood calmly at a terminal, entering data, while a familiar figure lay collapsed at the far end of the workshop. Jesselton was unconscious, motionless, as the drones hovered above him, administering medical treatment.

“…Felix.”

“Apologies, apologies,” Felix said lightly, noticing her. “Didn’t expect the alarm to trigger. I just wanted to test the prototype’s performance.”

“Using Originium Arts inside the lab is far too dangerous,” Saria said, glancing at the half-dead Jesselton sprawled on the floor. “If you need to test something, do it in the training hall.”

“Next time, I promise.”

As Saria and her team left, Felix allowed himself a small smile. The results were better than expected. With the armor, his performance had climbed to a new level. Without it, he couldn’t hope to match operators like ACE—but now, equipped with the Fluere mech suit, he could almost hold his own.

Jesselton would be fine, merely unconscious.

Collecting the recorded data, Felix left the workshop. He needed to see Ferdinand for a round of fine-tuning on the suit.

When he found him, Ferdinand was giving instructions to one of his researchers—a new face, likely one of last year’s recruits to Rhine Lab.

“Felix,” Ferdinand said as he turned to face him, “this is about the power armor, isn’t it?”

Typical Ferdinand—straight to the point.

“There are a few discrepancies in the data,” Felix said. “I need you to help me verify them.”

“Understood.”

Ferdinand nodded, then gestured toward the blue-haired girl standing politely to the side. “This is Felix S. Lanshem, Director of the Mechanical Dynamics Department. He holds doctorates in Mechanical Engineering, Mechanical Dynamics, High-Energy Physics, Ecology, and Originium Studies. His department also happens to be Rhine Lab’s top revenue generator. You’d do well to maintain a good relationship with them—your future research may depend on it.”

“P–Pleased to meet you, Director Lanshem.”

The young woman bowed quickly. She looked composed, sharp—one of those researchers who clearly knew her own mind. Ferdinand introduced her with his usual brevity. “Elena Urbica. Dual PhD in Electrical Engineering and Applied Power Systems. She’s my student.”

“Elena,” Felix said, his tone even, “if you ever have questions related to machinery, you can speak with Snowsant or Feist.”

“Yes, Director Lanshem.”

After a respectful bow, Elena excused herself—she had no intention of intruding on a discussion between two department heads.

Once the data verification and energy recalibration were complete, Ferdinand seemed to recall something. “Do you remember which construction company built Rhine Lab’s main facility?”

“I do,” Felix replied. “The HydeBro and the Simon Company competed for the contract. If I recall correctly, Simon withdrew partway through.”

“The Simon family fell,” Ferdinand said flatly. He usually ignored non-academic matters—especially corporate rivalries—but he remembered Felix showing some interest in those two firms back then. That memory prompted him to mention it now.

He handed over a file. Felix skimmed through it, his expression shifting subtly. The report detailed the Simon family’s downfall.

At the end of 1091, after a bitter conflict with the HydeBro, the Simons lost everything. The family head and his wife were arrested, and their son followed them into custody by mid-1092.

Felix exhaled softly. He’d been away from Rhine Lab during that period and had missed the news entirely.

“I owe you one,” he said, patting Ferdinand’s shoulder. The latter gave a short chuckle and turned to leave.

Felix took out his portable terminal and placed a call to Carnelian. He intended to pull those three people out—if his memories from his previous life were correct, the Simon family’s son would one day become a key member of Rhodes Island: loyal, formidable, and resourceful.

Good grief, he thought wryly. Am I trying to hollow out Rhodes Island before it even begins?

The Columbian prisons were under military control, and his ties with the army ran deep. Extracting three detainees would be a simple matter—no need for him to act personally. Carnelian could handle it as his proxy.

The Simon Company was long dead now. In Columbia, corporations rose and fell by the day; such things were hardly unusual.

Before leaving Columbia, he had to finish every last item on his agenda.

With thoughts of mech refinements still turning in his mind, Felix returned home. Lemuen had gone out with Exusiai and Texas. Avdotya was quietly reading in the library, and Carnelian had just left for work. Only his Trimount 4 little sisters were home.

Judging by their races—Feline and Zalak—Mandragora, Susie and Senomi were all of age at sixteen. In fact, among their kind, engagements and marriages at that age weren’t uncommon. As for Rafaela, she would always remain his beloved little sister—half daughter, half sibling.

“Master Felix, here—please have some water.”

“Thank you.”

Senomi handed him a glass of water. Mandragora, at some point, had silently moved behind him and began massaging his back. Meanwhile, Susie sat beside him, kneading his arms to help him relax.

My dear little Ella, he thought, catching sight of Rafaela watching in utter confusion, you’re not the only one bewildered by this scene. I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on either.

Why in the world were these three acting like this?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep