Anyone who has ever played an MMORPG knows the drill: sorting your inventory, putting items up for sale, setting up stalls—it all eats up time.
For professional players, it's even worse. Every pro team usually has a guild or a whole staff behind them, handling logistics. Take the Dynasty team for example. Around the middle of version 1.0, they established a guild called Chao Dai. It recruited new players, advertised the guild while promoting the team's name, and more importantly, supported Dynasty by farming mats, gathering resources, and providing a steady supply line.
But even with support staff, this kind of work needs people to maintain it. Some managers live overseas, and not everyone in the guild or the team can be online at a moment's notice to deal with sudden issues.
In their previous MMO—Sword Hero—players could rely on NPCs to look after their bases. But those NPCs weren't like the ones here in Terra. They were just programs: give them a command, and they'd execute it, no questions asked.
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"...So this is your reason for buying a slave?"
Huangtian Houtu stared at the timid little girl standing behind Cheng and had to hold back the urge to explode. Finally, he snapped:
"Bullshit reason! If you need help, why not hire regular Terrans like the Pioneer does? You actually spent money to buy a slave? How much?"
"Three hundred thousand."
"..."
Huangtian Houtu's eyes almost popped out of his skull. He clenched his fists, ready to beat the crap out of Cheng, when the latter hurriedly explained:
"I already asked the coach. He approved this time."
He added, "A slave bought this way guarantees loyalty. And if you treat her like family, you won't even have to pay wages in the future."
"Three hundred thousand... The highest-value jobs from the Pioneer pay maybe fifty thousand LMD, and that's only the rare long-haul transport runs. Do you realize how long it'll take to make your money back?"
Huangtian Houtu gave him a look that could kill. What kind of idiotic investment was this?
But the purchase had already been made. No returns. And since even the coach approved, there wasn't much left to say. He sighed, feeling a headache coming on, and dropped his scowl—though his expression still looked like he'd just caught a lolicon red-handed.
"What's your name?"
The little black-haired Liberi girl flinched and whispered, "M–Master... my name is Sheila."
Huangtian Houtu turned back to glare at Cheng.
"You ever think about who's gonna raise the damn kid?"
"...Uh, maybe we can ask the Pioneer?"
"You didn't just suggest dumping childcare on the Pioneer, did you?"
For a moment, Huangtian Houtu was stunned that Cheng could even ask something that stupid.
"The Pioneer's got his own business to deal with. You really expect him to babysit for you?"
"...It's not just one kid."
Huangtian Houtu froze. "How many slaves did you guys buy? I mean all the other teams too."
"Over twenty."
He took a deep breath, swayed on his feet, and muttered, "Ask the Pioneer about their legal status... Damn it, what a mess. If nothing else, shove them off on the guild and let the members raise them."
Cursing under his breath, Huangtian Houtu stormed off to find the other team captains and figure out next steps. Truth be told, he preferred the kind of NPCs that didn't have wills of their own—like bots. Easy to manage, they did whatever you told them to.
But here in Ark' world, every NPC was a real, thinking person. For a pro team, buying slaves wasn't just about having staff. It meant managing them, training them, figuring out how they'd fit into the system.
To Huangtian Houtu, it was a giant hassle. Easier to just dump them on the guild and let someone else do the work.
"Don't worry, don't worry. Our boss may look strict, but really, he's softhearted."
Cheng hurriedly comforted the nearly-crying Sheila, but he couldn't help wondering if the slave he bought was too young… was this crossing a line?
When Felix heard what kind of mess the players had stirred up in just one day after arriving at the Kawalerielki City, he honestly wasn't surprised at all. In his previous life, when players first entered this land, things were even worse—chaos everywhere, to the point the prisons of the Kawalerielki City were overflowing with players. Compared to that, what was happening now was practically harmless.
What did puzzle him, though, was their sudden obsession with buying slaves. In his past life, he had traveled alone, a lone wolf, so slaves were useful for trading, organizing materials, and providing backup. But these guys? They had entire guilds and pro teams behind them. Why bother with slaves?
And yet, when Felix realized that nearly every one of these pro-team players had gone out and bought themselves a slave, he was left speechless. You people… really know how to play dirty.
Still, this wasn't his problem to solve. With only two days left until Margaret's match, he planned to spend the time visiting Kirill more often and strengthening ties with the Nearl family.
The night before Margaret's competition, as Felix left the Nearl household, he noticed a middle-aged man sitting outside on the roadside.
The man wore a traditional, somewhat worn suit. Fatigue from overwork was etched into his face. In his hands was a folded Red Wine Gazette, which he read quietly while crossing one leg over the other.
Felix said nothing. Since the man sat at the center of the bench, Felix simply walked over and sat on the right side, arms crossed, adopting the stillness of a thinker.
Two people sat on the public bench. Yet, it felt as though a third person was missing.
"…So this is our first meeting, isn't it? Mr. Felix. I hear you've been looking after Maria."
The man set down his paper, turning his tired eyes toward Felix. He was the one to break the silence at last.
"I've heard of you from Sir Kirill. Mr. Młynar, it's an honor to meet you."
"Let's just skip the formalities."
"…Very well."
"Regarding Margaret, until the final outcome is revealed, they will remain quiet. That means our time is running short."
"You don't believe Margaret is suited for the knight tournament."
Młynar withdrew his gaze, turning it toward the distant skyline.
"I have no right to comment on the Chamber of Commerce. But those matches… they're nothing more than cheap theatrics. Very few knights of true worth remain in them."
Rolling up his newspaper, his voice deepened.
"Such shows, even if won, would only stain the honor of the Nearl family with a layer of dust that does not belong to it."
"As an elder, that's your responsibility. I understand."
Felix remained composed, his arms still folded. "But tomorrow, I'll still be there to cheer Margaret on. Perhaps participating in such a spectacle does taint the Nearl's name… but in that arena, the light she shines is inspiring. It's different. It's her own conviction that sets her apart from every other knight."
The first drops of rain began to fall. Felix tilted his head back, frowning at the sky. The calm night grew veiled by a soft gray drizzle.
So much for the Kazimierz weather forecast… it didn't say anything about thunderstorms.
"…It's raining."
Młynar's newspaper grew damp. He rose to his feet, dim golden hair catching the glow of the streetlights, seeming almost luminous.
"Watch the arena closely."
As he turned to leave, he added, "The Chamber of Commerce is more desperate than you realize."
"Thanks for the warning."
Felix stood as well, walking off in the opposite direction, step by step.
Młynar's words were clear—the Armorless Union is moving.
Would he stop Margaret from competing? Probably. This was a battle of conviction between uncle and niece, and Felix intended to witness it. He wanted to keep that revelation for the moment Margaret lifted the champion's trophy.
The Armorless Union, huh… Felix wasn't unfamiliar with them. He'd even clashed with them before, though that was four years ago. By now, their three tiers of assassins would surely have new blood in their ranks.
The arena was property of the Chamber of Commerce, and the day before the match it was closed to the public. Pulling his hood low, Felix stepped into the underground passageways.
For a race like the Sankta, infiltration was almost impossible. But here, in the suffocating dark, his people's gift became a source of light.
"Clever, scan this area."
Felix placed his palm flat. The small mechanical familiar climbed up his arm and settled neatly into his hand, projecting a thin red laser that swept across the walls.
"No lifeforms detected."
"Is that so."
He followed the corridor forward. This was one of the passages meant for visitors to enter and exit—ordinary, unremarkable. But his goal wasn't here.
Pausing at a door marked Staff Room, he twisted the handle. Locked. A faint sigh escaped him. Why didn't his team ever have a thief-class player? Still, on closer look, the lock wasn't physical but electronic. A coded security system.
That was no obstacle for him. As an engineer, hacking was second nature. And with his compact familiar—something like a living calculator—two minutes later, the lock clicked open.
"...Well, look at that."
Rows of shelves stacked high with packages greeted him. Crates wrapped and sealed, but the scan confirmed it: explosives. His lips twitched. Were they planning to blow Margaret sky-high the moment the finals ended?
The familiar pulsed another scan—results came back Originium explosives. Not just here. Further inside, toward the back exit and storage rooms, even more stockpiles: bows, crossbows, bolts. It looked less like a staff area and more like one of the Sarkaz Reunion's safehouses.
He exhaled slowly. We'll dismantle it later.
Past the storage area stretched an underground concourse. He knew this place. Four years ago, he had walked these same stone corridors. Water dripped steadily into the gutters, echoes filling the wide empty chamber.
Something pushed him onward. He stepped through the familiar drainage channel, turned the same old bend, and then stopped.
There, lying in the muck, was a torn and weathered teddy bear.
The infected settlement that once clung to life here was gone—scrubbed away without a trace. The floor gleamed clean, not even a droplet of blood left behind. Of course. The blood of the infected was infectious; erasing it would have been the first order of business.
The posters still clung to the walls—dirty slogans, worn paper edges curling. The words and the place remained, but the people had vanished.
He remembered the day. The day Black Knight was sent to the arena. That was when the Assassins discovered the infected enclave. The outcome needed no imagination.
He had advised evacuation back then. But did they listen? Did any escape safely? He would never know.
"Lifeform detected."
Felix spun, hand already resting on the Spade Ace. Before his familiar finished speaking, an arrow slammed into the wall beside his head with a thunk.
"Well, that's dangerous."
He dismissed the familiar, eyes narrowing toward a faint glimmer of silver in the shadows. "I'm just a tourist, wandered in the wrong way. And this is how you welcome me? With arrows? I should file a complaint with the Chamber of Commerce."
"You standing here means you're no ordinary tourist. But this isn't my working shift. That arrow was just a warning. Leave now, and I'll pretend I never saw you."
"...Do you even have professional ethics?"
Felix had already queued up his Arts, ready for a good fight, weapon raised. And now this? He couldn't help blurting out his complaint.
"...Overtime has no pay."
"You're a Union assassin, aren't you?"
"Mm-hm... yawn." The silver glint shifted. A voice spoke lazily through the shadows. "Are you leaving or not? If not, I'll leave first."
Felix lowered the Spade Ace. "The Union doesn't even give overtime pay?"
"No overtime pay, no annual leave. If you're sick and take a day off, they dock your salary too..."
Felix's expression froze.
What kind of corporate slave nonsense is this?!
Felix had thought it was his uncle calling from the other side—but the words coming from that bastard made his fists clench tight. Yes, he was a capitalist, but he treated his employees well. Overtime pay, holidays, meals—everything maxed out. He wasn't the kind of man to be strung up on a streetlamp; he was the kind to rally his people and string other capitalists up instead.
Pulling an arrow from the ground beside him, Felix stepped forward. Under the pale moonlight, the figure ahead came into view.
What a coincidence—yet another Rhodes Island employee. Though… what was she doing in Kazimierz at this time?
All Felix knew of this NPC was her codename: Platinum. Her background? A mystery. He never bothered to dig too deep into every Rhodes Island operator's personal story.
"Leader of Tomorrow's Development, Felix Shawn Lanshem."
The silver-haired girl accepted the arrow with a lazy yawn. "Let's just say we never met… Can I go now?"
"No paid vacation in the Armorless Union?" he asked.
"Only unpaid… Ugh. I'm exhausted."
Her slouched posture and half-lidded eyes made it seem as if she hadn't been the one to loose that deadly arrow a moment ago.
"See you around," she muttered, turning to limp away.
"I hope that next time we meet, it won't be while you're on the job," Felix called after her. Then, after a beat, he added, "If you're ever looking to switch employers, come find me."
"My company offers paid leave, annual vacation days, meal stipends, snacks during work, massage and relaxation services, plus an on-site gym and swimming pool—free for all employees."
"...Yaaawn…"
She let out another sleepy yawn. But somewhere in the haze of her fatigue, she caught his words.
And suddenly, she wasn't tired anymore.