"Light Knight!"
"—Khff!"
Margaret rushed to his side. The knight was down on one knee, the entirety of his weight resting on his battered rapier. The blade looked as though it would snap at any moment, unable to bear even this last burden.
He no longer had the strength to speak.
That strike—bright as starlight—had exhausted everything. He carried no regrets. To have fought, and to die as a knight… that alone was his final honor.
Beneath the helmet, he forced a faint, satisfied smile. Then the armored body collapsed with a heavy crash.
"—!"
Margaret caught him before he struck the ground. Shining stepped forward quickly, sword in hand.
"How is he?"
"…He unleashed a blow that shook the very soul. The Originium Arts he used drained him completely."
Shining's voice carried quiet awe. She hadn't known this knight before now. From his brief exchange with the Darksteels she had glimpsed fragments of his fractured past, but that last strike—the flash that carved through the dark—was brilliant enough to leave her moved. Even a soul steeped in shadow had burned with such blinding light at the end.
"He's only unconscious. He'll live. But… he'll need at least a week's rest to recover."
Margaret exhaled slowly in relief. She laid the Light Knight flat on the ground, her expression solemn. He had earned her respect. In her eyes, he was now a knight.
The roof where the Darksteels had stood was split in two. The scar ran across the earth itself, severing ground and stone. That had been the Light Knight's full-force strike, powered by Originium Arts—and even the Darksteels had been forced to retreat before its edge.
And worse—he was hurt. Badly.
"…Heh."
Wiping the blood from his lips, the black-clad figure coughed violently. Behind him, six assassins lay lifeless, cut down by that single blow. The others—barely a dozen left—were grievously wounded, their groans filling the night.
But even wounded, their numbers were still dangerous. And the knights who had rushed to aid Margaret were already fraying under the relentless assault, some cut down, others faltering.
The Darksteels drew breath, preparing to bark his next ruthless order—
—when a figure stepped forward, carrying a smaller body in his arms.
"Hey—put me down already!"
Rosebloom's muffled voice was flustered, her face beneath the mask flushed red. She wriggled and struggled until she finally broke free of Felix's arms.
He let her go with some reluctance. It was a shame, really—her small foxlike frame had been warm and light against him. A comforting weight. Hm. He wondered absently where Lisa was at this time.
"…So it's you. The Pioneer."
The Darksteels's lips curled into a sneer. "Finally ready to tear off your false mask? You've always been half in, half out with the K.G.C.C. I take it you've been watching all along, from the shadows?"
"Perish the thought," Felix replied smoothly, smiling with disarming grace. "The Organization and I are the most faithful of partners."
He cast a fleeting glance at Margaret. She had noticed him, her expression lighting with joy—though tinged with a shy hesitation. He turned away.
"You have two choices," he said evenly.
"Speak."
"Choice one: leave now. Enough blood has been spilled tonight. Walk away, and I'll pretend I never saw you. The Organization's accounts will remain untouched."
The Darksteels's face twisted into a feral grin. "And choice two?"
"You and every assassin here die tonight."
Felix's tone was calm, almost casual. But the Darksteels knew—he meant every word.
"Just you? Or that little assassin by your side?"
The Darksteels sneered. "We may have taken losses, but we still have numbers in the triple digits. And you think the two of you can stand against that?"
"…I see. Then you've chosen option two."
The Darksteels barked out a laugh, drawing his crossbow in one smooth motion. The black-tipped arrow he notched gleamed with killing intent as he leveled it straight at Felix.
"Killing you might cost me my position. The Organization might punish me. But honestly? I just can't stand the sight of you."
Thwip—!
The arrow screamed through the air. But before it could reach its mark, Rosebloom was already moving. Her small frame exploded with frightening speed, her blade flashing once. The shaft split clean in two and clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Not that it mattered—Felix had never been in danger.
For a moment, a strange blue flame flickered beside his eye, hovering like a will-o'-wisp before vanishing into the night.
"…Very well. If it's war you want, then war you'll have."
Felix didn't move. Hands still buried in his coat pockets, he made no effort to attack. The Darksteels opened his mouth to laugh—then froze.
A low drone cut across the night sky. A transport craft had appeared without warning, its searchlights sweeping down to drench the battlefield in harsh, sterile white.
From its hold, figures began descending—not by parachute, but riding ziplines in long, erratic arcs.
They were players.
And some of them were not professionals.
One lost his grip halfway down. Another crashed into his comrade. A third spun wildly and plummeted, smashing into the dirt with a hollow thud.
Before anyone could react, a pile of fallen adventurers had formed on the ground.
"Get the hell off me, you bastard—"
"Shit! What, you've never played COD?!"
"Why the hell would I? With my physique I'd be picking up girls, not games!"
"..."
The locals of Terra stared in stunned silence.
Of the two hundred who'd descended, a dozen had already died instantly, crushed beneath their fellows. Their souls were already waiting in respawn queues.
The Darksteels doubled over, laughing until he wheezed. "Pfft—ha ha ha ha! These are your reinforcements? A bunch of clowns who can't even ride a zipline? This is priceless!"
But as the laughter rolled across the rooftops, the players were already dusting themselves off, helping one another up. They saw Felix's back turned toward them. A pang of shame struck them—Tch, we've embarrassed the Pioneer again. Toes curling hard enough to carve a mansion.
And then they saw the Darksteels laughing at them.
That was the last straw.
Who the hell does this clown think he is?
The Darksteels chuckled darkly. "So this is your so-called Undead Squad? Even with that cursed immortality, you're no match for us."
His strength had already begun to recover while he taunted. Around him, the surviving assassins regrouped, taking positions on the rooftops and higher ground. They raised their crossbows in perfect synchrony, their sights fixed on the players who had just entered the battlefield.
Then, in front of the players' eyes, glowing text appeared:
[You have triggered C-Rank Mission: "Night Without Light"]
Mission Details: The assassins of the Armorless Union have driven Margaret Nearl into a corner. With the weapons in your hands, show these shadows what true knightly valor means.
Mission Objective: Eliminate all Armorless Union assassins.
Reward: 50,000 EXP
For this mission, Felix had emptied out every reserve of available experience. Tonight, he had gone all in.
Huangtian houtu narrowed his eyes, fixing his gaze on the Darksteels in the distance.
"Hey… isn't that bastard the same one we fought back in the dungeon?"
"Looks like him. But his combat patterns aren't the same anymore."
Beside him, Lao Silais calmly wiped down his weapon. "If the Pioneer has entrusted this battlefield to us, then it means he trusts our performance. As some of the first to join Tomorrow's Development, we're not allowed to lose. Only victory."
"I scanned the target. Danger rating's red… definitely a final-boss tier opponent."
Even with the threat level maxed out, the players' eyes were shining with excitement. He wasn't some sorcerer who could nuke a hundred foes with a single spell. He was just an sniper, an Archer. How strong could an archer really be?
One swing each, and it's over.
"Defenderd, get in front! Medics, spam every cooldown you've got! The Defender CANNOT fall!"
"Damn it, our Defender just died on landing. Freaking trash RNG!"
"Kill these motherf***ers!"
"White Emperor, sword formation! My blade, follow me!"
In an instant, the 200-strong adventurer army split into three or four squads, charging through the town in waves. The Darksteels vaulted onto a rooftop once more, drawing his bow as he picked out his next prey.
"You won't get away with this!"
Margaret wasn't about to stand idle. Her initial shock faded, replaced with fierce determination and gratitude toward Felix—and these strange adventurers who had come to fight for her. Her strength alone might be meager, but it was enough to cover their advance.
"Take my Radiant Strike!"
"Weakened Aura—push now!"
"Cut them down, Vanguard Slash!"
At the front, a heavily-armored Defender slammed his shield with a thunderous boom, bellowing to draw every assassin's attention. Some even shouted their skill names aloud:
"Marking Roar!"
Casters raised their staves, originium energy humming as Arts primed. Yanfei hefted her cannon shaped gun and fired without hesitation, blowing the head clean off a peeking assassin.
The assassins were high-level, every one of them flagged purple on the players' HUDs. But these weren't casuals.
Many of these adventurers had just come off the global championship. Pros and veteran tacticians were here, leading both top-tier and regular players in perfect sync. In strategy, they gave no ground.
Then, from beneath Felix's boots, an invisible field spread outward, enveloping every player in its glow. Their HUDs flared: HP and MP bars surged upward.
A commander's aura. A legion-buff that made their assault unstoppable.
Arrows rained down from the assassins' rooftops, only to glance off the raised shields of Defender players. Forced into close combat, the assassins found themselves facing tightly drilled three-man squads. Each player rotated perfectly: one striking, one covering, one swapping out—never letting stagger or downtime slip through.
And behind them, they had a merciless coach.
The Darksteels's expression soured as his assassins fell one by one, their screams echoing across the night. He glared coldly at Felix.
"Do you realize what you're doing? You're declaring war on the Armorless Union—and the Kazimierz General Chamber of Commerce?"
"No, no," Felix chuckled, his smile carrying a trace of unfamiliar battle-hunger that even made Rosebloom's ears twitch. "Don't get me wrong. I'm only declaring war on the Armorless Union."
"As for the K.G.C.C.… aren't they supposed to be your masters? If they can't keep their dogs on a leash, do you really think they'll come after me for cleaning up the mess?"
"You've already let them down."
Felix shrugged, tone light but words sharp as blades. "I bet the Organization paid you plenty. But why's your efficiency been garbage? During the Major, your mission completion rate was what—eighty percent? That's a full ten percent drop compared to four years ago. Care to explain that?"
"Still not enough corruption lining your pockets? Or do you think you've become too important to touch here in Kazimierz? That the Organization wouldn't dare?"
None of this was idle talk. Ever since Platinum had become his personal guard, she'd told him everything—the state of the Armorless Union, the rot festering within. Even what shouldn't have been spoken.
"…Even the Light Knight and Radiant Knight together couldn't defeat me. Do you truly think you stand a chance?"
"Only one way to find out."
As Felix spoke, his loose overcoat swelled and split with a sudden surge of mechanical armor, plating snapping into place until his body was fully encased. The armor climbed up his neck, stopping just short of his cheeks.
From his back he drew a mechanized Lance, slightly longer than Margaret's model and far heavier and sharper. It was a weapon and armor set forged by Felix himself as a fourth-tier Machinist—blue-grade gear, a vast improvement over anything he had ever crafted before.
"Come then. Let's fight."
The Darksteels's laughter was a harsh rasp, his form blurring into a streak of black light as he dove at Felix.
Strange blue flames burst upward, the ground beneath hissing and crackling under their heat. Step by step, Felix advanced through the blaze, Lance in hand, his pace steady—neither rushed nor hesitant.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
In the span of a blink, the two had already traded four blows. The blue fire roared higher, tearing open holes in the choking black mist. Without hesitation, Felix thrust with his Lance, the strike catching the Darksteels squarely and blasting him into the air.
An instant later, four drones buzzed to life overhead, unleashing a torrent of firepower. Arts bullets rained down like steel hail, casings clattering across the stone.
It wouldn't be enough to kill him. Felix knew that. But he smiled anyway, striding forward once more.
This… this kind of fight was something he had never experienced before. In his past life, he had always been the man behind the machines—repairing, directing, pulling triggers from inside armored shells. Never like this.
And the Darksteels… he was Felix's first true opponent. No theatrics, no games. The man fought with naked intent to kill. And Felix answered in kind.
Seven years of accumulated stats, his originium arts fused with machinery—together they barely allowed him to stand toe-to-toe with the wounded Darksteels. And still, Felix was being pushed back.
But… it wasn't enough. The pressure was too small.
Compared to the suffocating weight Kirill once brought… compared to the killing aura and menace of Degenbrecher… this was nothing.
Huff!
Felix stood tall amidst the blue inferno, Lance held crosswise in a single bloodied hand. Blood dripped freely; his HP was already down to sixty percent. But his MP still hovered around seventy, eighty. He could keep fighting.
On his right eye, the same strange blue flame flickered and burned.
At this moment, he was no leader, no Pioneer, no commander, no support. Not even someone with a combat subclass.
Right now—he was nothing but the purest form of all.
A warrior.