The Darksteels was strong.
The strongest opponent Felix had faced since his debut. In the past, he had always relied on his companions, staying in the rear to command and deploy machines to fight in his stead. But this was different.
He couldn't remain in the shadows forever. And truthfully—it had been far too long since he showed his true strength in front of the players.
Felix's power had always been an enigma. For most players, their only memory was from the end of version 1.0, when Felix and Degenbrecher appeared together outside Lungmen during recruitment trials. That day, he had utterly crushed the players, leaving them helpless. But that had only been against players.
The Darksteels, however… was something else.
The so-called Zero-type Rainy Night Knight's Final Boss. The Darksteels was not a singular existence—there were many who bore the title—but to be chosen as one in the first place meant his strength was undeniable.
To the players, he was the embodiment of a dungeon boss. Back then, he had slaughtered them mercilessly, forcing them to memorize every attack pattern with their bodies. In the dungeon, though, he had fixed routes and set move orders—so long as you remembered the mechanics, clearing him was simple. But slip up once, let your DPS falter, and the entire raid would wipe.
For Felix, real melee encounters had been rare in his past life. Despite being a solo player, he habitually relied on machines in combat. In military assignments, he was used to hiding behind heavily armored frontline fighters, commanding machines from range.
Of course, when power-leveling accounts for clients, he'd adapt depending on the build—basic combat against Sarkaz mercenaries was nothing to him. But soloing a dungeon boss? That had always been a different story.
Compared to Degenbrecher, the pressure from the Darksteels was far lighter. But that didn't mean Felix could afford to underestimate him.
The Darksteels's grin twisted into a grotesque sneer. Felix's chest tightened, a pang of instinctive dread forcing him to retreat a step. An oppressive force burst outward from the enemy, black smoke billowing and blotting out the transport's floodlights. What had been a battlefield lit like day was now swallowed by choking darkness.
"Hehehe… Come then—fight me!"
The Darksteels vanished into the mist. A heartbeat later, three arrows whistled through the smoke.
Felix dodged two, cleaving the third in half. Was it Originium Arts? Equipment? Hard to say. But the situation was clear: the enemy was hidden, while he stood exposed. Pushing forward blindly would only burn stamina, yet standing still would mean being a target. Neither option was ideal.
His eyes flicked to the quest prompt hovering before him.
[You have triggered a C-Rank Mission: Duel to the Death]
Mission Details: Only one of you—Felix or the Darksteels—will leave this battle alive.
Mission Objective: Kill the Darksteels.
Reward: 100,000 EXP
Special Reward: ???
Blue fire spread across the ground like a field of blossoms, each flame swaying gently as it burned. Felix checked his MP, attuning himself to the feedback of the Originium Arts—this was a domain, his field, his control.
Thump… thump-thump. Thump… thump-thump.
Through the art, he could feel it—the rapid pounding of footsteps cutting through the smoke. The Darksteels was closing in.
The instant that rhythm reached its peak, Felix thrust his hand downward.
Fwoosh!
A Lance of pure flame erupted from the ground, piercing skyward. In the blink of an eye, it skewered through the Darksteels's thigh and arm, tearing flesh and armor alike.
A clean hit.
Truthfully, it was only thanks to Margaret and the Light Knight wearing him down earlier that this strike had landed at all. Otherwise, odds were ten-to-one it wouldn't have connected.
But Felix had no intention of fighting fair. If possible, he'd have preferred to overwhelm the Darksteels with numbers and crush him without honor. Unfortunately, the quest demanded it: one-on-one, to the bitter end.
And so… a duel it would be.
Felix understood one truth well: when the enemy is down, finish the job.
Above, his four drones unleashed a merciless hail of firepower at the Darksteels's wounded position. At the same time, Felix ripped his Lance free from the ground and charged straight in.
"—Impossible! How can your strength be this great?!"
The Darksteels roared, forcing his battered body forward. He swung his crossbow one-handed, meeting Felix again in brutal close-quarters combat. But the damage he had sustained was crippling—one shoulder pierced, one arm useless.
He had underestimated Felix.
To him, Felix was supposed to be nothing more than a frivolous investor, a collector of knights, someone who filled his company with Undead out of eccentric taste. By all rights, such a man should only shine at banquets, exchanging witty banter, or on the battlefield of commerce, cutting down rivals in deals.
But why—why did this Sankta fight with strength equal to his own?
The Darksteels's thoughts blurred, weariness crushing down. Injuries, fatigue, the hollow drain of arts taking their toll—his body screamed under it all.
"But if you think I'll surrender, you're dead wrong!"
With a ragged backflip, he evaded another volley of Arts-bullets, teeth clenched as he drew his crossbow once more.
Thwack—
The black-glimmering arrow shot forth, only to be smashed aside by Felix's blade. He stepped in, Lance now shrouded in roaring blue fire. For a split second, the Darksteels froze—distracted by that unnatural light.
In that heartbeat, the fire engulfed him. A blazing slash carved across his body, sending him crashing to the ground. The blade's arc didn't stop there—it tore through the trees behind him, felling three ancient trunks with a thunderous crash.
Felix swayed. His MP had drained to the last drop. Dizziness struck, vision swimming—classic mana exhaustion. Most casters knew the risks well: burn your reserves dry in combat, and you'd be left helpless—weakness, vertigo, pounding headaches. Veterans always calculated their mana carefully, while others relied on regeneration perks or lifesteal abilities. But even then, carelessness could be fatal.
Felix… was still a novice. Loughshinny had guided him, yes, but only with theory. When it came to actual practice, to the true shaping of one's art—every person's power diverged, every path was unique. And on that front, he was still finding his way.
"Ghh—khhh…"
The Darksteels spat blood, forcing himself onto one elbow. "Eight, nine years in Kazimierz… only to be cut down by an investor… what a sick joke."
"You still not convinced?" Felix asked.
The Darksteels said nothing, only glared—eyes burning even through the mask.
"Good," Felix smirked faintly. "If you'd actually said you weren't convinced, I'd have thought all your years as an Darksteels were a complete waste."
He steadied himself and stepped closer. The Darksteels's lips twisted beneath his mask. "A Sankta… using the Nearl family's swordsmanship… what the hell are you?"
The eerie blue fire faded. Felix staggered the last few steps, looming over his foe. A quick glance at his depleted MP confirmed it—nothing left.
"I'm just an ordinary Sankta, doing business." Felix slowly drew his sidearm.
"And this?, It's nothing personal my friend, it's just good business." he said.
Felix thought for a moment, then chose not to pull the trigger. Instead, he drove the Lance straight down.
When it was done, he lifted his gaze toward the distant battlefield. The fight was over—Union's assassins lay dead or dying, nothing left for them but defeat.
With a spare moment, Felix opened his mission log to check the rewards.
Good. The experience had arrived.
[Special Reward: Acquired skill—Killing Intent]
Killing Intent: At the instant of skill activation, exerts oppressive pressure, slightly reducing enemy attributes.
"…This is what I rolled?" Felix blinked. Drawing a special reward was like opening a chest with rarity ranging from F to S—the odds skewed toward the low end. What he'd hit on was essentially a skill learning card, letting him inherit one ability from the defeated target.
And it just so happened the fallen Darksteels had possessed Killing Intent.
Maybe my luck rubbed off from hugging someone just now…
His eyes drifted to Rosebloom, who was idly tracing patterns in the grass with her toe. Sensing his odd look, she jolted back a few steps.
"...S-special services cost extra!" she blurted.
"..."
The awkwardness broke when someone hurried over.
Margaret ran up, pale-faced. Though his chest was encased in mechanical armor, Felix's complexion was visibly drained, blood still trickling. Her heart clenched.
"Brother Felix, I'm so sorry… it was my selfish choice to break away."
She lowered her head. This wasn't the first time someone had been hurt because of her. Even if she'd grown, mistakes couldn't be undone. Like the world itself, there was no medicine for regret. She would have to take responsibility.
Felix ruffled her hair with a smile, shaking his head. He hadn't minded her going off alone—his drones had shadowed her the entire time, keeping watch.
And truthfully, had she not acted, the Darksteels and his assassins might never have been provoked into such reckless moves.
All in all, there was no real loss—if anything, a lesson worth the price.
"The tuition for this," Felix said gently, "isn't cheap."
"…Yes. I understand."
Around them, villagers huddled in fear, some near tears. Burned-out cars and shattered homes littered the street. Margaret's teeth clenched tight—she would bear responsibility for this.
Felix's attention shifted to the woman standing beside her. He noted the white twin horns—a Sarkaz. Ah… so this was the one?
"Margaret, is this your new friend?"
"Ah…"
Margaret glanced from Shining (a Sarkaz) behind her, to Felix (a Sankta) before her—caught in sudden awkwardness.
"Shining, from Kazdel," Shining answered herself, sparing Margaret. Her tone toward Felix was reserved, lacking warmth. Perhaps that was simply her nature.
And perhaps it was already more than he could expect. After all, Sarkaz and Sankta did not mix easily. For her to remain calm at all may have been because she'd witnessed Felix stepping in to help Margaret.
"Kazdel… the civil war's been raging for years now. In the end, it's the mercenaries, left rootless, who suffer most."
"Call me 'Pioneer,' Miss Shining."
She blinked, then gave a soft hum of assent.
"If you don't mind, may I ask—do you serve Theresis, or Theresa?"
"I serve at the princess's side."
"Oh. Babel, then."
Shining masked her shock well, but the flicker in her eyes didn't escape Felix's notice. Even Margaret felt it.
"You… how do you know about Babel?"
"I did some business with them once. That was years ago. The princess has probably forgotten."
Felix waved lightly toward Shining. "I'll go finish the battle. Thank you for looking after Margaret these past days."
Shining parted her lips but said nothing, only watching in silence as Felix strode away. Margaret, however, felt a bit embarrassed—his words really did make him sound like her older brother.
Her thoughts drifted back to what Kirill had once told her: When you're out there alone, dangers lurk everywhere. Even if you meet someone trustworthy, you still can't entrust them with your back.
But Felix… Felix was different. Watching his figure recede, she realized she truly could trust him.
From his daily habits, his persistence in training, even the small talk over meals—those little details revealed his character.
And the way he had mastered the Nearl family's Lance techniques in such a short time… that alone was enough for Margaret to admire him.
Tonight, more than seventy players had fallen. Even with Defender classes holding aggro in the front, some assassins had been too cunning to stop. Most of the dead were squishy DPS and Medic. Still, for a first attempt at such an "open-world raid," keeping losses to that number was about what Felix had expected.
When the players spotted him strolling back across the field, they immediately straightened. Their eyes lit with fervor and respect.
Many had secretly watched his duel. Among the seventy-plus who'd died, at least twenty had fallen because they'd been too distracted by Felix's fight with the Darksteels.
That was the benefit of showing his strength. In their eyes, the Darksteels was a raid boss meant to be taken down by rotations and attrition. Yet Felix had been the one to land the killing blow.
"Good work, everyone."
He scanned the gathered players—aside from those still on respawn timers, everyone was present. Then, with calm authority, Felix declared their victory.
A cheer erupted.
"Ohhhhhhh!"
Weapons shot skyward, Celebratory Gunfire, and the players stamped the ground in wild celebration.