That sound—bones aching, nerves tightening, skin crawling. The wet crunch of gnashing teeth that made one's spine shiver.
To be honest, fighting Seaborn wasn't part of Felix's plan at this stage. He only wanted to finish his objectives in the area and move on. Facing them too early brought no benefit—especially with companions at his side. To him, beheading one of these creatures was nothing remarkable. But for Lemuen and the others, monsters like these were sights from nightmares, grotesque in ways words could not capture.
One reason Felix loathed Seaborn was the sheer wrongness of them—both in appearance and in the way they felt beneath his blade. But whether he liked them or not, one of the doglike Seaborn had already leapt forward, jaws wide, aiming to sink its fangs into his thigh.
"Tch!"
Felix snorted, the mechanical plating on his leg igniting with a sudden glow. From the back of his calf, six vents snapped open, spitting streams of searing white-red flame. His leg lashed out in a brutal whip-kick.
Crack!
The hound-like Seaborn was sent flying, crashing into the surf. Black waves surged, swallowing its writhing body.
"Again, what is that thing?!"
Patia's voice cracked, but she didn't have time to finish. More Seaborn surged forward, swinging their serrated tendrils and sickle-like limbs, jaws bared with rows of glistening fangs.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze. Then—slash! Wounds split open across several creatures at once, invisible lines of force cleaving through them. Felix moved with lethal precision, lance flashing as pale-blue flame erupted along its edge. His Originium weapon flared to life, the blaze licking at the rain-soaked air.
"…It's raining."
The words left his mouth almost casually, but his aura surged, fire-elemental energy roaring through him. Felix had no intention of holding back. Not now. Not with this tide before him.
Steel screamed. His blade shone with a razor's edge, wreathed in flame. And then—
BOOM!
The strike fell like a god's judgment. The black sea split apart, a burning trench carved down to the seabed itself, exposing pale rock and swaying weeds beneath the waves.
"…Is it over already?"
Mostima's hands tightened on her staff. She too was facing these abominations for the first time, but her composure held far better than Patia's. Moments earlier, she had been the first to react, Lock and key summoned to help Felix hold the line against the Seaborn's assault.
"Was that… just a probe?"
Lemuen murmured to herself. Felix caught the words and shook his head.
The Seaborn were unlike other mobs. Slaying Sarkaz mercenaries, for example, would not trigger reinforcements—each encounter was isolated, self-contained. But the Seaborn… were different. Kill one, and the others would come. Appear on the shoreline, and they would be there, drawn in groups. And their numbers were never small. A dozen at least, often more.
For a lone player, hunting them was perilous work.
"…On our way back, there's a high chance we'll be attacked again. Stay sharp."
He ruffled Susie's hair, pulling her hood up over her damp locks, then gently guided her forward toward the waiting transport.
And his prediction was right. From the early stages of Version 2.0, the Seaborn began creeping onto land, marking the beginning of a long, grinding "guerilla war."
It wasn't war in the true sense. More like idle forays—creatures shambling onto shore in packs of dozens, scavenging for food. Once slain, there were no reinforcements, no consequences. Kill them, and that was the end.
These probes continued through the end of Version 3.0. Felix never learned when—or if—they would stop. Perhaps, like wild beasts foraging in the forest, they would one day stumble into the hunter's snare.
And in this world, to the Seaborn, the Inquisition and the players were the hunters.
The return journey was quiet. No further encounters, though the coastline bristled with Inquisition soldiers standing vigil, eyes locked on the black horizon, knuckles white around their weapons.
By the time Felix and his group made it back to Tintero del Mar, their brief expedition had lasted only a single day. Sunset was bleeding across the sky.
The once-deserted village square now roared with life. A great bonfire burned at its center, Inquisition soldiers gathered around it, eating hard rations. Others busied themselves with the houses nearby, sweeping out dust, mending beams, preparing the ruins for one more night's uneasy rest.
Felix spotted another field team in Tintero del Mar—a mixed squad of Sankta and Liberi. Unlike him and his companions, who were momentarily idle, they clearly carried assignments of their own.
Mostima and Fiammetta stepped forward to exchange a few words with them, while Felix's eyes scanned the crowd. Saint Carmen was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, upon realizing the situation, he had already returned to Catalonia to make his report. After all, for now, these sporadic skirmishes hardly warranted the deployment of top assets.
With nothing better to do, Felix finally turned his attention to his newly unlocked subclass.
[You have acquired a new subclass: Enchanter]
Dexterity +1, Intelligence +1, +1 Free Attribute Point.
[You have acquired a new Trait: Enchantment]
Alongside came two fresh skills. The first, Slow, could imbue his Originium Arts into a strike, damaging and slowing a single target. The second, Elemental Power, boosted all allies' skill damage by 0.2× for one minute.
Both were remarkably powerful—proof of the extraordinary value carried by professions from the Golden Age.
He still had ample experience saved up. Without hesitation, Felix pushed Enchanter straight to the cap at level ten, filling out all traits and skills. The cost was steep—400,000 experience—but the payoff was significant: +2 Dexterity, +7 Intelligence, and 9 more free attribute points.
By now, he had a full pool of 100 free points to allocate. Where to spend them would depend entirely on the weapons he planned to master next.
"Sir, my commander would like a word with you."
A Inquisition officer stepped up, bowing slightly. Felix nodded, ruffling Susie's hair to ease her anxious frown before following the soldier into one of the reclaimed village houses.
Inside, to his mild surprise, sat Saint Carmen. He had expected the man to be back in Catalonia, but here he was—alone.
"Pioneer. Or rather, Felix Shawn Lanshem." Carmen's voice was even, his posture unhurried as he smoked. A simple meal sat untouched on the table before him—bread and broth, the kind of fare that restored strength quickly. "Tell me, what is your true purpose in leading your special unit into Iberia?"
"I'm looking for someone. A Sankta."
Felix's tone was calm, his story consistent with what he'd told Mostima, Fiammetta, and the others. Of course, the real purpose could not be revealed. But this explanation—searching for traces of Andoain—was not a lie either. It was, in fact, his secondary goal. He wanted to find Andoain, sit down with him, and ask what exactly he had seen in that illusion that left his spirit so shattered.
"At the same time, I carry a commission from Professor Simon, granting me rights to enter settlements along Iberia's coast."
He presented the written authorization.
Carmen said nothing at first, only studied him in silence.
Felix smiled faintly. This middle-aged man radiated a pressure unlike anyone else he had faced. For now, the Inquisition's stance toward him wasn't even neutral—it was distant, verging on cold. Not because of any fault in him or Tomorrow's Development, but simply because that was how the Inquisition dealt with all foreign powers: aloof, unyielding.
A man like this, Felix felt instinctively, was one best approached with care. Carmen represented not only himself, but the very weight of Iberia's Inquisition. His thoughts were unreadable, his stance inscrutable. In his previous life, even players who rose to become pillars of the Inquisition never had the chance to meet Carmen face-to-face.
"I've heard of you from Lady Kal'tsit."
Carmen's words were as calm as his gaze. "She described you as an ambitious dreamer… yet one who knows his own limits."
"Lady Kal'tsit flatters me," Felix replied with a mild laugh. "I'm only an ordinary man living on this land."
"How did you convince Professor Simon?"
Felix's smile deepened slightly. So that's the gap in intelligence networks…
When he had first approached Babel Tower, he wasn't yet a Doctor. Only later, in Columbia, had he secured his academic credentials. Naturally, Kal'tsit could not have known. Her web of information had not yet reached far-off Trimount, let alone touched Kazdel's borders.
"Oh? Multiple doctorates. Interesting."
Carmen's mouth curled faintly as he spoke. "And in seeking contact with the Inquisition, what is it you really want?"
Exploring ruins… That couldn't be said aloud. At his core, Felix still thought of himself as a player—driven by curiosity and the joy of discovery. So instead, he gave the answer he had prepared.
"Whenever Tomorrow's Development sends staff into Iberia, we're buried under endless red tape. It slows everything down. As an official Iberian power, the Inquisition could benefit from a trade agreement with us."
"Trade…?"
Carmen waved lazily, his tone flat. "Exactly as Lady Kal'tsit described. Then tell me something that might actually interest me."
Felix cursed silently. Kal'tsit, just what did you say about me?
Forget it. Sooner or later he'd be heading to Kazdel's Babel Tower anyway—then he'd make sure to give that cat-woman a proper dose of "academic shock."
The Inquisition had its own workshops, producing firearms for its members. The technology came from Laterano, and each member authorized to wield a gun had to undergo strict training, mastering the Originium Arts bound to those weapons before they could equip them.
"The only thing I can offer that might interest you—or the Inquisition—is new firearm designs."
Felix held his gaze steady. "The Inquisition already maintains solid trade relations with Laterano. Many Iberians live there as well. That's part of why I've always held a certain respect for Iberia."
"In exchange for visa-free entry and exploration rights, you'd give us… new firearm designs?"
Carmen exhaled a plume of smoke, eyes narrowing. "I'll deliver your proposal to the Inquisition for review."
"But before that—"
He was cut short. A strange gust from the sea swept in through the window, rattling the lantern that hung under the eaves. Faint voices of Inquisition soldiers drifted in, sharp with unease.
Carmen frowned, stuffed the untouched bread into his mouth, and rose to his feet.
Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Felix glanced at the still-warm bowl of broth on the table. Truth be told, he was tempted. But hunger would have to wait. He followed Carmen outside and quickly regrouped with Mostima and the others.
"What happened?" he asked.
"The coastline's been hit again," Mostima answered quietly. "Monsters are landing—not just in one spot, but dozens. Some have already reached the roads. Their heading looks like nearby villages."
"…I see."
Felix fell silent for a moment, then asked, "And the other special ops team—what are they here for?"
"Oh, them? They're investigating contraband smuggled in by Iberian merchants. Food supplies… and weapons meant for the garrison."
"Smuggling weapons?"
Felix raised a brow. That's what you call a 'small matter'?
If someone tried that in Yan, they'd have law enforcement at their door in minutes—tea poured, confessions written, and the whole operation wiped out. Smuggling weapons wasn't a small crime. It was rebellion.
[You have triggered a C-Rank Chain Quest: Ballad of the Deep Sea. Accept / Decline?]
Felix blinked. Just thinking about it triggered a quest? Then again, it made sense. Side quests often responded to doubt or suspicion—sometimes all it took was considering the angle.
Ballad of the Deep Sea, huh… doesn't sound like the kind of quest you just breeze through.
[Quest Details: From Mostima you've learned of the other ops team's case. You suspect there's more to it than simple smuggling. Follow the trail and you may uncover something greater.]
[Objective: Seek out clues]
[Reward: 10,000 EXP]
[Special Reward: Unknown]
Mulling it over, Felix stepped forward toward the other squad. For a moment, as his eyes fell on their captain, he froze. Recognition stirred. Then he smiled.
"Captain Lance."
"Hm? You are—?"
The man's face was half-shadowed by the lantern light. He squinted, studying Felix carefully. Then surprise broke into warmth. "Wait—Felix? Hah! It's been so long. Six years, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Felix's tone carried a rare note of emotion. From the year 1086 when he had crossed into this world, to now—1092—six years had passed. He had grown from a boy into a young man. And standing before him was the very man who had once dragged him from the jaws of an Originium catastrophe. His savior.
"Let's drink," Felix said with a smile. "My treat. There's no tavern here… but I brought some."
Lance clapped him on the shoulder, his voice thick with nostalgia.
"I brought some too."