Among the mercenaries selected, two figures caught Felix's particular attention—faces he still remembered from his previous life on Rhodes Island.
One was a man with short blue hair and striking golden eyes. Strapped across his back was an oversized blade, almost theatrical in its proportions. His codename: Flamebringer.
Back during the Scar Market incident, he had drawn the attention of Tomorrow's Development after assassinating several Sarkaz mercenaries who had accepted contracts targeting teachers from the Frontier District. Ever since, he had continued to wander across Terra—an unbound mercenary with no home.
Later, he appeared again in numerous conflicts and assassination missions, leaving behind a trail of uncounted corpses. When Tomorrow's Development settled in Kazdel, Flamebringer too found his way there, joining the organization and taking on its most dangerous missions—all in pursuit of money and purpose.
The other was a Sarkaz woman with flowing golden hair and amber eyes—codename Meteorite. Her weapon of choice was a heavy crossbow sold in the Tomorrow's Development armory, a weapon so demanding in strength and endurance that few could even wield it. Its destructive power surpassed most firearms.
During the Sarkaz Civil War, many had witnessed her on the battlefield—not as a killer, but as a protector, rescuing the wounded amid chaos. In the war's final years, she took refuge in the Frontier District, fighting not for fame or pay, but for the survival of the Sarkaz people.
When Tomorrow's Development finally took full control of Kazdel, her decision to join them was only natural. Unlike Flamebringer, whose motivations were rooted in violence and freedom, Meteorite fought for her people's future.
Felix didn't greet them right away. Instead, he continued calmly:
"Tell me—what is the Sarkaz tradition?"
There was a pause. Then someone answered hesitantly, "Mercenaries?"
"Correct. Mercenaries."
Felix nodded approvingly.
"If Kazimierz reveres knights, if Higashi honors samurai, and Yan celebrates its wandering heroes—then Kazdel's pride and legacy are the mercenaries."
His gaze swept across the group.
"And I need you—all of you, members of Tomorrow's Development—to carry the name of the Sarkaz mercenary across the continent."
Halfway through his words, his eyes turned to the adventurers among them.
"As a power rooted in Kazdel, it's our responsibility to help the Sarkaz cast off the stigma of their past."
Technically, the statement wasn't entirely true—Tomorrow's Development and Kazdel were now inseparable. Unlike their alliance with Kjerag, which remained purely diplomatic, their connection to Kazdel ran deep, woven into every brick and policy.
Everyone present understood this. The leader of Tomorrow's Development was guiding not just his faction—but the Sarkaz as a people. Someday, Tomorrow's Development and Kazdel might well become one and the same.
The evidence was already visible: the reconstruction of the mobile city, the new urban layout, the growing order—this was the dawn of a new Kazdel.
"Follow me."
Felix turned, and the mercenaries fell into step behind him. The adventurers followed, wide-eyed with curiosity.
When they entered the armament factory, their eyes lit up.
Dandao Dantart's jaw nearly dropped as he watched mechanical arms assembling components in perfect harmony—each motion fluid, precise, without pause. Tiny screws whirled into place, plates sealed seamlessly, and a digital display snapped into the armor's forearm socket.
It was mesmerizing. A fully automated factory—no fatigue, no terran error. The only cost, he noted, was power. His gaze drifted toward the countless power boxes and cables running along the walls. In a nation still struggling with electricity, this kind of operation must have cost a fortune.
Felix's voice echoed through the hall:
"Kazdel needs Sarkaz mercenaries—and so does Tomorrow's Development. As members of our Mercenary Division, you deserve the finest equipment to uphold the name of the Sarkaz across Terra."
He led them to a row of storage racks, where sleek, metallic armor suits stood displayed—gleaming under the factory lights like relics of the future.
They were elegant yet menacing, the kind of suits one might expect to see worn by soldiers from a far-future civilization.
The Sarkaz mercenaries glanced down at their own gear, then back at the advanced armor before them. The difference was almost humiliating. Even Tomorrow's Development's standard uniforms paled in comparison.
And thinking back to the tattered rags they once wore… there was no comparison at all.
"You'll represent Tomorrow's Development on a mission in Dossoles, under a direct contract from Mayor Candela Sánchez. Your task is simple—serve as her hired mercenaries and confront the so-called 'true Bolívarian' forces."
A hovering drone drifted before them, projecting mission details into the air.
Flamebringer snatched the document with a smirk, skimming a few lines before laughing.
"So, we just crush the true Bolívarian army? Sounds easy enough."
"Your direct client will be Candela Sánchez. Follow her commands," Felix replied evenly.
"When you walk beyond Kazdel's borders, you carry not only the name of Tomorrow's Development—but of the entire Sarkaz race. I trust you understand the weight of that."
"Meteorite."
"Here," she replied, stepping forward.
Though her expression was calm and detached, those who had fought beside her knew the truth—beneath that cool demeanor was a steadfast, kind-hearted woman who bore every duty with quiet resolve.
"From this moment on," Felix said, his tone calm but commanding, "you will serve as the leader of this operation. You'll be responsible for direct coordination with the client, Candela Sanchez. This isn't the first mercenary mission undertaken by Tomorrow's Development, but it is the first international deployment led by Sarkaz mercenaries from Kazdel… I trust you understand what that means."
Meteorite looked slightly taken aback. "You want me to be the leader? To be honest, I'm not particularly good at giving orders."
"I trust you," Felix replied simply. "That's enough."
"…Understood."
Meteorite blinked, then gave a formal salute—the kind of precise gesture that carried both discipline and respect. It was a tradition among Sarkaz, a symbol of the mercenary's creed. Once, she fought for the sake of her people. Now, standing here, she realized—this was the moment she had longed for all along.
After learning the truth about Felix's nature and origins, Meteorite couldn't help but think that perhaps… having him as the one to lead Kazdel forward wasn't such a bad thing. Perhaps one day, she would offer him her full loyalty—as a Sarkaz warrior, and as a mercenary of Kazdel.
"These are the suits and armaments prepared for your deployment," Felix continued. "Once again, I want you to make sure that in this mission, the name of the Sarkaz mercenaries echoes across the continent. Can you do that?"
"Yes, sir!"
Their unified roar filled the factory, reverberating against the steel walls. It wasn't just a cry of obedience—it was a release of years of frustration, of anger, of burning pride long suppressed. Their blood surged, their hands trembled with heat. They wanted to fight. They wanted to prove themselves.
The newly outfitted mercenaries looked reborn. The old image of ragged, weary Sarkaz soldiers had vanished, replaced by a sleek, disciplined force in reinforced combat exosuits. Compared to the underfed, ill-equipped mercenaries scattered across the wasteland, they looked like a different breed entirely.
Meteorite ran her gloved hand along the surface of her armor. The mechanical suit fit her perfectly—firm yet flexible, heavy in appearance but astonishingly light in practice. It even enhanced her strength; the massive heavy crossbow she once struggled to lift now felt comfortably balanced in her grip.
She noticed how the suit's design emphasized her figure a bit too well—it felt odd, maybe even embarrassing—but she quickly dismissed the thought. This was a vast improvement from the tattered clothing she used to wear. Pride replaced discomfort.
"Boss," Flamebringer called out, resting his massive blade against his shoulder. "How are we getting to Bolivar?"
"You'll depart aboard a transport craft in thirty minutes," Felix explained. "It will take you to Dossoles in Bolivar. You'll arrive at approximately 7:40 p.m. local time. Once there, you'll meet your client, Candela Sanchez, and receive full mission details."
He looked over the group, his expression unreadable. "I believe I don't need to remind you how important this mission is. Use the time you have left to prepare."
With a nod toward Meteorite and the rest of the mercenaries, Felix turned and left the facility.
The moment he was gone, the group came alive with energy. Some began testing the features of their new suits, others hurried off to pack weapons and gear. A handful of players remained, chatting among themselves, excitement written all over their faces.
Meteorite stood quietly, watching Felix's retreating figure. A small sigh escaped her lips. To Tomorrow's Development, this might just be another mission. But to the Sarkaz mercenaries—to all Sarkaz—it was an opportunity unlike any other. A chance to rewrite their reputation.
She had no intention of wasting it.
Nearby, Flamebringer sat polishing his greatsword, his golden eyes narrowed in thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Whatever awaited them in Bolivar, he seemed eager to face it head-on.
"Hey, Dandao Dantart," called Sorlesar, the captain of the Blue Rain squad, as he leaned toward his teammate. "What's your take on this mission?"
Unlike many other guilds, Blue Rain didn't have the toxic seniority culture found elsewhere. They were like a family—open, collaborative. Sorlesar knew Dandao Dantart had a good rapport with the Pioneer himself, so his opinion mattered.
"I think this operation's focused on the Sarkaz," Dandao Dantart replied thoughtfully. "Pioneer said it himself—our role is just to cooperate with them and support their performance."
Sorlesar nodded. "The payment for this job is huge. Definitely not a simple mission."
"Yeah," Dandao Dantart said, resting his chin in his hand. "Captain, I'm going to say hi to Meteorite We met briefly back in the Frontier District."
"I'll go with you."
Before long, the squad made their way to the airfield. The transport aircraft was already humming, engines warmed and ready. None of the sarkaz have ever boarded one before—only the Adventurers used such machines. Sitting inside now felt surreal.
Once aboard, Dandao Dantart immediately pulled up the forums on his device, scrolling absentmindedly—until he noticed a familiar name.
It was Sorlesar, sitting right beside him, quietly typing a new post. Dandao Dantart leaned over and glanced at the screen—his captain was writing a field report detailing their current mission and deployment.
The post didn't just describe the Sarkaz mercenaries' first international task; it also hinted at something greater—the growing ambition of Tomorrow's Development.
And it was clear to everyone reading that this was a mission that could only end one way: success.
The post didn't rack up huge views — yet — but as long as the mission continued, Sorlesar kept posting and the thread's heat would only climb.
After logging off for a late-night snack, Dandao Dantart hiccupped and came back online. Ever since he'd joined Blue Rain, he'd moved into the squad club; their playstyle demanded real-world caretakers for their bodies. Food was the same story — Blue Rain hired a chef who specialized in athlete diets. The nutrition was good; the taste, not so much. So Dandao Dantart and a few other night-owl teammates had ordered takeout.
A while later the transport touched down in Dossoles. It was mid-August; through the window the city shone — buildings lit, the beach dotted with lights, performances still running on the artificial sea. Dandao Dantart had been to Dossoles once before, on the Pioneer's first trip, but as a pro he had little time to holiday in-game.
When the cabin opened, a wave of heat hit them. Meteorite raised a hand to shield her face. Despite the high temperature, she wasn't sweating; the cooling effect felt like a function of her suit.
More than fifty people filed out of the transport. Meteorite noticed a man in a white suit waiting for them; when he saw so many Sarkaz mercenaries his expression subtly shifted. Tomorrow's Development did have Sarkaz mercenaries before, but they'd been mixed into a melting pot of races. Seeing a unit of forty Sarkaz out of fifty was different. Dossoles didn't explicitly ban Sarkaz from entering, but locals still regarded them warily — especially when heavily armed.
The mercenaries felt the gazes but were hardly surprised; at worst it annoyed them.
"Tomorrow's Development mercenaries, please follow me," the man said, masking the reaction and keeping his tone professional. He'd been hired to manage this affair; he wasn't about to make enemies.
After a bus ride, he led them to a hotel. Only Meteorite — the squad leader — was taken forward to meet the client, Candela Sánchez, alone.
Candela gave the impression of a competent, busy woman. She'd just hung up a phone but greeted Meteorite politely. The greeting felt addressed more to the Pioneer than to Meteorite personally.
"Glad to meet you, mercenaries of Tomorrow's Development," Candela said, cutting to the point. She didn't care about races or infection status. "The true Bolivarians are preparing to sabotage the music festival at the end of August. They've collected a large number of bombs and plan to blow a hole in the city center. Everyone watching will be roasted alive."
Meteorite nodded slowly. "What do you need us to do?"
"Crush them," Candela replied calmly. "Tell the real Bolivarians that Dossoles is not their backyard. And get it done as quickly as possible."