Ernesto's expression shifted slightly.
"If it were me," he said quietly, "I'd detonate the bombs where the crowd is thickest… If you're talking about a lively place, tomorrow night is the closing ceremony of the festival — there'll be a grand parade."
He paused, his tone heavy.
"By then, the streets will be packed with citizens and tourists alike. If the bombs go off at that moment…"
Meteorite took a folded map from her pocket.
"Mark the locations."
"Understood."
The two immediately got to work, spreading the map over the table. A few mercenaries who weren't resting gathered around as well. Meteorite relayed the situation to Sorlesar through her communicator, instructing him to head for the busiest areas as soon as possible — perhaps he could prevent the bombs from being planted in time.
Upon receiving the transmission, Sorlesar rose to his feet. He glanced at Dandao Dantart, who were still looting gear from fallen NPCs.
"New task."
"Huh? What now?"
"Let's move while I explain… Seriously, you still haven't kicked that habit of looting every piece of junk you see? Our carry weight isn't infinite, you know. Don't tell me you've taken a liking to their uniforms?"
"It's just… force of habit from too many games," Dandao Dantart muttered. "And come on, these broke guys aren't worth looting anyway. Their weapons are all low-grade junk. Are we sure these clowns are real government soldiers?"
Honestly, it was hard to tell. A nation's army should represent its finest warriors, yet what the players saw were pitiful excuses for soldiers — arrogant fools who thought they could crush them like ants, only to be wiped out almost single-handedly by Flamebringer.
Their equipment was substandard, their training sloppy, and their conduct… well, they looked more like hired thugs than defenders of a nation.
"To be honest, I'm a little disappointed in Bolívar," Dandao Dantart grumbled.
The others nodded. As adventurers, they could say whatever they wanted — they weren't Bolívarian citizens, and no one could fault them for speaking their minds.
"My impression of Bolívar is mostly just Dossoles," Dandao Dantart continued. "I get that locals might resent the place, but bombing civilians? That's just messed up… Let's face it, the government's rotten to the core."
"They say it's the Doves and Hawks constantly at each other's throats," another mercenary added. "The bartender mentioned this city's crawling with spies — some from Leithanien, some from Columbia. With that much infiltration, it's no wonder they can't unite. The country's falling apart before it even comes together."
"What if Tomorrow's Development moved into Bolívar," Dandao Dantart mused, "and do what they did to Kazdel?"
That idea caught everyone's attention. Kazdel's mobile city had flourished under the Pioneer's leadership, and these elite Sarkaz mercenaries — now stationed across Bolívar — could well become a stabilizing force.
If the Pioneers took control… wouldn't that be a kind of liberation?
At the very least, it couldn't be worse than endless civil war.
"I heard Higashi is in a civil war too," someone muttered. "Why does every damn place like this, all fighting itself?"
"Hell if I know," another replied with a laugh. "You saying the Pioneers should just unify all of Terra?"
"…Wouldn't mind if they did."
Sorlesar sighed. "If Tomorrow's Development really decided to conquer the continent by force, we'd be on the front lines. You can bet there'd be faction missions for every invasion and siege."
"Wouldn't that be epic?"
The discussion devolved into wild speculation — the kind of over-the-top "what if" chatter that only adventurers could come up with. Imagine it: Tomorrow's Development expanding outward from Kazdel, seizing one region after another, uniting all of Terra under their banner. And they, the loyal players, waging wars in his name.
A world-spanning PvP campaign — like the eternal conflict between Horde and Alliance. For them, there was nothing more exhilarating.
Yet deep down, Dandao Dantart couldn't shake a sense of unease. Full-scale war sounded glorious, sure, but those who had lived through Kazdel's civil war knew better. Years of relentless PvP had dulled the thrill; conquest, if it came, should come one step at a time.
They walked beneath flickering streetlights, brushing past a few drunken tourists, heading toward the coordinates Meteorite had sent.
They hadn't even crossed a single block when Sorlesar suddenly stopped and raised his hand — a silent signal.
"What is it?"
Dandao Dantart crouched beside him, peering down the street.
This district was livelier than the last — music drifted from open bars, and drunks slumped along the sidewalks. But what caught Sorlesar's attention was the presence of armed soldiers lounging outside a tavern, laughing and drinking.
"…Those are the same troops that tried to surround us earlier," he murmured. "Strange. They don't seem concerned about their fallen comrades."
"They didn't have killing intent before, either," Flamebringer noted, frowning.
"Probably a different faction within the government army," Sorlesar said quietly. "Don't start anything. We'll take a detour—"
"—So, you're the mercenaries everyone's been talking about?"
The voice came from behind them.
A tall Perro woman stood under the lamplight, dressed in a crisp officer's uniform. Her gaze was cold and sharp, her bearing unmistakably that of a soldier.
In an instant, everyone recognized her — the captain who had taken command of the city's government forces.
"What's your intention here? Or do you actually plan to start a fight in the middle of a crowded street?"
Sorlesar stepped forward, positioning himself between his team and the woman. His tone was sharp and unyielding.
"Just like what your people planned to do to the innocent civilians here?"
Beside him, Flamebringer and Dandao Dantart had already half-drawn their blades.
Sorlesar gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Sure, we're mercenaries. We do the dirty work others don't want to touch. But for this job… I believe we're doing the right thing."
The Perro officer averted her gaze for a moment before turning back, her crimson eyes calm but cold.
"You have quite the prejudice against Bolívar, mercenary."
"At least what we've seen is your army bringing terror to its own people," Sorlesar replied, his voice flat but biting. "You may not be part of the hardliners, but by standing with them, you've made yourselves accomplices."
He lowered his weapon slightly, his stare unwavering.
"You're soldiers. We're mercenaries. I don't think there's anything left for us to discuss."
"…You're right."
The woman didn't try to argue. She simply turned around and walked away.
"You're just going to let us go?"
"I've never met you, and I was never here," she said softly, her back still turned. "That's as much as my conscience as a Bolívarian will allow."
When the captain's figure disappeared into the darkness, Sorlesar stood there in silence for a long time. Only then did he glance toward the tavern — the government troops who had been sitting there moments ago were gone as well. Had they retreated for the night?
He couldn't be sure. But either way, being allowed to walk away without a fight was a stroke of luck.
Dandao Dantart exhaled quietly, his tone oddly somber. "Poor woman. A soldier trapped by duty. For her, turning a blind eye might be the only rebellion she has left."
"Let's move."
With that, the group slipped into the night once more. Their goal was clear — before the festival began, they had to find and neutralize every single bomb.
———
Felix sat in his office, absently toying with a Clever unit — a small, floating mechanical familiar. It hovered obediently in his palm, its indicator lights blinking softly. The one in his hand wasn't just any device; it was the core unit, the command hub for all other Clevers.
Through it, he could issue orders to the Lightbearers, though he preferred to let them roam freely with their own Clevers, learning and adapting through exploration.
He hadn't used the advanced AI systems he'd recovered from the civilization of the past. Instead, he'd assembled something simpler — a program built from countless lines of code, capable of data collection but devoid of true personality. The reason was simple: his current hardware couldn't handle anything more advanced.
It was like trying to play Black Myth: Wukong on a machine running a GTX 980 — once powerful, but now hopelessly outdated. The game would crash before it even loaded.
Still, even with such limitations, Felix had managed to construct something far more significant — the Cryostasis Chamber. Originally, he'd designed it as an emergency refuge, a way to survive natural disasters. But in the end, it was Theresa who became its first occupant.
Now, she slept in the deepest level of Tomorrow's Development headquarters in Lungmen, sealed away in that transparent chamber. No one but Felix had the clearance to access that level.
Her physical wounds had been manageable; what had truly broken her was the violent severing of the Black Crown from her soul. In modern medical terms, it was akin to a massive concussion — her consciousness had collapsed into a deep coma.
But Theresa was no ordinary patient. Before falling into slumber, she had explained her condition to Felix herself — that the removal of the Black Crown was the same as dying, yet through the Cryostasis system, her life had been preserved. She simply needed time — time for her body and mind to recover before she could awaken once more and see the world again.
Felix was at peace with her condition. Their bond would not be severed by sleep or silence. Meeting someone like Theresa in this vast land of Terra was something that continued to amaze him — a chance encounter that still felt unreal.
As for the news of Her Highness's "death," the Sarkaz had already accepted it as inevitable. The disappearance of the Black Crown symbolized the fall of the Sarkaz King. It spared Felix from having to tell comforting lies — after all, he had been the one by her side until the end.
"I've been expecting you," Felix said softly, without looking up. "Or rather, you took longer than I thought. You must have learned of my whereabouts long ago… didn't you, Andoain?"
The scenery beyond the window shimmered, and a familiar figure emerged from the reflection — a Sankta with calm, intelligent eyes and the serene smile of a scholar-priest. His robe was the same as before, his presence unchanging.
"It's been a long time, Felix."
At the sight of him, Felix felt a faint, phantom ache along his side — a lingering memory of their last encounter, when Andoain's blade had nearly ended him.
"Seems your place is rather popular these days," Andoain said lightly, his tone laced with subtle implication. "I happened to see another of our kind here — one who's quite… notorious."
"That was an accident," Felix replied evenly. "Her crimes are for the Tribunal to judge, not me. I've simply been waiting — for you."
"My apologies," Andoain said with a soft chuckle. "I was in Iberia, and it took some time to extricate myself. The Deepsea Church has been stirring up trouble again. As a Sankta, I couldn't allow them to continue corrupting the faith."
Felix let out a quiet, ironic laugh.
"For someone who's turned his back on the flock, hearing you talk about protecting doctrine is rather amusing."
Andoain smiled.
"And for someone who's abandoned his kind, the same could be said of you."
Their exchange carried no hostility — only a quiet understanding between two men who had long since drifted away from their homeland, yet remained bound by its shadow.
Each had walked a different path. And now, those paths had crossed again.
"You chose the wrong way, Andoain."
Felix's voice was calm, steady — almost distant. "By choosing to declare your farewell and betrayal in that way, all you've done is invite misunderstanding."
"I lost control back then," Andoain replied with a faint smile. "I saw something I could hardly believe."
"You mean the truth — that the Sarkaz are our ancestors, that we are their descendants, and that they see us as traitors?"
"..."
Andoain's smile faded until it was almost invisible. A soft sigh escaped him. "So, you already know everything."
"I do."
"Then tell me, have you ever doubted the way the Sankta handle things?"
Felix gave a quiet, humorless laugh. "Even now, you're still trying to pull me into your cause?"
"We share the same vision," Andoain said gently. "But our methods differ. You seek salvation for everyone — through your own strength."
Felix rose from his chair and walked toward the window. Beyond the glass, new residential buildings were taking shape in the distance, glowing faintly under construction lights. "I prefer to let people use their own strength to decide their future."
"Even if those people are Sarkaz?"
"Tell me, Andoain," Felix turned his gaze toward him, "do you really see a difference between races?"
Andoain fell silent.
"You know what awaits you if you return to Laterano, don't you?"
"Of course," Felix said, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips. "Which is exactly why I'm not returning — not yet."
He let out a soft chuckle. "This isn't running away. I'll go back eventually, but only when I've proven myself. Once I do, all the doubts and rumors will crumble on their own."
Andoain pressed his lips together before smiling again, gentle and resigned. "You've surpassed me, in more ways than one."
"Then," Felix turned his head slightly, his tone light but serious, "would you consider working with me?"
Andoain raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what could I possibly offer you?"
"Iberia," Felix said softly. "You mentioned the Deep Sea Church before. My adventurers have been sending reports — that cult grows stronger by the day. It's becoming a threat to the Inquisition, to Iberia itself… even to Ægir. Worse still, they're spreading corruption under our Church's name."
He turned from the window, eyes sharp with intent. "I want you to go there. Lemuen and Mostima would understand your presence, but Fiammetta…" He exhaled lightly. "The moment she sees you, she'll draw her gun and fire without hesitation."
Andoain sighed quietly. "There are times," he said, his tone soft as prayer, "when I wish I couldn't feel others' emotions at all."