Arknights: I became an NPC in the online game

Crossing through snow-covered roads with a border pass in hand, Felix presented himself as a messenger from Sankta. He also flashed his merchant certification—legit papers from both the Chamber of Commerce and the Earl's Palace.

Still, the patrol guards weren't exactly reassured.

"Seriously, who delivers arms as a Messenger? What kind of death angel are you?" one muttered, squinting at the cargo on Felix's truck.

But once Felix slid over a thick stack of chervonets—the hard currency of Ursus—their entire vibe shifted. Suddenly, he was "brother," greeted with a round of "Ura!" and invited to join them for vodka and coarse bread by the fire.

He and Carnelian got a brief taste of guard life on the Ursus border: bundled in heavy coats, hunting on the side for meat, chatting around a crackling fire to stay warm, and performing their main task—sweeping the nearby villages to hunt down the infected and drive them out without hesitation.

Oddly enough, no one questioned Felix's health.

A messenger trusted enough to operate in Laterano? Obviously not infected. And as for his companion, Carnelian? She passed with a quick glance—thanks more to the chervonets than anything else.

After driving dozens of kilometers into Ursus, they finally spotted the first signs of life: smoke curling from a village chimney.

Carnelian, now bundled up for the cold, had ditched her signature thigh-high look. Even in summer, Ursus was brutal. She wore thick winter trousers, a Leithanian windbreaker, a fur shawl, and fleece gloves—all stylish, all practical, all bought back in Trimount.

Felix, on the other hand, had opted for practicality over fashion. He'd taken his old coat to a black market craftsman, who reinforced it with a buff against the cold. It wasn't pretty, but it worked.

"Wow… So this is what a village in Ursus looks like," Carnelian said, peering out from the passenger seat.

Felix followed her gaze. By the standards of a novice town, it was barren. Too few people, too quiet. Usually, you'd see a crowd of players outside towns like this—training, trading, taking quests. Here? Barely a dozen low-level players were outside, sweeping snow and pacing like sentries.

"It's a lot smaller than towns in other countries. Maybe the cold keeps people away." Felix checked the exterior thermometer. "Still summer, and there's snow. We must be closer to the northern border. If we'd come in from Lungmen, it might've been warmer."

Carnelian leaned back with her hands behind her head and a lazy grin. "Boss, with this few adventurers around, we're definitely not hitting sales targets."

"Who said my targets are just the adventurers in town?"

With that, Felix stepped out of the vehicle and strolled toward the patrolling players.

These Ursus players were mostly low-level. The border zones didn't offer much in terms of resources. The only real option for them was to press deeper into central Ursus, hoping not to get infected. With luck, they'd find a bigger town or a supply cache. Without it? They'd get lost in the frozen wilderness and slowly die of hunger debuffs.

And that, Felix thought, is exactly where he come in.

There were a good number of Russian players in the area, along with quite a few from the Chinese region. Surprisingly, the two groups were coexisting fairly peacefully—for now.

"Hey... are my eyes messing with me? Who the hell's coming out here in this weather?"

"Snow blindness, maybe? Wait, that truck... it looks familiar."

"Cука! That's our angel!"

A small squad of Russian players suddenly lit up and bolted forward, cursing affectionately in their native tongue. They skidded across the ice and snow—straight into Felix's legs.

"?"

"Angel! Please—sell us some gear! We need to get the hell out of here!"

Thanks to the in-game NPC translation system, Felix could make out what they were saying, though the accent was still there, faint and mechanical.

He looked at the players clinging to him and sighed internally. These Ursus "bear" players were really scraping the bottom. Forget gold and gear—they were barely surviving. The town didn't even have a proper tavern or shop like other Village. Bread, if they had any, was considered a feast.

Felix had definitely overestimated how players were living here. He hadn't picked the Ursus faction in his previous life, so he hadn't realized how brutally hard it was. This wasn't a survival game. This was Fallout on hard mode.

He quickly pulled up his trade menu. He'd already done his homework—scanning forums and checking level ranges—so his store inventory was well-curated. It had high-end kit for the few advanced players in town, but also practical, budget gear for everyone else.

As he sold his wares, he also struck up conversations with players from the Russian and Chinese factions. From what he gathered, the town population had peaked at around 10,000 players. But that was a disaster in itself—food shortages, no infrastructure, no support. Over time, the stronger players moved deeper into central Ursus. The rest? Left behind, or worse.

"Angel... I have a friend," one of the Russian players said quietly. "He got injured during a hunt. Got infected. The black-uniform patrols threw him out like trash. If you can... please help him."

Felix's expression darkened.

Infected players were the lowest of the low here—exiled to the snowy wasteland, scraping by in desperate little squads. No access to quests, no supplies, no safe zone. Just pure survival. Stealing from towns was one of their only options.

Some of those players were bitter. Others eventually embraced the chaos and started treating it like its own game mode—hardcore, post-apocalyptic, brutal. But a few never let go of their anger. They buried it deep, vowing that when they got strong enough, they'd burn Ursus to the ground.

"Don't worry. I'll find your friend," Felix said. "Where did they go?"

"Further north. Thank you, angel. Truly."

The Russian player dropped to his knees and kowtowed several times.

Felix's expression remained unreadable.

There were only a few hundred players in the village. After selling what he could, Felix returned to the truck, organizing the space in the trunk. Carnelian, who had been quietly surveying the area, walked back over and shook her head slightly.

"All the residents here are elderly."

"That's to be expected..." Felix glanced at the dim lights flickering in the distance, already lit despite the early hour. "Give it a few years, and this whole region might be abandoned."

Not long after they left, a fresh-faced player with barely any forum history made a post: "Just saw the Pioneer in person. Bought gear from him. Swear on my account."

At first, everyone figured it was an alt account fishing for clout. But then the player dropped photo evidence—shots of the Pioneer and Carnelian together, and even pictures of the gear he'd just bought.

The forum went into meltdown.

The Ursus section, normally quieter than most, erupted.

It had been over three years in Terra time since the Ark launched. Originally, the forums were divided by major factions, with Kazdel's war-torn zone being the most active. Now, new nation-based sections were up and running. These were open to anyone, became hubs for real-time updates, gear trades, squad recruitment, and task optimization—a self-built ecosystem by the players, for the players.

Naturally, someone reposted the Pioneer sighting in the Ursus section.

And then came the chaos.

"Holy crap, he's real! He actually came to Ursus! I'm gonna cry!"

"We're way behind other nations in gear and support. Finally—he's here to balance things!"

"Yeah, but what about us infected players? We've been kicked out by the Patrol. No gear. No help. We're screwed."

"Facts. Pioneers only ever show up in towns. Us wastelanders? We get jack. I swear, one day I'm torching every city in Ursus."

"Bro, chill. If you torch the cities, what do we eat—snow and regret?"

While the forum raged, Felix was already deep into Ursus, driving dozens of kilometers to a larger town. This place was much more lively—tens of thousands of players, bustling trade, and thick tension in the air.

He set up shop and, once again, the name Pioneer spread fast. Business boomed.

And then he made his move.

"Adventurers," Felix called out to the crowd still lingering after their purchases. "Would you help me with a small task?"

Those words were like music. Dozens of players perked up instantly. A quest from the Pioneer? That meant one thing: rewards.

A mission window appeared.

You've triggered the E-Rank Quest: [Collect Supplies]

[Accept / Decline]

[Quest Description: A mysterious pioneer stands before you. He's requested warm clothing and food. You're curious about his intentions, but he promises to explain—once the supplies are secured.]

Objectives:

Gather food for the pioneer (0/15)

Gather warm clothing for the pioneer (0/3)

Rewards:

1000 chervonets

3000 EXP

Eyes lit up across the square. Without hesitation, the players scattered like petals in the wind, sprinting to the supply shops to gather items. It was pure efficiency. Errand quests rarely gave this kind of payout—clearly, this Pioneer wasn't playing by the usual rules.

In less than ten minutes, the players returned, each carrying a bag of supplies. Smiling, they handed everything to Carnelian, who tallied the items while the task rewards were distributed.

"Mr. Pioneer, why do you need all this?" one player asked, curiosity shining in his eyes.

"For the infected," Felix replied softly, his voice low. "Only after coming to Ursus did I truly see how much suffering this land carries. The infected were people—are people. They shouldn't be treated like they don't matter."

He stopped there.

Any more, and he might've crossed a line—maybe even stirred the players enough to do something rash. Burning cities down for justice... wasn't what he came here to ignite.

"They have no way to get supplies. I can get them supplies."

"They have no strength. I can give them strength."

"They've lost their dignity. I can offer a hand to help them rise again."

By then, Carnelian had finished counting the deliveries. Felix gave a small nod to the gathered players, many of whom looked visibly moved by his words.

"If fate allows, we'll meet again."

Once he was gone, silence lingered.

Then someone spoke.

"That's it. That's what a Pioneer should be. If he ever forms his own faction, I'll join it—proudly."

"Count me in too."

This time, the back of the truck was full—stacked with food and warm clothes.

Carnelian glanced over from the passenger seat. "Boss, you're really going to give all this to the infected?"

"There are too many of them. You can't save everyone."

"If we start with one, we keep going," Felix replied, calmly. "You know how people are—someone who's always done good slips up once, and they're crucified. Someone terrible does one good thing and suddenly they've been 'redeemed.' I don't buy that. Everyone deserves to be treated fairly."

"So you're selling them the supplies."

"What, you thought this was a charity?" Felix chuckled. "They've got money—or at least some of them do. They just don't have anywhere to spend it. We're just giving them the option."

Nothing in life is free. People don't value what they get for nothing. Felix understood that. He wouldn't hand things out blindly—he'd create a system.

As they drove deeper into the north, signs of player activity appeared. Small groups moving through the snow, cautious but not hostile. Felix asked for directions, and they pointed him toward the infected players' base without hesitation.

That base turned out to be a small, snowy settlement hidden among the trees—home to nearly a thousand infected players.

When Felix stepped out of the truck, a crowd began to gather.

They didn't rush him.

They just stood there, watching—eyes wide with hope, disbelief, and something rarer: trust.

Carnelian stepped out beside him. She noticed the way they looked at Felix—not with fear, but with faith.

And for a moment, she was struck silent.

Is this... the weight of his reputation?