Arknights: I became an NPC in the online game

What is Kjeragandr?

A king who vanished into history. The one who first carved out a homeland for the people of Kjerag. A name of faith, of law, of divinity.

Kjeragandr is both the name of Kjerag's god and the name of its faith. In history, He was Kjerag's first monarch. With divine power and knowledge, He united the earliest settlers, teaching them the skills needed to endure the snowfields and tundra, and from that survival sprang the first form of Kjerag society.

It was He who planted the seed of civilization on this frozen land, allowing Kjerag to grow and endure for a thousand years. He gave the people a place to belong. To understand Kjerag, one must understand Kjeragandr.

Though His body has long since faded, He remains forever with His people.

Felix followed Kjera, the young cleric who guided the group with a faint, gentle smile as she told them about Kjeragandr—and with Him, the history of Kjerag itself.

This land was closed off from the world. Closed meant backward, in a sense. But for Felix as a traveler, it also preserved the raw, unaltered essence of Kjerag. Isolation had allowed its mountain music and art to flourish, untouched, complete. The handmade instruments were exquisite, their tones unique; their songs and verses carried a depth that lingered long after. Rituals, festivals, and dances all traced back to these beginnings.

Kjera even invited them to take part in the Ice and Snow Festival, three days hence. Felix did not hesitate long before agreeing.

But from a political perspective, from the standpoint of Kjerag's future, this isolation could not last. For now, it offered safety, but walls inevitably fall. Would the three ruling families and the people of Kjerag truly be ready when that day came?

It was not like Laterano's isolation. Laterano's peace was enforced with strength—pope after pope ruling with an iron hand, silencing dissent with sheer firepower until no nation dared defy them. Could Kjerag ever match that?

Hardly. The gap was far too wide.

"You seem troubled, traveler."

Kjera turned back toward Felix, her voice warm and steady. There was something in her presence that made one want to unburden every thought to her. A mother's gentleness, though her youthful face and soft-spoken manner suggested otherwise. Perhaps this was simply the nature of a cleric.

"I'm looking for someone," Felix admitted. His gaze wandered to a nearby carving—Kjera had said it symbolized peace after the storm. "But this city is too vast. Alone, finding them is like searching for a needle in the ocean."

Kjera lowered her eyes with a soft smile, exhaling as though releasing a prayer. "Kjeragandr will grant you guidance. For now, I hope you'll allow yourself to enjoy the Ice and Snow Festival."

Her words eased Felix's heart. He would be here for some time anyway; there was no need to rush. Still, being comforted by someone who looked older than him left him oddly embarrassed. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Degenbrecher, Mostima, and Fiammetta waiting at a distance, leaning casually against the rail.

"Thank you, Miss Kjera. And thank you for your introduction to Kjeragandr. I feel I understand Kjerag's history much better now… though it's a shame the country remains so closed."

He hadn't finished speaking when he noticed the inquisitive gleam in her eyes, as if she expected him to continue.

But Kjera only smiled faintly, withdrew her gaze, and lowered her lashes in a silent farewell.

Felix returned the gesture with a polite nod before turning to rejoin his three companions.

Degenbrecher cast her eyes over the scenery. "Kjerag avoids strife. It's a place ripe for growth—whether for a company, or an individual."

"Yes," Felix replied softly, "but the three great families are still locked in their struggles, and with the Monastery watching over everything, starting anything here won't be easy."

"In some ways, it's like Laterano," he added, "but without the military might or international weight to back it."

"This land is an untouched treasure," Degenbrecher said thoughtfully.

Felix nodded. "If not for the Monastery, this place could be called a true land of freedom."

Why had Kjerag remained so closed for so many years? Felix didn't know. But he understood what that isolation meant: they weren't lacking resources. Food, for one. For nations, food was always at the heart of trade—just as Victoria exported tea and potatoes. But Kjerag chose self-sufficiency. It meant they didn't need imports to survive.

The Monastery held three competing factions. Without unity among them, any attempt to expand into Kjerag would be… difficult, to say the least.

"Boss, are you thinking of setting up a branch here?"

"I do have that idea," Felix admitted, "but it's still too early."

As they walked, he turned to Degenbrecher. "Tell me, along the way here… did you notice anything?"

Degenbrecher brushed her hand against the hilt of her sword, thought for a moment, then let out a soft "Oh."

"You mean… adventurers?"

"Exactly. There aren't any here."

His words caught the attention of Mostima and Fiammetta, but Felix kept speaking quietly.

"If we want to build a branch here, we'd have to deal with the three families. But cooperating with one means offending the other two. Balance doesn't last. That's why I said—too early."

"As for Tomorrow's Development, we still rely on adventurers. They're a core part of who we are."

He shrugged. "But ever since we entered Kjerag, I haven't seen a single adventurer. Does that mean they think there's no opportunity here?"

Degenbrecher walked beside him, nodding slightly. "Most adventurers are no different from mercenaries. If there's work and someone willing to pay, they'll serve whoever hires them."

"I prefer to call them the free people of Terra."

Felix smiled. "No shackles, no burdens. Forgetting the past, traveling in groups, chasing gold and opportunity wherever it appears. Isn't that freedom?"

His smile faded, his tone turning serious. "Degenbrecher, I want to give you another task."

"Say it."

"Tomorrow's Development need their own armed force. Something to face the crises ahead. I want you to train them."

A dangerous smile tugged at Degenbrecher's lips. "Fine. Leave it to me."

"Oh, and the name of this force?"

"Lightbearers—warriors who fight for the dawn of tomorrow."

---

Two days later, Fiammetta sat upright in her bed. She had already grown used to the sound of the wind and the snow tapping against the window at night. Though five months of the year had already passed, Kjerag's chill hadn't eased. The altitude kept May bitterly cold.

Here, the deep devotion to faith and to Kjeragandr reminded her of the Church and the Laws of Laterano. She didn't dislike this land, not at all—she found herself growing fond of it.

Footsteps in the hall made her open her eyes. She had just finished writing the day's travel notes and hadn't yet closed them for sleep.

Felix had booked a family-style suite; the sound came from the corridor connecting the living room to the bedrooms. Fiammetta slid open her door—only to find Mostima, dressed in pajamas.

"…You!"

"Shh."

Mostima raised a finger to her lips. In her other hand she carried a pillow, her cheeks flushed, hair damp from a recent bath.

"Mostima, have a little restraint," Fiammetta murmured, frowning.

"Eh? I'm not planning anything." Mostima stepped closer with a playful smile. "Little Fi, you're overthinking it."

"You said the same thing yesterday. Except yesterday you used Lock and Key, didn't you?"

As Laterano's Overseer, Fiammetta was meticulous in her duties. After traveling with Lock and Key for so long, she could easily sense the pulse of arts when Mostima invoked her Originium Arts.

"Hehe, well, the floor here is wooden—of course it creaks when you walk on it."

Mostima admitted it easily, then gently patted Fiammetta's head. "It's getting late. Go get some rest. Tomorrow's the Ice and Snow Festival—let's go explore it together?"

"You're not staying with Felix?"

"He has his own work to do. And we have ours, don't we?"

Looking at Mostima's calm smile, Fiammetta felt as though she'd lost—whether to Mostima herself or to her relationship. With a quiet sigh, she pulled her door shut.

Mostima just smiled, then smoothly opened Felix's bedroom door. He was still seated at his desk, studying the small Kjerag stove. Her tone carried a touch of mock reproach.

"You still haven't washed up and gone to bed? It's already time to sleep."

The moment carried the strange illusion of a parent nagging their child to turn in. Felix turned his head wordlessly, catching sight of Mostima standing there barefoot, pillow in hand, her legs bare beneath her sleepwear. He quickly shifted his gaze back to the dismantling steps in front of him. Just a little longer, and this intricate piece of craftsmanship would finally reveal its secrets.

This was the joy of a production-type player: even with a beautiful woman beside him, his eyes never wavered from the crafting progress bar. For him, pleasure no longer came from romance, but from watching new equipment take shape.

"How much longer?"

Mostima leaned in close, her scent—a mix of soap and skin—drifting over him. She blew playfully into his ear. "It's already bedtime, you know… Were you like this back in Columbia too?"

"More or less. Back then I lived in the research institute, so it wasn't a problem."

His eyes stayed fixed on the progress bar, not turning. "Go on ahead… just give me ten more minutes."

"Fine."

Without protest, Mostima spread the bedding and slipped into bed first. Felix kept working, carefully dismantling the stove. What interested him most wasn't its appearance, but the structure hidden inside.

The heating module. In theory, he could slap together a broken-down terminal, run heavy programs on it, and force it to function—like trying to run an RTX 3080-only game on a GTX 1080. The result would only be overheating and meltdown. Sure, he could do it, but he had no interest in wasting a module just to burn it out.

With a heating module, he could eventually create a cooling module. Air conditioning existed in Terra, but breaking down the components into modular form would require dismantling many more devices. The little stove was an ideal start.

Equipping drones with heating and cooling modules could one day prove invaluable on the battlefield.

Right now, he was weak—painfully so. Not in will, but in strength. He knew it. As a support, he couldn't hope to rely on the mechanic sub-class alone. He would need another path forward. At the very least, as an NPC, he had to reach the point where he could stand toe-to-toe with a Sarkaz royal guard.

He needed weapons. He needed better equipment. And he needed to sharpen his own combat ability.

There was no rush. This was only the beginning. But growing stronger—he had already marked it as his top priority.

When the analysis was finally complete, Felix stretched, washed up, and lay down. Beside him, Mostima looped her arms and legs tightly around him, using him as a body pillow. Though she wore a sleep mask, she still unerringly found the corner of his lips and pressed a soft goodnight kiss there.

---

The next day was the Ice and Snow Festival. The streets of Turicum filled with townsfolk, crowds spilling through every lane. Residents proudly displayed their hand-carved ice sculptures, while vendors hauled fresh blocks of ice to let passersby carve their own creations on the spot.

Beyond the sculptures, restaurants unveiled their signature winter dishes. Steaming cheese pots—served only in the depths of winter—were carried out, their rich aroma filling the streets and bringing smiles to everyone's faces.

Felix draped a scarf marked with the blessing totems of Kjeragandr over his shoulders, walking hand-in-hand with Mostima down streets that felt both familiar and strange.

"If this were Laterano," he mused, "all these ice sculptures would probably end up blown to pieces, wouldn't they?"

"…Say that any louder, and the people of Turicum will jump you on the spot."

Mostima chuckled, waving him off. "I'll grab us something to eat."

She slipped away into the crowd. Degenbrecher and Fiammetta had already joined the townsfolk in their celebrations. Left alone, Felix paused at the edge of the steps, his gaze falling on a man standing beneath an ice sculpture, deep in thought.

Sensing the weight of another's eyes, the man turned.

Their gazes met. Recognition—sudden and undeniable—flashed across both faces.

Felix stepped forward.

Praise be to Kjeragandr. Perhaps this, too, was a blessing.