Arknights: I became an NPC in the online game

The small square was empty, save for the ice sculpture that dominated its center. Passersby always paused here, their gazes drawn to the lifelike figure carved from frozen crystal.

Kjeragandr.

Standing beside the young man, Felix lifted his head to study the sculpture. The deity's expression radiated compassion—far more tangible than the stone idols housed within the monastery. The broad face mirrored Kjeragandr's boundless heart, the nose stood tall like a snowcapped peak, and the lips curved in a gentle, accepting smile.

"This was carved by the monastery's most devout believer," the young Feline spoke softly. "It's only one of his most renowned works. A hymn in ice—to praise Kjeragandr, to celebrate all that Kjerag is. To hope the future will remain as it always has been: calm, unchanged."

"Unchanged," Felix replied evenly, "is just another word for falling behind."

The Feline's eyes sharpened, a cold gleam flashing like steel. "When one has already fallen behind, kindness cannot protect you. At such a time, doesn't speaking of goodness become nothing more than a joke?"

A short laugh escaped his lips. A snow eagle descended onto his shoulder, tilting its head curiously toward the halo above Felix.

"Purity does not halt invaders. Kindness does not disarm the violent. Faith does not reach the ears of the ambitious."

Felix shook his head. "What you see now is only a fleeting calm. The storm has yet to arrive."

"You sound dissatisfied with Kjerag," the Feline observed.

"How could I be?" Felix answered with a faint smile. "I like this place. But if it remains as it is now, I'd rather not return someday to find it reduced to just another fief under a Victorian noble's banner."

The young Feline gave him a sidelong glance and shifted his stance. He leaned on a staff, though in truth it was a sword sheathed in plain disguise. His hawk-like eyes sized Felix up and down before he finally spoke again.

"It's been three years since Kazimierz, hasn't it?"

"Three years," Felix confirmed, his tone calm. "And you—have you graduated?"

Back then, Enciodes had looked every bit the fresh-faced university student. Now, standing before Felix, he carried more weight in his bearing, though the vigor of youth still burned between his brows.

"And you, sir," Enciodes countered, "you look younger than I do."

Their gazes locked. No more riddles—Enciodes broke the silence.

"Tell me, sir. What brings you to Kjerag, to Turicum? Surely this isn't a mere pleasure trip. I know that much."

His words carried the edge of challenge. "You came here to change Kjerag, didn't you?"

"I came," Felix said evenly, "to negotiate."

"Oh?" For the first time, true interest lit Enciodes' expression.

"Do you speak for yourself, for the notary behind you, or…"

Felix extended his hand. "Felix Shawn Lanshem. Director of Tomorrow's Development. A pleasure to meet you."

---

The two men stepped into a modest house, poured steaming drinks from the table into cups, and drank in silence, self-sufficient.

After a few sips, the one who had given his name, Enciodes, spoke calmly.

"Lord Felix, I still don't fully understand your purpose here."

Felix tilted his head.

"Isn't it you, Lord Enciodes, who seeks to modernize Turicum? To open it up? As Kjerag's only gateway to the outside, the importance of this place is obvious. Whether for tourism or industry, a gate is everything. A rotten wooden door is still a gate, but a magnificent stone arch is also a gate. If you want Kjerag known to the world, then dressing the gate is the simplest—and most effective—first step."

"You're not wrong."

Enciodes' lips curled slightly, then smoothed into neutrality. "I understand the structure of Tomorrow's Development. A rising star in science and industry. On that point, Lord Felix, I hope we can have a real exchange."

What did Kjerag lack most? Stability.

A mountain cannot host two tigers, nor can a nation endure two kings without unsettling those beneath them. And now Kjerag suffered three competing voices. The Temple seemed to speak for the people, but in truth it had become nothing more than a stage for the three great families' struggle for power.

Developing Turicum was possible. After all, this land was Enciodes' family domain. He could remain in the shadows, wave a hand, and quietly reshape the city, dulling the suspicion of the other two clans. But to change all of Kjerag outright? That was another matter entirely.

For now, Enciodes had only his Karlan Trade Company—no troops, no commanders, still searching for allies to recruit. He had money, yes, but not time.

In this life, Degenbrecher's loyalty to Felix meant Karlan Trade lacked the military strength it once relied on. Its secret armed forces could not be raised quickly. And without soldiers, what power was there to seize?

"In that area," Felix said evenly, "I can provide you with steady supplies of weapons and equipment."

Though the setting was humble, the room had taken on the weight of a negotiation chamber. "But what you lack," Felix continued, "is someone capable of training men into an army."

"I know that well enough," Enciodes admitted. "In fact, I've already dispatched subordinates across Terra to find reliable help. As for equipment—its varieties, its expected costs—I'll prepare you a list."

That was only the beginning.

Felix proposed another measure: if Turicum were to become truly urban, then public transport was essential. Look at the only road leading into the city—outside of summer, anyone attempting it risked sinking into snow. How could business thrive if goods could not even be moved?

Laying down railways, building trains—these were Turicum's first priorities, the true stepping stones toward modernity.

Even ordinary players below max level had purchased vehicles by now, but no one could rely on bare feet forever. Yet even with cars, many routes here were too brutal to drive through. That was where the iron rails would matter most.

Felix himself cared little about such limits. In recent years, Columbian physicists had made remarkable advances in aeronautics, pushing other nations into a race to catch up. Passenger jets that carried hundreds were out of reach, but military transports for a dozen, even twenty, were already on the market.

In his past life at Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals, he had purchased one for moving cargo. But the greatest risk of relying on aircraft was this: maintaining good relations with the Catastrophe Messengers. After all, cataclysms struck without warning. If one erupted along your flight path…

That would be the end.

"Karlan Trade, is it… I look forward to working with you, Lord Enciodes."

Felix clasped Enciodes' hand firmly, then shifted the tone.

"By the way—does Karlan Trade have any remaining shares reserved for outside investors?"

Enciodes' eyes narrowed slightly. He nodded slowly.

"Lord Felix… you mean to say—"

"I have great interest in the future of Karlan Trade—and in the future of Kjerag. On the financial side, I hope to lend you a hand."

"Of course."

Enciodes gave a short hum of assent. Inwardly, though, his judgment of this young Sankta shifted. Felix looked about his age—perhaps even younger—yet carried an aura one could not see through. His face wore an innocent smile, but the moment trade and negotiation were on the table, there was no hesitation, no softness. He claimed "interest" in Kjerag, but Enciodes instinctively sensed that this man truly believed in Kjerag's potential.

In truth, Felix reminded him of certain nobles he had once encountered in Victoria. Not the greedy sort, whose desires were obvious at a glance. But the true nobility—refined, measured, leaving no gaps in word or deed.

If Felix knew what was passing through the other's mind, he would admit it was nothing more than luck—meeting Enciodes at this younger stage. A few years older, with more experience, and Felix's bid to buy into Karlan Trade would never have succeeded.

Why? Because Karlan Trade was Enciodes'—and by extension, Kjerag's. SilverAsh's company was, at its core, a family enterprise meant to stand for all of Kjerag, never to be pried into by outsiders.

For now, Karlan Trade carried a handful of investors, many from Victoria, who helped shoulder costs that even the SilverAsh family alone could not bear.

Felix's investment was not meant to meddle. He had no intention of attending shareholder meetings or clawing for authority. His goal was different: to maintain ties with Karlan Trade into the future—not for leverage, but for partnership.

After all, how rare was it to have a stable partner providing raw materials? Trade, at its heart, was about mutual benefit. Felix had no need to undercut Enciodes. The reputation of Tomorrow's Development mattered too much.

Enciodes, for his part, was still gathering his strength. But one day—sooner or later—he would become ruler of Kjerag.

In Felix's past life, that path had never been realized. Perhaps something had happened, perhaps choices differed—but Enciodes had remained merely chairman of Karlan Trade, a man whose company's voice carried enormous weight across Kjerag. Players had never uncovered the full story in archives; clearly, such records were tightly sealed.

But this time… with Felix's involvement, who could say? Could Enciodes truly ascend the throne of Kjerag?

To build ties with someone whose future shone this brightly—whether as partner or ally—was no small advantage. Felix saw it, and wagered without hesitation.

Enciodes raised his cup, drank, and let the rising steam blur his eyes. He had learned a little of Tomorrow's Development already: an organization devoted to opening new frontiers, to aiding the Infected, to building a future. Any one of these aims, stated alone, would make most people laugh. Especially that part about aiding the Infected.

Even Columbia's research institutions might boast of "helping" the Infected—by offering them release.

But Felix was Sankta. His people's mastery of science and industry ran deep. He was no starry-eyed fledgling angel chasing naive dreams.

Enciodes thought: We'll start with Turicum.

The rest… he would not yet dwell on. His time was limited, but not as desperate as it seemed. A trusted friend was out even now, seeking reliable allies for him. For Karlan Trade, there was still room to endure.

Their discussion turned next to private armed forces—a matter Enciodes himself raised. Karlan Trade would need such strength. For defense, for the battles to come, for survival itself—they required a modernized force.

Weapons and gear, Felix could provide. The question was only: what exactly did Enciodes want?

In his previous life, the Karlan trade forces trained under Degenbrecher. Felix had never learned much about their internal equipment or structure.

But in this life, with Degenbrecher at his side, the training of the Lightbearers was about to begin. And this time, Felix already had the composition planned out.

With Piledriver spear, Steam-powered armor, and fortress cannons under his command, Felix could train nothing short of his own "Victorian army." Yet the other branches could not be neglected either—medics, casters, and snipers all had to be part of the corps. Specialists and support would be fewer in number, but still necessary.

What this new force needed most were reliable captains and commanders to lead. On that point, Felix drew a blank. His instinct turned toward the Sarkaz mercenaries—they looked the part for such work—but their loyalty was another matter entirely. The Lightbearers were meant to be his private army, a force that in his past life would have been akin to an Emperor's Blade. Such a formation could never be handed to those he did not trust.

Enciodes eventually took his leave. The details of the deal would need more thought—by him, and by Felix as well. They had established the beginnings of a trade relationship, but whether it could grow into true alliance… only time would tell.

The trip to Kjerag had gone more smoothly than Felix could have expected. As he stepped out of the modest house, he thought: perhaps this, too, was Kjeragandr's blessing.

Crossing into the small square, Felix caught sight of a familiar figure.

"Kjera? What brings you here?"

"Hehe, the Temple is quite busy today. I came to buy totem rugs and ornaments."

Her gaze lingered on the ice sculptures before she turned, smiling lightly.

"And you, Felix? Has today been a happy one?"

"By Kjeragandr's grace, today has been very smooth."

Felix's eyes drifted to Kjeragandr's ice statue—then froze. Hm? Why had the once broad, dignified face been hacked thinner, as if someone had shaved the sides down? Who in the world did this? How shameless could they be?

His sharp gaze swept the surroundings. Kjera darted a few steps away, waving at him with a hurried grin, then slipped off quickly, her steps light but rushed under his watchful eyes.

"…"

Forget the statue. He had bigger things ahead. The next few days would be busy—he needed to draft his notes and prepare for the formal talks with Enciodes in the coming days.