Arknights: I became an NPC in the online game

"…Mr. Messenger, we don't want any conflict with you."

The cavalryman snorted, his tone laced with restrained contempt. He had always harbored a dislike for the Tara people, but when faced with a Laterano Sankta serving as a messenger, he dared not act recklessly. What if the message was for his superior? One careless word in front of the wrong person could easily cost him his job.

"That's good. It's getting late."

Felix nodded and offered a calm, composed smile. The mounted officer flinched slightly—something about that smile unsettled him. He quickly rattled off the names of several popular bars, took a few steps back, and retreated into the ranks of the mounted police.

By now, most of the Tara people had dispersed, and the police had also withdrawn. Only the woman who had been kicked earlier remained, quietly sobbing in the street.

Felix turned around and met the gaze of the black-haired girl standing nearby. He smiled, then knelt down on one knee and gently asked if he could examine the woman's injury.

Her arm was badly bruised and swollen.

Felix stood and walked into the bar to fetch a few bags of ice, then carefully applied them to the woman's injury.

"Go home. Try not to move your arm—rest for a few days and it'll start to heal."

"O-okay. Thank you, sir."

The woman wiped away her tears and nodded repeatedly in gratitude.

The black-haired girl looked at Felix seriously and said, "Thank you for helping my mom. What's your name, big brother?"

"What do you want with my name?"

"To repay a favor."

Felix couldn't help but chuckle at her earnest tone. To him, it had been such a small gesture.

"My code name is Pioneer," he replied with a gentle smile. "Alright, head home. Your mission for the next couple of days is to take care of your mom. Got it?"

"Understood."

The girl nodded solemnly. Her golden eyes stayed fixed on Felix's face, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. Then she helped her mother up, and the two of them slowly walked away.

It was just a small episode in the rhythm of daily life, but it gave Felix a glimpse into the reality the Tara people lived in.

They had no dignity, no status. Bullied by the people of Victoria, they had neither the strength nor the right to fight back. They were the defeated.

Is it really so hard to achieve fairness?

Felix frowned unconsciously. Was it too much to hope for a mobile city where all people—regardless of origin—could live without discrimination?

In his memory, only Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals truly treated ordinary citizens and the infected equally. Within the company, there was no discrimination based on background. But that was a company—not a nation.

Felix let out a quiet sigh. The deeper he walked upon this land, the more problems he encountered. They weren't going away—they were multiplying. For a player, this should have been thrilling. After all, as long as Terra remained in chaos, missions would abound, and the price of weapons would stay high.

That was the joy of players who thrived on turmoil.

But as a pioneer—someone walking these lands with a purpose—Felix couldn't help but feel the weight of it all. Every nation, every region, had its own problems… and if left unchecked, these problems could easily tip the entire balance of Terra.

As a butterfly, he had already flapped his wings… The storm wouldn't come so soon, would it? Then why bother playing? Just remake it all.

After returning home, Felix was filled with unease. The affairs of the Tara people stirred many thoughts within him. Now, his mind turned to the original game's storyline, trying to recall what significant content had been hidden in the data archives intercepted by players.

"You look exhausted. What happened?"

The door opened, revealing Degenbrecher. She wore comfortable, casual clothes, her long golden hair still damp from a recent shower. She looked refreshed and relaxed.

"Senomi played around the hotel all afternoon and went to bed early tonight… You were acting a little odd during dinner. Did a deal fall through? Or are you out of stock?"

"In your eyes, I'm just a businessman, huh?" Felix smiled wryly.

Degenbrecher chuckled. "Well, at least you're smiling now, boss. You look a lot better than earlier."

She sat beside him, cracking open a can of beer. With one hand resting on the sofa and one leg crossed over the other, she asked casually, "So, what happened before dinner that had you so down, boss? Mind sharing it with me?"

Felix looked up. There was no reason to keep it from her, so he began recounting the incident between the Tara people and the mounted police.

Degenbrecher listened, deep in thought. Though she hailed from Leithania, she had spent far more time in Kazimierz. Her knowledge of Victoria's history was limited, but what she heard now left her sighing.

The Tara nobility—the so-called upper class—had done nothing for their people. Rather than advocating for Tara's welfare, they resented paying more "inheritance tax" than the average Victorian noble. They were numb, comfortably fed by government salaries, content to serve as the regime's lapdogs. As comprador nobles, they reaped benefits while the common Tara people labored beneath them, devoid of even the basic rights enjoyed by ordinary Victorians. They invited poets not for culture, but to gain the attention of the powerful in Victoria.

Victoria's corruption had rotted too deep. Sooner or later, conflict would erupt. Tara, as a nation, was already gone. Crushed from without by the Victorian government and bled dry from within by its own nobility—if they did not resist, only destruction awaited them.

But what could the Tara people do? In the future, the infected would have Rhodes Island and Reunion. The Sarkaz had the siblings Theresis and Theresa. Leithania had its twin Empress.

Who would save the people of Tara?

"Boss, what do you plan to do?"

"There's nothing we can do right now," Felix replied quietly. "The Tara people are, nominally, citizens of the Victorian Empire. Though their lives are worth less than a rich man's pet dog, they still hold that official status."

"To de-escalate conflict, avoiding confrontation will only embolden the Royal Mounted Police. But if resistance fails to make an impact, their plight will only worsen."

"There's no solution."

Degenbrecher gently patted Felix's shoulder, sighing. "There's so much darkness in this land. Sometimes I want to draw my sword and storm the Chamber of Commerce… but I know it'd be pointless."

"You saved me, Felix. I believe you can save more people in the future."

"Thanks."

After finishing his beer, Degenbrecher stretched lazily, clearly satisfied. "I'm going to rest now. Boss, don't stay up too late."

"Mm."

After Degenbrecher left, Felix slowly closed his eyes. He allowed his thoughts to linger for a while, sorting through his worries in silence. Then, rising to his feet, he went to wash up and prepare for bed.

The next day, Felix headed to the factory located in the northern part of Oak Grove County. After spending a modest sum and paying with a few Victorian gold coins, he successfully rented a small workshop space.

It wasn't hard for Felix to notice the divisions inside the factory. Alongside the local Victorians, there were Taran workers—people still looked down upon and discriminated against by the Victorians. The two groups were clearly segregated, working in separate areas, and barely exchanging a word.

Felix began assembling basic equipment in his studio.

The military academy in Victoria was renowned, and many of the mission-rewarded equipment in this area came from discarded army stock. He recalled that he could find blueprints for military uniforms and protective gear. As the saying goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. In Victoria, he too had to adopt the essence of their military wear.

Putting stats and attributes aside, the uniforms genuinely looked impressive. Male and female players alike exuded confidence and strength when wearing them. Some roleplay enthusiasts would wear the uniforms around town daily, acting like soldiers of the Victorian Army, just to show them off.

However, Felix wasn't a tailor. Creating a full military uniform from scratch was beyond his current abilities. All he could do was purchase second-hand, discarded uniforms and modify them.

Weapons, on the other hand, had no such limitations. He began forging military-style spears, shields, and swords modeled exactly after those used by the Victorian Army. Thanks to his skill, the durability of the equipment he produced often surpassed that of standard-issue gear.

He also planned to continue experimenting with mechanical designs. His primary goal remained completing his mechanic profession advancement. With drones now available, Felix was considering new module upgrades.

Once promoted, he might be able to craft a mechanical body capable of executing simple commands—similar to the vehicle used by Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals. That vehicle featured an AI system capable of autonomously responding to different scenarios. But programming such an AI required highly advanced engineering knowledge and was notoriously complex.

At best, Felix could build drones with basic intelligence, capable of performing predefined tasks. That way, he wouldn't have to manually control each one via the interface on his arm.

Most of the products manufactured in the Oak Grove County factory were furniture and basic gathering tools. Felix had no interest in currying favor with the factory bosses, so he found little use for their blueprints.

While listening to the chatter among the workers, Felix discovered that the Taran laborers earned only half the wages of their Victorian counterparts. The Victorians didn't see this as an issue. The Tara people, meanwhile, merely wore somber expressions and said nothing in protest. Even though the wages weren't terrible, the halved income left many Tara struggling to make ends meet.

A few days later, the factory welcomed a group of new workers. Felix stretched, then looked out the workshop window and noticed a large number of Tara people among them. These "cheap laborers" were the factory owner's favorites.

Amid the crowd, he spotted a short figure.

"You're not even an adult yet, and you've come here to work?" The factory foreman, a Victorian, frowned as he eyed the girl standing alone among the Tara workers, clearly displeased. Though child labor wasn't illegal and their wages were minimal, the factory already had its fair share of child workers—most of whom were Victorian. Managing Victorian children was hard enough. And now a Tara child?

As a Victorian, the foreman naturally prioritized his own people. If this Taran child got in, others from the same background would likely follow. That kind of precedent couldn't be allowed.

"I can work. I'll work hard." The black-haired girl clutched the hem of her clothes tightly, her silver teeth clenched slightly. Her dirty little face was filled with anxiety and desperation. "Please… My mother is sick and can't work, and my father is out hunting. There's no food at home…"

"Tsk, and what does your mother's illness have to do with us?"

The factory foreman clicked his tongue in irritation. "This isn't some shelter anyone can just walk into. Go home and act your age."

The black-haired girl knelt down silently.

The foreman noticed the strange looks in the Tara workers' eyes and sneered coldly. "Mind your own business!"

Then he looked back at the girl. "Even if you kneel here all day, it's useless. Get lost. Ugh, Victoria's luck really is awful, running into your kind."

The girl gritted her teeth but said nothing. Her pitiful appearance was hard to ignore. The Tara workers around her couldn't bear to watch, turning away. They clenched their fists and lowered their heads in silence.

This was the sorrow of the Tara people. The workers didn't dare speak up. They feared losing their hard-earned jobs. Even if the pay was low, at least it offered a sliver of hope for survival.

"What's going on here?"

The factory foreman turned and immediately forced a smile. "Ah, Mr. Messenger. What brings you here?"

Felix shook his head wordlessly. The foreman cleared his throat and explained, "This Taran kid insists on working in the factory, but we don't take in children anymore. Still, look at how stubborn she is—kneeling here like this."

"I see…"

Felix glanced at the black-haired girl, then at the silent Taran workers around her. He spoke calmly, "As it happens, I'm in need of a young assistant. Why don't you leave her to me? I'll take full responsibility for her wages and safety."

"Mr. Messenger… Of course," the foreman said, as if tossing away a hot potato. He nodded quickly, assuming this was just a whim of some soft-hearted Sankta.

He had no interest in what happened next and walked off, leaving them alone.

Felix stepped up to the girl, now realizing she was the same black-haired Feline girl he had met just a few days earlier.

The black-haired girl raised her head and looked at Felix with her golden eyes, blinking softly. After a moment, she lowered her gaze again and murmured, "Thank... thank you, Pioneer brother."

"You're welcome. Let's go inside first."

It could be called a kind of fate. Felix led her into his studio and poured her a glass of water. "How's your mother's health?"

"Her arm is swollen, and it's still hard to move. She had a low fever last night," the black-haired girl said, her eyes slightly damp and her voice hoarse. "There's not much food left at home, and my father still hasn't returned."

"I see… Then let's talk about your salary first. Since your mother is sick, you'll need more for medicine and food."

"I—I don't want too much. Just the same as a child laborer's wage," the girl said, waving her hand lightly.

Felix raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because if the salary is too high, the other Tara people might think it's unfair… I don't want to be resented by them."

She spoke each word with care.

Although this young girl was from Tara, her appearance was somewhat different from the others.

"Thank you, Pioneer brother. I may never be able to repay the kindness you've shown me." The girl smiled—a soft, elegant smile that appeared on her slightly dirt-smudged face, but it was no less radiant, even carrying a hint of quiet beauty.