Arknights: I became an NPC in the online game

"In your eyes, do I look like a leader?"

Felix paused for a moment before replying, "It has something to do with a person's presence—their bearing."

He glanced toward the crowd of gang members, then added, "The members of the Glasgow Gang respect you deeply. That kind of emotion doesn't come from brute strength alone. Fear and awe are not the same thing."

"Some people are simply born with leadership. You can see it in their every word and gesture. Siege, you possess that quality."

He smiled faintly and raised his glass. "Of course, this is just my first impression. Don't take it too seriously. Chalk it up to wine-fueled rambling, if you like."

This kind of innate leadership often stems from a blend of essential traits. Above all, unwavering resolve is vital—a true leader must believe in their goals and have the grit to see them through. Then comes wisdom and insight—the ability to grasp the heart of a problem and craft long-term strategies with clarity.

Siege had that rare quality. Just standing there, she exuded a quiet confidence, as if she could shoulder the weight of the world without faltering. It was the kind of presence that gave people a sense of safety—hard to define, but impossible to miss.

She said nothing at first, taking a slow sip of wine. Then she asked, "Pioneer, what brings you to Londinium?"

"Hmm? Business," Felix replied with an easy smile.

He swirled the wine in his glass and chuckled. "Londinium lives up to its reputation as Victoria's capital. The industrial atmosphere is electrifying. I've gained a lot just by walking its streets. The nobles here talk politics and close business deals over drinks—it's lively, to say the least. The industrial district is cutting-edge, with productivity that might be unmatched in all of Terra."

Siege took another drink handed to her by the bartender. "Pioneer, what's your opinion of the nobles?"

"Do you really want to hear it," Felix asked, raising an eyebrow, "or are you just making polite conversation?"

"I'm the leader of a slum gang. I'm not looking for compliments," she replied with a faint smirk.

Felix took another sip before answering, his voice laced with a hint of irony. "I can't speak for every noble, but I'd wager most have long since lost their ambition. Now they just cling to the status quo."

"This era… it's both the worst and the best. Columbia's technological strides are staggering. Every night, candles burn atop the Caster Tower in Leithanien. Yan's railway lines pulse like arteries through the nation. A thousand years after the Terran era, Terran progress is still charging forward."

"But today's nobles?" Felix's eyes dimmed slightly. "They've lost the drive that defined Victoria's golden age. Once noble and proud, they now drown themselves in parties and petty drama. Empty indulgence is their daily ritual."

"They're trapped in the echo of past glories, blind to the very reasons those glories ever existed."

He exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "Drunk on wine, oblivious and numb… Like dream-bound corpses. Wine doesn't cleanse them—it shackles them. It clouds their minds and cuts them off from reason and progress."

Gazing down into his glass, Felix seemed to glimpse the reflection of decaying grandeur. His voice remained calm. "If Terranity clings to intoxication and hedonism, how can it move forward? What this world needs isn't just the farce of noble elegance—it needs clear minds, and a relentless drive toward the future. Without that... Londinium will become a tomb of time, and we'll forfeit our chance at greatness."

Siege's eyes flickered. She studied him in silence, then let a small smile curve her lips.

"No need to be so pessimistic," she said softly. "That may be true for some nobles, but not all. Victoria is still Victoria."

Her gaze lingered on him. Even in this cramped, smoke-stained tavern, his words had struck a chord—like a sermon from a quiet priest. His golden eyes shone, untouched by joy or sorrow… as if his inner world was perfectly still, perfectly clear.

"Some may say that Victoria's sword and knights will one day be buried in the sands of time."

"But the Terran heart will not."

"Victoria... will find her peace, eventually."

Siege gripped her glass tightly, fingers pressing into the cool surface. She turned her gaze toward the still-boisterous boxing ring. Beneath the dim lights, her expression wavered slightly—subtle, but not hidden.

"What about... Victoria's royal family? What do you think of that?"

Felix replied calmly, "Aslan and Draco are both legitimate heirs to the Victorian throne, yet the seat remains empty. They've both vanished, and the people of Terra remain shackled. Their suppressed anger is bound to erupt again."

"A king is not honored by blood. Rather, it is blood that is honored by the king."

A king should not be revered solely because of royal lineage. What truly matters are the individual's virtues—wisdom, judgment, and leadership. Birthright alone is not qualification enough to wear a crown.

At the same time, when someone truly embodies the qualities of a ruler, their lineage becomes a symbol of pride—honored through their deeds and accomplishments.

"For the average Terran civilian, the identity of the king matters little. They simply want enough food to eat, warmth in the cold, and a life free from the threat of Oripathy. That's all. And if someone gives them that... they will look up and cheer for that king with all their heart."

"You mean to say... anyone can become king?"

Felix found himself entertaining the idea: if he were king of Victoria, he would begin by pushing industrial development to its limits—covering Victoria's lands with military factories large and small. At the same time, he would construct mobile cities—planetary fortresses—bringing urbanization to the entire Terra.

A nation-wide version of Thor's Hammer operated by 200 people. Let anyone come—they'd be crushed.

Ah... Victoria doesn't know how to play the game. With so many resources at their disposal, and they're still locked in internal squabbles. All these noble families—defeating them would take just a few calculated strikes.

"The opposite of justice," Felix murmured, "is often just another form of justice."

He didn't directly answer Siege's question. "Even if someone ascends to the throne, if they lack ability, they'll still be called a false king. Or worse—a mad king."

"A true king must be greedier than anyone else in the world, laugh more heartily, rage more fiercely. Whether pure or corrupt, a king must stand at the very peak."

"A king is one who lives more brilliantly than any other, and commands admiration from all. The one admired by thousands of warriors—the one who stands like a guiding monument—that is a king."

"And so, a king is never truly alone. His will is the sum of the hopes and dreams of his people."

Felix hadn't expected that the old anime he once watched in his previous life would come in handy now. But since they were on the subject of kings, he figured he might as well borrow its lines.

He raised his glass to Siege—a silent gesture of respect—then stood and walked toward the group of fighters, listening quietly to their banter and conversation.

Behind him, Siege remained silent.

Her expression was distant, thoughtful... or perhaps simply stunned.

From time to time, her eyes wandered—watching the two fighters clash in the ring, then drifting to the tall figure with golden Sankta wings and a radiant halo. She wanted to process his words—but they lingered in her mind like an earthquake, too profound to grasp all at once.

For a moment, she felt an unfamiliar fullness—an emotional confusion, as though something had been stuffed into her heart.

It was already late at night when Felix and several players bid farewell to the members of the Glasgow Gang. With a gentle smile, he turned to Siege and Indra, who had come to see them off. From his chest pocket, he drew a business card and extended it toward Siege.

"This is?"

"I'm just a passerby," Felix replied calmly, "but I doubt this will be our last meeting. If anything comes up—or if you ever find yourself in Colombia—feel free to look for me."

Siege stared blankly at the business card. After a brief pause, her tail swayed slightly, and she tucked it into her coat.

"Your real name is... Felix?"

Felix smiled. "Yes, If fate brings us together, we will meet again."

With those words, he nodded to the players—most of whom were stunned by the sheer theatricality of his farewell—and took the lead, striding away with composed confidence.

Atop Londinium's tallest bell tower, a golden creature lay silently in the night. It opened its eyes once more, peering into the distance. Then, like a passing breeze, it vanished—leaving no trace behind, as though it had never been there at all.

Magic ZX's eyes widened. He repeated the name with wonder, "Felix...Felix... that name sounds so nice."

Even his tone carried a breeze of admiration. So elegant, so fitting—surely worthy of someone called the Protagonist of Ark.

Siege watched the golden figure disappear into the night. Her lips moved slightly.

"Boss, something wrong?" Indra asked from beside her.

"It's a dark and windy night... They might run into gangs from other districts. Tonight's the time when protection fees are collected," Siege replied calmly. "They're guests from afar—and they helped us. We should return the favor. Let's escort them."

"Got it!"

The moment she heard there might be a fight after drinks, Indra lit up. She immediately called out to the still-conscious members of the Glasgow Gang and led them—spirited and enthusiastic—in the direction Felix and the others had gone.

Left alone, Siege returned to her seat. Her thoughts remained clouded, restless. Could anyone truly become a king?

No. Someone unworthy of the throne would only hasten the fall of the nation.

Suddenly, outside the tavern—on the dirt-stained, mud-covered ground—she caught sight of a golden creature.

"...Teacher."

The creature didn't speak. But its eyes—holding the weight of all emotions in the world—looked at her with calm intensity.

"Is this... something I must figure out on my own?"

There was no response. A gust of wind kicked up dust, and the golden creature scattered into golden light, vanishing from sight.

Siege gripped her wine glass tightly.

She was nothing more than a stray cat now—powerless and hated by all. Even survival was a daily struggle, let alone the burden of fighting back against the noble spies encroaching on the slums. These nobles had already begun to employ gang members from other territories to act as their claws.

She knew it was only a matter of time before she was exposed.

Her fists clenched.

"Boss, you okay? You're looking kinda scary right now."

Siege looked up—and smiled at the one who spoke.

"Morgan."

"Where's Indra and the others? Are they still fighting?"

"Yes."

"This is the time when the protection money collectors are out… Sorry, Boss, I'll go rally more people. The Glasgow Gang can't afford to be bullied on our own turf."

Feline, with flaxen hair and deep brown skin, hurried off, leaving Siege sitting alone in front of the bar, lost in thought.

At that moment, she silently wished the Pioneer could transform into a bartender and appear before her. There were too many questions in her heart—so many things she longed to ask him. It might take days and nights to say them all.

---

A week later, Feist and Hart had successfully manufactured all the components and armored parts of the mecha—with, of course, Felix's assistance. The mecha was now fully assembled and undergoing final calibration, with Felix focused on the terminal screen, analyzing the mecha's performance data.

If only Ferdinand were here, Felix thought. It wasn't that he couldn't understand the data himself, but if Ferdinand were present, the work would have already been completed—he could just sit back and enjoy the results. After all, Ferdinand loved the testing phase the most.

"Feist, how does it feel?"

The test pilot was none other than Feist. Though slightly shorter than the average adult male, he still met the baseline for testing. At the moment, he was adjusting to the mecha's interface. Truthfully, equipment like this was far from easy to operate for someone who hadn't served in the military or undergone training. It was like asking someone to walk down the street in a space suit—unnatural and uncomfortable.

"It's a bit hard to control. Feels sticky in different parts of the body."

Felix lowered his head and began typing commands into the terminal. Then he walked over and inspected the airlock system and flexibility at each joint. After about five minutes, he said, "Try moving again."

"Alright."

Feist stepped forward. There was still some resistance, but the sensation was noticeably improved. Though his movement was slower than expected, there was clear force behind each step, and the suit's defensive integrity seemed promising.

He maneuvered toward a hanging sandbag and began strength testing.

Feist lifted the mecha's arm and threw a punch. At the same moment, the nozzle near his forearm expelled a burst of air.

Bang!

The Hart siblings flinched at the sound and instinctively shut their eyes. Feist looked on in amazement—his mechanical fist had sunk deep into the sandbag, which promptly burst open, its filling spilling out.

"Sandbags don't offer the best point of reference. Try hitting a wall instead."

"Got it."

Bang!

A large hole exploded in the wall. Feist's eyes lit up with excitement. This feeling—this raw power—was incredible!

Felix smiled faintly. At this rate, he was confident the mission could be completed.