"I plan to apply for early graduation."
During the lunch break, Felix spoke to Mostima, who was sitting beside him, quietly enjoying her meal.
Mostima swallowed the bite in her mouth and looked at him. "Is it because Felix has already learned everything the school has to offer?"
In just half a year, she had grown even more beautiful, yet her calm and gentle demeanor remained unchanged. Her long blue hair now reached her waist.
"Yes," Felix nodded. "I'm going to report to the notary office and try to get permission to leave Laterano."
"But you're still not of age."
"Age means nothing."
Mostima chuckled softly, gazing at Felix. "Where are you planning to go?"
"Siracusa first. Then… I want to travel across Terra. Like a messenger."
She watched his expression closely. There was something in his eyes—determination, perhaps—but she said nothing. Instead, she asked, "Did you know that when a Sankta reaches the age of twenty, they're given a Guardian Gun?"
The Guardian Gun was a ceremonial weapon granted only to adult members of the Sankta clan. It stayed with its owner for life, and it was customary for it to be buried alongside them.
Although its appearance and functionality weren't unlike ordinary firearms, to the Sankta people, the Guardian Gun held profound symbolic meaning.
"I know," Felix replied.
Mostima stood up, walked a few steps ahead, and stretched as if basking in the rising sun. With a smile, she turned her head slightly.
"When I turn twenty… I wonder if the most talented gunsmith in our class could craft a Guardian Gun for me?"
[You have triggered the B-rank quest: "Her Guardian Gun." Accept / Decline?]
Through conversation, players could accept quests from NPCs. Felix had experimented with the system before—delivering cakes, buying supplies, even helping a cat. Despite being an NPC himself, he had learned he could still accept quests from others.
"Sure."
[Quest Details: Mostima, your first friend in Laterano, always exudes calm and kindness. Beloved by her classmates, she has entrusted you with a personal commission: to craft a Guardian Gun, one meant only for her. In the future, will you be her friend, comrade, or enemy...? Time will tell. But this gun will protect her, always.]
[Quest Objective: Craft a Guardian Gun exclusively for Mostima]
[Reward: 40,000 Experience Points]
[Special Reward: ???]
Felix had no idea what the future would bring. He didn't know whether Mostima's path would change. All he knew was what stood in front of him now.
He simply nodded to her—and walked away.
He had his own ambitions.
If the Sorting Hat existed, it would probably sort him into Slytherin without hesitation.
"I've applied for early graduation and for the notary office's assessment."
Felix's academic performance was outstanding, so early graduation posed no issue. Still, the principal tried his best to persuade him to stay. He was genuinely disheartened by Felix's departure—after all, the school's shining example was leaving. From now on, he'd be left only with the troublesome Lemuel, the school's infamous "negative example" and aspiring bomber.
The assessment process at the notary office had become far more formalized over time. Once Felix graduated, his status would shift from a student to a citizen eligible under Laterano's civil rights—specifically items one through thirteen. Passing the notary office's assessment would grant him a new identity entirely: that of a civil servant.
Being a civil servant had distinct advantages. It came with formal credentials, waived entry fees at city gates, and conferred a level of respect and authority that smoothed many bureaucratic obstacles. Simply put, things were easier when you carried that title.
The notary office offered a wide range of roles, but Felix had set his sights on one in particular: messenger. The position offered a stable base salary, while bonuses and commissions were performance-based, depending on how many letters you delivered or contracts you completed. In essence, it functioned like a sales job—but with purpose.
For Felix, it was the perfect fit. He didn't lack commissions; he only needed a reason to walk this land freely.
When he arrived at the notary office, the examiner raised his brows in surprise. A young man—barely past childhood—was applying to become a civil servant? The elderly official squinted at his age through trembling eyes, visibly shocked.
In all his years on duty, this was the first time he'd seen a candidate this young.
In the past, players had to go through months of grueling preparation to qualify for a notary office job. First, you had to be a Laterano citizen. Second, you needed enough loyalty points. Third, you had to have resided in the holy city of Laterano for over a year. Fourth, you needed to complete a long series of demanding assessment tasks. And fifth, the notary office only opened a very limited number of positions to players.
Felix recalled that, in his previous life, there were perhaps only five or six digits' worth of vacancies in total. For a player base numbering in the tens of millions, those slots were gone in an instant. The system was first-come, first-served, and unless someone voluntarily stepped down, the spot remained filled indefinitely.
Back then, some studios even created alternate accounts solely to secure civil servant slots. If someone wanted to buy one, the studio would operate two accounts: one to resign, the other to immediately claim the vacancy. Still, that didn't always work. With so many people competing, sometimes even studios couldn't beat the rush.
Whether you were a messenger or an executor for the notary office, your destiny was the same—you would leave Laterano and set foot across the vast lands of Terra in its name.
They chased their ideals. And in doing so, to a certain extent, they gave up pursuing personal wealth or material indulgence.
What they did had real meaning—positively influencing individuals, society, and the balance of order itself.
The holy city of Laterano was a paradise on Earth.
But the angels who chose to leave it—those Sakotas—witnessed the world's suffering firsthand.
They accepted it.
They lived alongside those who were not of their kind, working to improve the chaos around them through action—whether large or small.
As long as they stepped beyond the borders of Laterano, the angels were committing themselves to the service of others.
They gave of themselves, guiding their surroundings toward order and peace.
In that process, personal gain or loss mattered little. Laterano merely served as their secret origin, their silent backing. Its interests were never their reason.
Felix exhaled lightly.
These pure-hearted, sunny Sanktas...
Now that he had become one of them, he couldn't help but wonder:
How many of his ideals had remained untouched?
What was his ideal?
The Fourth Scourge had shaken the world, yet its arrival hadn't caused widespread collapse. Society and order had held.
As an NPC, what could he truly do?
Lead Laterano into a thousand-year holy war?
He wasn't that delusional.
Felix let out another slow breath and submitted his completed assessment form.
Then, he returned home and waited.
---
Three days later, the letter arrived.
The notary office had officially approved his position.
Felix was now a messenger of the Laterano Notary Office.
Enclosed with the letter was a notary office token and his official work badge.
With just a computer and that badge, he could connect to the notary office server from anywhere in Terra to view new assignments.
By now, he had nearly finished packing.
He glanced at his outfit.
A black-and-gray jacket paired with matching trousers—practical colors for traveling across Terra.
Black gloves, sturdy combat boots, a reliable compass, and a durable watch completed the look. Slung over his shoulder was a heavy military travel bag packed with supplies.
The sky above the holy city of Laterano was still as blue and clear as ever.
Like the Sanktas who lived here, the city knew neither sorrow nor hardship.
Felix strolled through the familiar streets until he reached the city gate.
The sunlight was blindingly bright.
The mobile city opened its gates at regular intervals.
Laterano itself had remained unmoved by natural disasters for a long time now.
Was that perhaps the result of its people's unwavering faith?
At the city gate stood Mostima, there to see him off.
Felix climbed into the pickup truck he'd bought for 400,000 LMD.
It was advertised as capable of handling all kinds of terrain and weather—even natural disasters.
Of course, only those who understood the truth behind the marketing would understand what that really meant.
He put on his goggles, covering his bright golden eyes.
Waving toward Mostima, he said simply, "I'm off now."
"We'll get in touch when we have a chance," she replied.
"Good."
Conversations with her were always so plain and direct.
Felix tucked away all lingering thoughts, started the engine, and drove off.
The pickup truck kicked up a plume of dust as it vanished from Mostima's view.
The Laterano guards standing nearby exchanged glances.
"What a young boy," one muttered.
"It's remarkable that he's stepping onto Terra as a messenger at such a young age," the other added.
Mostima heard their comments.
She looked off into the distance once more, but both the voice and the silhouette were already long gone.
Felix, behind the wheel, softly hummed to himself:
♪ "All the way to the north, I'm all the way to the north, leaving the season with you..." ♪
And he really was going north.
Siracusa lay to the north of Laterano, and with the help of his map, he could take a direct route through uninhabited lands.
Another benefit of being a messenger was access to the local messenger network wherever signal was available.
Through this, Felix could receive updates from disaster couriers—warnings of areas about to experience calamities—allowing him to steer his truck clear of danger.
It had to be said: the messenger profession was remarkably convenient.
In this era of frequent natural disasters, national borders had become increasingly blurred.
A single sandstorm could obliterate defensive structures overnight.
Now, the borders between countries were only vaguely defined, and a buffer zone lay between them—a so-called uncontrolled area.
For messengers, these uninhabited buffer zones were the most dangerous.
But for players, they were the most exciting.
These lawless lands offered the perfect place for combat, shady dealings, and freedom from legal consequence.
Gradually, such zones had become gathering points for players who laughed in strange, unsettling ways.
As the sun dipped into the western horizon, Felix—after traveling alone across the wilderness for several days and nights—finally spotted signs of human life.
A handful of camps dotted the edge of the landscape.
Crude fences made of wood and stone spiked the perimeter.
Smoke drifted lazily into the sky.
As Felix drew closer, he realized they weren't buildings but tents—makeshift homes.
Clearly, these were homeless people living in an ungoverned area.
The desert plain offered no cover, so it didn't take long for a sentry to spot the approaching pickup.
A sharp whistle pierced the air, alerting the rest of the camp.
Felix stopped the truck just outside.
He had no intention of entering.
Sprinkling some insect repellent powder around him, he began preparing to make a fire.
At that moment, several young men emerged from the camp.
"Who are you?"
The one in front shouted loudly.
He had braided hair and long ears poking out from the sides of his head—a Pero, by the looks of it.
His old, faded clothes suggested they'd been washed far too many times.
As his eyes fell on the glowing halo and white wings above Felix's head, his aggressive expression instantly shifted.
A cold sweat broke out across his back.
He'd thought a fat sheep had wandered into his territory.
But he hadn't expected it to be... a Sankta.
These nomads felt both envy and admiration toward the Sankta.
They envied them for being born with everything—and admired the noble deeds of angels walking the earth.
Of course, they also feared the Sankta.
According to legend, Sankta shared an emotional bond: if one was killed, others would come swiftly and mercilessly to avenge them.
Respect wasn't always the most effective means of communication.
Sometimes, fear was the only language people understood.
So, the young man's attitude changed instantly.
Felix noticed the shift in expression and nodded slightly.
"I'm a messenger. I'll camp here for the night. I won't intrude on your camp."
The group exchanged glances, visibly relieved by his words.
The Pero youth in front, now clearly the leader, said, "In that case, allow me to fetch a fire source for you, Mr. Messenger."
Two of the men left, while the Pero returned shortly and helped light a bonfire for Felix.
Felix nodded in appreciation.
"Is there anything you want to buy?" he asked.
He was well aware of what wandering tribes in the no-man's land usually did to survive.
They hadn't made a move on him only because of his identity.
Had he been an ordinary merchant, he likely wouldn't have walked away intact.
Naturally, few were willing to trade with such groups.
Over time, they were forced to hunt for food in the wasteland, where firearms were essential.
Of course, Felix didn't deny that guns were also perfect for robbery.
Such tribes often had piles of LMD they couldn't spend. What they truly needed were usable goods.
The Pello's eyes widened in surprise.
Who knew when someone had last offered to trade with them?
His voice now carried a faint tone of respect. "Mr. Messenger, you…"
"I have some extra pistols," Felix said, opening the back seat of the pickup truck.
"If you want any, the price is negotiable."
He pulled out several gray-grade pistols.
"Hunting is usually tough work, but these should make it easier."
The Pero stared at the weapons in awe.
He hesitated briefly, then whispered that he would fetch the village chief.
Turning quickly, he ran back toward the camp.
Five minutes later, he returned with a middle-aged man.
The chief glanced at the pistols laid out on the ground, expertly masking the greed and astonishment in his eyes.
"The Black Hawk pistol is in short supply," Felix said. "Market price is around 56,000 LMD. I'll let them go for 54,000 each."
He removed the magazine and handed a pistol to the village chief, who examined the build and quality.
It was practically new—nothing like the inferior junk they'd overpaid for in the past.
They had once shelled out 20,000 LMD per gun to shady black market dealers for much worse.
This was a Sakota-exclusive item.
Although the messenger before him looked young, he had to be someone extraordinary to possess such equipment.
The chief's hands trembled slightly.
The difference between a quality firearm and a poor one was immense.
From his perspective, the price offered by the Sankta was nearly saintly.
But excitement was one thing—bargaining was another.
Without hesitation, the chief drew his metaphorical Dragon-Slaying Sword and declared:
"Fifty thousand per gun!"
Felix remained calm. "Fifty-three thousand five hundred. For a Black Hawk."
The chief frowned, clicking his tongue. "Tch… still too high. Fifty-two thousand—I'll take two."
Felix shrugged.
There wasn't much profit to be made from a remote, unregulated settlement like this.
That was probably the most they could offer.
"Fifty-three thousand two hundred per gun," Felix replied.
"If you buy all five, I'll give them to you at a wholesale price—fifty-three thousand flat."
The chief didn't hesitate this time.
He nodded and extended a hand.
"Deal."