"Brother, we've hit the jackpot this time. We captured a whole bunch of lateranos from the battlefield. If we ransom them off, we're looking at at least six figures in gold coins, right?"
"Shh—keep your voice down. Let's get back to the village first. If the main force hears about this, they'll try to cut in on our profits. We need to sell these hot goods quickly. If no one redeems them... we'll just kill them."
---
Felix slowly opened his eyes.
Gone were the soft bed and the head-mounted game console that used to lull him to sleep. What he saw instead was a dry, yellow expanse of sand stretching beneath a gray-blue sky. The air was thick with the stench of feces and dust. A dry wind howled in his ears.
This wasn't his bedroom.
It wasn't even part of any VR simulation.
He definitely hadn't signed up for any Bear Grylls-style survival challenge.
Confused, Felix rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up—only for a jolt of pain to shoot through his body. It was real. Too real.
"Hey, you're finally awake."
The voice startled him.
Felix turned toward the speaker, only to be momentarily blinded by a soft, radiant glow above the person's head.
No... not a person. An angel?
"You're so young," the angel said, his limbs bound in chains. "How'd you end up on a battlefield like this? You don't even look old enough to be conscripted. Did you sneak out of the academy or something? Seriously, your luck's the worst."
Even in captivity, the angel sounded curious, more fascinated than frightened.
Felix's head throbbed. This wasn't right.
Just moments ago, he had been power-leveling for a client—chopping trees, farming rare drops from Sarkaz mercenaries. It was a repetitive but fairly routine job. He'd been operating near the edges of a battlefield where the Sarkaz and sankta factions were locked in combat, carefully avoiding direct conflict.
He distinctly remembered logging off after collecting all the required materials. Ark, the MMORPG he had played for five years, had been stable for a long time. No bugs, no crashes.
So what was this?
Even in my custom account settings, I never created a sankta race...
Trying to move again, Felix winced as sharp pain shot through his limbs. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly, and every movement felt like punishment.
This wasn't the game's standard pain simulation. In Ark, pain settings maxed out at just 10%—even a direct hit from a Sarkaz mercenary would feel like little more than a strong numbness. But this—this was different.
This was real.
He struggled against his restraints, but it was useless.
The pain, the vivid sensations, and the foreign world all drilled one conclusion into his mind:
"Did I… transmigrate into Ark?"
Ark was a fully immersive, stealth-based MMORPG. The kind of full-dive VR game once only imagined in anime like Sword Art Online had become a reality. With global servers and peak concurrent users reaching 80 million, Ark had long cemented its place as a cultural phenomenon.
Set in a world called Terra—not Holy Terra, just Terra—it was a planet thirty times the size of Earth, plagued by natural disasters and brimming with untamed wilderness. Thanks to cutting-edge full-dive technology, players experienced every sight, sound, and sensation with astonishing realism.
The game catered to all kinds of players: guilds, solo adventurers, dungeon raiders, and even in-game merchants. In Ark, it wasn't uncommon for top-tier equipment to sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars in real-world currency. It was more than a game—it was a lifestyle.
Despite its popularity and commercial success, Ark prided itself on fair play. There were no pay-to-win mechanics, no overpriced loot boxes or premium advantage bundles. If you wanted to rise to the top, you had to grind, trade, or buy gear directly from other players. This commitment to balance helped shape a fiercely competitive and vibrant community.
Professional leagues were introduced in the first year of launch, and with them came stardom. Countless players trained to compete, and eSports organizations scouted rising talents aggressively.
Felix was one of them—or at least, could have been.
He ranked 15th on the Chinese server, a well-known name in the game's community. At one point, a professional team tried to recruit him with the words:
"Why waste your talent on streaming? You should be on stage, famous by 17!"
But Felix wasn't interested.
Streaming was easier, more relaxed. He enjoyed the slower pace. His fans were loyal, and his third-person broadcasts drew a steady viewership. Even if some dual-wielding hardcore player once said watching MMORPG streams was boring, Felix didn't care. He supplemented his income by doing power leveling and farming rare items for others, often making decent gold and real-world cash in return. Between viewer tips and commissions, he made enough to support himself comfortably.
Still, none of that explained how he had ended up inside the game.
"Brother," he asked weakly, "what year is it in Terra right now?"
"Year 1086," came the gruff reply.
Felix's eyes widened. That meant...
1087 would mark the official beginning of Ark's closed beta. He still remembered Terra Spark 1.0, the very first version where players could finally enter the world of Terra. It was a historic moment in the game's timeline.
At this point in history:
The Tower of Babel, precursor to Rhodes Island, had just been founded.
Ms. Sicily had yet to gain power in faraway Syracuse.
The fearsome Integration Movement had not yet engulfed Terra in flames.
Kristen, from Rhine Lab, had not yet turned her eyes to the stars.
Each major update in Ark, often dubbed "volumes" in the style of authors like Yamaguchi or Fat Fourteen, allowed players to explore new regions and shape history. Whether battling monsters, crafting gear, or simply roleplaying as travelers exploring Terra's vast beauty, everyone had their own reason to stay.
It had always been an enjoyable game.
But this wasn't a game anymore. This was real.
And Felix was now a captive—kidnapped by Sarkaz mercenaries, just for wandering too close to the battlefield. In-game, he had killed dozens of Sarkaz enemies. In real life? He was helpless.
Suddenly, a red warning message flashed before his eyes:
[Warning: HP critically low. Warning: HP critically low.]
His unconscious writhing had drained his health even further. If it dropped to zero, they might just toss his body off the cart and leave him for dead—another nameless casualty in the desert.
Then, something familiar blinked into his vision.
System panel—engaged.
A retro-styled black-and-white status window opened before him, clunky and low-resolution—clearly based on early Terra UI.
---
[Character Status – Felix Shawn Lanshem]
HP: 6 / 40 (bound)
MP: 30 / 30
Race: sankta
Template: NPC (378 days, 11 hours, 45 minutes, and 14 seconds until Closed Beta)
Level: 1
EXP: 0 / 100
Primary Class: None
Secondary Class: Student Lv.1 (5 / 50)
Skills: Not Learned
Skill Points: 0
Attributes:
- STR: 2
- DEX: 2
- END: 1
- INT: 5
- SPR: 2
- CHA: 7
- LUCK: 1
Talent Traits:
- Genius – Learning speed +15%
- Gunsmith's Hands – +1.5x Dexterity bonus when crafting firearms
Class: Sporadic
Evaluation:
"You don't even have the strength of a one-star Operator. Not even qualified as cannon fodder. On Terra, even passersby are scarier than natural disasters."
---
Felix exhaled in relief. At least the panel was still with him. That meant there was a way forward.
But something was off.
NPC template...?
He blinked. That wasn't right. He was supposed to be a player. What was with this template? And that countdown timer—was it really almost a full year before the closed beta launched?
What's more, the name "Lanshem"? He'd never heard of it before. In all his years of playing Ark, none of the laterano storylines ever mentioned anyone by that name. Which likely meant...
He was just a generic NPC. A nobody.
And in this world, NPCs died permanently.
There were no respawn points, no resurrection coins. If he died now, he'd be gone—forever.
His thoughts spun, but he forced himself to focus. If he was an NPC, then so be it. He had a status panel. He had attributes. And most importantly, he could grow.
Somewhere deep inside him, fear began to turn into determination.
Going back five years—did that mean all the players he had once known would return? Would the professional players and top-tier guilds reappear, just as they had before?
Felix let out a long sigh. His current situation wasn't just inconvenient—it was dangerous. After regaining the original owner's memories, he finally understood why he had ended up on the battlefield in the first place.
Curiosity killed the cat… or the angel, in this case.
Handsome in appearance but rebellious at heart, the original "Felix" had found school life unbearably dull. In a bout of youthful arrogance, he had sneaked out of laterano alone. Before he could even reach the frontlines, he was captured by a lurking group of Sarkaz mercenaries.
And things only got worse from there.
These Sarkaz weren't planning to kill them outright. They were waiting—for laterano to send someone to ransom the captured sanktas. In most cases, it would be the laterano Notary Office that handled such matters. But there was always a catch. Even if you were ransomed, the Notary Office would still slap you with a bill so heavy you might prefer the desert.
This was, in fact, the standard gameplay loop in his previous life when sankta players were captured. But now… Felix wasn't a player. He was an NPC.
And he was an orphan. Being able to live in laterano's Holy City was already a miracle. If they demanded ransom money from him…
It'd be a death sentence.
The sankta race had a surge in popularity during the early days of Ark. FPS enthusiasts flocked to it, chasing dreams of AK-47 shootouts on the open battlefield. But getting there wasn't easy. You had to go through endless missions, meet strict stat requirements, and clear background checks from the Notary Office.
Freshly created characters were trapped inside laterano—paradise within, chaos outside. You couldn't just roam the lands of Terra at level 1. You needed clearance, certification, and enough stat points to survive a single shot.
By contrast, the Sarkaz players—ah yes, those bloodthirsty maniacs—thrived on chaos. They loved getting up close and personal, cracking skulls with warhammers and swinging cleavers with wild abandon. They mocked the sanktas: "Do you think guns will save you? Fists are faster than bullets within five steps!"
Their melee builds were only half the story. Many magic users also loved the Sarkaz because their race had the highest affinity with Originium. Ore disease? A problem for Terra's NPCs. For players? It was a buff—free mana regen and stronger spellcasting.
"Who needs a wand when your tumors cast fireballs for you?" one player famously said.
Felix, in his past life, hadn't played as either race. He was more of a min-maxer, someone who picked efficiency over flavor. But now, none of that mattered. This wasn't a character creation screen.
He was in the game. Trapped.
If this were a time-travel novel, he thought, there should at least be a golden finger by now, or a mysterious girl falling from the sky whispering "you're the chosen one." Instead, all he got was a truck, some sand, and four fully armed Sarkaz glaring at him like he owed them money.
No girls. No cheat system. Just yellow dust and suffering.
This isn't some fantasy isekai with retries, he thought bitterly. This is Sword Art Online, but worse. At least in SAO, you kept your game mechanics.
The truck finally groaned to a halt. The dozen or so sankta prisoners, Felix included, were forced out one by one. Weak from days of captivity, they shuffled forward under the Sarkaz's sneering watch.
Their destination was a temporary camp—a crude collection of tents and wooden shelters buried beneath dunes of golden sand. It reeked of blood, sweat, and ash.
"Hehehe… Don't wanna catch Oripathy, do ya?" one of the Sarkaz guards laughed darkly, cracking his knuckles. "Then be good little pigeons, yeah?"
The centuries-old feud between the sankta and the Sarkaz was no secret. It bled into every part of the game's lore. But money—money always came first. These mercenaries hadn't lost any of their own to the current batch of prisoners, so there was no real blood debt.
They could be sold. That made them useful.
Felix and the others were herded into a ragged tent. The guards didn't bother restraining them further. No guns, no tools, no stamina—what could they possibly do?
A rough bag of dry food was tossed their way.
Unity among sanktas was a known trait. Despite their circumstances, the others quickly divided the bread among themselves. One of them handed a chunk to Felix without a word. He bit into it.
It was harder than a brick. Like gnawing on a cursed baguette forged in hellfire.
Still, with every painful chew, his HP inched up. From 6 to 10… then 15… eventually stabilizing just above 20.
Better than nothing, he thought.
In his last life, he had experienced something similar—captured while doing a laterano questline. But that time, the ones who caught him weren't Sarkaz mercenaries. They were Sarkaz players aligned with Kazdel. At least they had a sense of humor.
He looked around now, eyes narrowing as he scanned the system's labels floating over the heads of his fellow prisoners.
[Lance – Lv25 – Status: Captured]
[Noel – Lv20 – Status: Captured]
So they were high-level NPCs… or maybe players? Hard to say in this world anymore.
Back in Version 1.0, the level cap was 30. Players were still clueless, lost in the overwhelming depth of Terra. Most quests revolved around trivial chores—fixing fences, exterminating Originium slugs, babysitting nobility. Yet those mundane tasks laid the foundation for a faction's loyalty system.
Eventually, players could earn favor, unlock specialized classes, and be recruited into the conflict between laterano, Kazdel, Ursus, and other powers. But that required time—and survival.
Felix rubbed his temples, mind churning.
He wasn't a player anymore. But if the system panel still existed… if his stats could grow… if he could still complete missions…
Then maybe, just maybe, he could survive in this world.
But the clock was ticking.
He had 378 days until the closed beta began.
And until then… he had only one life.
laterano's loyalty points could be exchanged for pistols and gun blueprints—but never for assault rifles with rapid-fire capability. That kind of weaponry was strictly controlled and never made available to the public. Continuous-fire firearms could only be manufactured by player gunsmiths who had explored and unlocked the appropriate blueprints.
The character Felix controlled in his previous life had a secondary class: gunsmith assistant.
It was a costly path. Players who chose the gunsmith profession had to burn through a mountain of materials and blueprints to accumulate experience. Each weapon made, successful or not, contributed to their growth. Parts weren't cheap, and neither were failed prototypes.
But the gunsmith profession was also one of the most lucrative.
Once a gunsmith reached mastery, crafting a single high-tier firearm could earn them hundreds of thousands of LMD.
Thus, the paradox: the poorer the gunsmith, the richer the gunsmith.
~~~~~
Hello everyone, this is Arknights fanfiction that i translated, i love arknights and it's lore and i think this fanfiction is good enough that i want to translate it and everyone to read if you want.
I'm sorry If there are mistakes, and thank you for reading this book.