To Felix in his previous life, Emperor was nothing more than a quest-giving NPC—no different from a walking ration dispenser. Penguins, after all… aside from QQ, the only thing that came to mind when mentioning penguins was food.
What the Emperor actually tasted like, Felix had no idea. What he did know was that, despite being the head of Penguin Logistics, this penguin would wander from city to city, holding concerts and showing up at parties—an unpredictable, free-spirited NPC type.
But then again, NPCs in the logistics business were never bound to one place. Not just Emperor—his subordinates, Exusiai, Texas, Croissant, and Sora, were constantly traveling on various delivery jobs. Although they were based in Lungmen, Felix rarely had the chance to see those "wives" of his.
Emperor lowered the brim of his cap as he boarded the plane. Knocking lightly on the cockpit door, he pushed it open and sat himself in the co-pilot's seat as if it were his own.
"You were in such a rush to find me?"
Emperor's tone carried mild surprise. His boss was idealistic, ambitious, and pragmatic in equal measure. Apart from occasionally running off to play the absentee landlord, he rarely engaged with him in any truly serious discussion outside Lungmen.
"Don't tell me Duck Lord's come up with another of his little schemes?"
"The last time I saw Duck Lord was when I saw you. Haven't run into him since."
Felix handed him an over-ear headset communicator. "This time it's not about Duck Lord—it's about the Texas family."
"Oh, them."
The Emperor clicked his beak. "My next tour stop happens to be their city. So you already caught wind of the Texas family's situation, huh?"
"Yes. What awaits them is… a purge?"
Emperor sighed, his voice laced with distaste. "That's the same tiresome game Siracusa keeps playing. Those bastards have been at it for years and never get bored. Honestly, it's pathetic—relics of a bygone age."
"Speak plainly."
"Wouldn't make sense to you even if I did."
Emperor smacked his head lightly with a wing. "The Texas family won't meet a good end. If you've got business with them, best hurry. Too late and you won't find them at all."
"I'm going there to save someone."
"Ahh, I get it now. A young, beautiful woman, right?"
Emperor jabbed Felix in the side with his wing, wearing the expression of a man who understood far too well. "After all, no matter where you go, you're always surrounded by companions—and every last one of them is a beauty."
Felix thought about it. He supposed that was true. But did that mean he wouldn't want to bring along male comrades to fight by his side? Ridiculous.
If ACE asked to fight alongside him, he'd happily agree—and make ACE his personal bodyguard. That was the worth of an elder brother.
Similarly, if Uncle were willing to fight alongside him, Felix would've signed a contract with him long ago.
"Two hours of flight time. Let's hope your friend's family is still standing by the time we land."
---
Cellinia opened her eyes. The room before her was both unfamiliar and familiar at once.
This was her home in Columbia. She hadn't returned for years, yet nothing had changed—not the arrangement of the furniture, nor even the childhood toys she had once carefully placed.
The heater was on, but she still felt a chill. She slipped off her nightclothes and stood before the mirror, studying her reflection. Her tail, emblematic of the Lupo race, was sleek and smooth—clearly cleaned with great care by a maid the previous night.
Dinner had been the same. She listened as her father and brother spoke grandly of Columbia's future, while the rest of the family wore faces of nervous excitement. Having just returned home, she had no idea what had happened in her absence.
Yet this lifestyle—where every need was anticipated and every comfort provided—was something she hadn't experienced in a very, very long time.
Who was she, truly? The eldest daughter of the Texas family… or merely a foster child of the Saluzzo family?
Her luggage, untouched since last night, still sat in the corner where the maid had left it. Inside were clothes, a few personal items, a longsword gifted by Lappland, and the sidearm given to her by Brother Felix.
Her training had never ceased. Day after day, night after night, she honed her control over Originium Arts with the pistol—training herself to fire faster, more precisely, striking her targets without fail.
Rumor had it Brother Felix was also in Columbia, in Trimount. The city was far from her family's estate. If not for her surname, Texas, she might already have left this house to seek him out.
There was still some time before breakfast. Leaning back on her bed, her breathing slowed, almost as if she were drifting off again.
It still didn't feel real—coming home.
She already knew well the ways of Siracusa families. Take the Saluzzo family, for example: rulers of a city, enforcers of its laws, their authority encompassing every corner of it. They provided its people with the umbrella of safety.
Far away in Columbia, the Texas family had not, as Cellinia once imagined, continued carrying out assignments like the Saluzzo family. No—thinking about it, that made sense. Every nation had its own laws, and once the Texas family left Siracusa, they would need to carve out their own way of survival.
They had joined the Pioneer Association, where every day was a contest of scheming and intrigue. They tried reaching out to the Columbian military, but because of their family background and origins, the army barely acknowledged them. To the military, the Texas family was nothing more than an insignificant footnote.
Their desire to integrate into Columbian society was obvious, almost desperate. But was it really so simple?
Cellinia felt estranged from her relatives. Perhaps she had spent too long in Siracusa; her thoughts, her instincts—her entire way of thinking—had become too aligned with Siracusa values.
The dull morning passed in silence. She refused the company of the maid, who had wanted to follow her, and instead of enjoying the kind of coffee-drinking afternoon leisure the Texas family cultivated to project a genteel façade, Cellinia made her way to the training grounds, pistol in hand.
Few people were there—only a handful of the family's hired muscle, sparring and going through their drills.
Once, the Texas family had been feared in Siracusa. Now they wrapped themselves in leather coats, dressing the part of civilized Columbian citizens. Their fangs had dulled, their blades had rusted. When the time came to fight for their lives, would they even survive?
Cellinia raised her pistol and pulled the trigger. The crack of Originium bullets echoed dryly. A steel training dummy's head jerked as shots drilled into it, until one round bored straight through its skull.
"…The modifications really did increase the power," she murmured.
The cold weight of the gun in her hand reminded her of Brother Felix. His hands were much larger than hers, his palms far warmer. In those few moments when they had held hands, she felt a security she could never put into words.
Perhaps it had started years ago, on that rainy day when Lappland dragged her outside to spy on her father's dealings. She had seen him then—Felix, the smiling youth speaking with the Saluzzo patriarch. And after he gifted her the pistol that would protect her, every time she trained with it, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to him—his smile, his voice, fragments of memory hazy yet unforgettable.
Her reverie was shattered by a scream.
Boom!
The ground shook from an explosion.
Cellinia nearly lost her footing, barely steadying herself against the floor. When she looked up, smoke was already billowing across the compound.
"Who dares attack the Texas family here in Columbia?!"
The hoarse roar belonged to the family's second-in-command—her uncle. Just days ago at dinner, he had proudly boasted of breakthroughs in negotiations with the Columbian military. Perhaps soon, he had said, they would be formally integrated into the government's system. The entire family had applauded him then, voices filled with pride.
Now a cold, amplified voice rang out through a loudspeaker:
"The Texas family has betrayed Siracusa. Betrayed the Grey Hall. Betrayed Madam Sicily. From this day forth, the Texas family will be erased from Terra."
Cellinia's face hardened. She recognized that voice—it was the Saluzzo family's foremost assassin, their executioner for missions of slaughter and assault.
But why? Why the Saluzzo family?
"For Siracusa. For the Grey Hall. For Madam Sicily. Kill them all."
The broadcast ended. What followed were the furious shouts of the Texas family and the heavy clash of weapons.
"Saluzzo family… heh. And you other clans too. We've always kept to our own paths, never meddled in your affairs, and this is what you plot behind our backs?!"
Her uncle bellowed curses, his voice raw. "You're mad! If Madam Sicily learns of this, your families will be annihilated!"
"No. It is you who will be annihilated."
The calm voice returned, this time carrying a chill laced with bloodlust. "From the moment you declared your independence from Siracusa, you became traitors. You became sinners of the Grey Hall."
"And as Siracusa custom dictates… you already know the fate reserved for traitors."
"…"
The other Texas family members stood pale and silent, despair etched across their faces. They stared at an enemy force several times their number—better armed, colder, eyes glinting with murderous resolve.
Whether judged by spirit, by timing, or by advantage of place and people—
the Texas family… was doomed.
No, perhaps their fate of slaughter was already unchangeable.
"Enough talk. Saluzzo—kill them all."
"Ooooh!"
Cellinia dashed through the corridor, pistol in one hand and longsword in the other. Most of the Texas family were still fighting in the main hall; if that fell, the invaders would devour everything the family had left.
And soon, she saw blood.
It was not the first time. She had lived in Siracusa for years, seen more than her share, and long since grown used to it.
But when that blood was her youngest sister's, spilling bright and hot as she clutched her stomach, Cellinia's lips went stark white.
A long crossbow bolt—who knew from where—had flown into the courtyard and pinned her fleeing sister beside the flowerbed. That sister, so young, so lovely, the one who loved to weave flower crowns for her—now lay among her favorite blossoms, stilled by the cruel arrow.
The girl saw her elder sister. Her lips trembled, trying to form words, but only blood trickled down her chin. That small, delicate hand lifted weakly toward Cellinia, then fell to the ground before she could respond. The bright, lively eyes slowly dulled into silence.
"Ah… ahhhh—!"
Cellinia seized her sister's hand, her palms soaking with blood. Her cry tore from her throat, raw and wounded, like a lone wolf mourning the loss of its kin. She pressed her weight over the cooling little body, tears streaking down her face, dripping into the flowers below.
Five seconds passed—or was it five minutes, or ten? At last, she forced herself upright. With trembling gentleness, she closed her sister's eyes. Gritting her teeth, she turned toward the hall.
If the Texas family bore such a sin, then as one of their blood, she must shoulder the burden.
There was no escaping. As long as she carried the name of Texas, whether human or ghost, she belonged to the family.
She passed panicked maids fleeing down the corridor. They tried to speak to her, but were dragged along by others, terrified.
The Saluzzo had given their order: kill them all.
That meant not even a single fly would leave this place alive.
Cellinia swallowed her sigh and pressed on. Two black-clad family enforcers appeared before her. Seeing her, they cried out:
"Miss! The Saluzzo have broken through the side gate. Can you help us?"
"Lead the way."
The group sprinted through the corridor. The side gate too was under ferocious assault, the Saluzzo attacking in grim order. The Texas fighters were barely holding out.
The very instant Cellinia stepped into the hall—
Boom!
A tremendous blast tore the side gate wide open. The shockwave threw her back a step, forcing her to shield her face.
And then she saw who led the assault.
Someone she had known for years, someone she knew better than anyone else—
her dearest friend, her rival… Lappland.
Softly, she whispered the name. Then she gripped her sword tight.
"Advance."
Lappland's eyes fixed solely on her. Only when her subordinates urged her did she lazily wave her hand, sending the black-clad Saluzzo soldiers surging forward like wolves scenting blood.
"…Cellinia. Come fight me."
Lappland's smile was wicked, almost deranged. She raised her sword, issuing her challenge like an invitation to a dance.
"Will you dance with me, Cellinia?"