No matter what tricks everyone used, they were powerless against Snowsant's Absolute Domain. This outcome was exactly what Yoren expected.
Snowsant's backpack was no ordinary object. The special metals woven into its structure were more complex than even Originium itself. Not even Kal'tsit or Hemer—experts in their fields—could decipher its origins. In fact, even Snowsant herself had no idea where it came from.
After becoming infected, parts of her body began to deteriorate. However, in return, she gained a unique ability: she could channel the power within her backpack through Originium Arts, generating an impenetrable blue barrier—her Absolute Domain.
If Kal'tsit's knowledge wasn't enough to explain this artifact, then surely Hemer, the head of the Originium Project at Rhine Lab—funded by Columbia, the world's largest superpower—would have the answer. But even Hemer had no explanation for its composition.
This led Yoren to a bold hypothesis: Snowsant's backpack wasn't a product of their time at all.
Much like his original world, where Earth had existed for over four billion years while human civilization spanned only a few thousand, Terra's history was equally uncertain. What if, before the great natural disasters, there had been an advanced technological civilization—one now lost to time? And what if this backpack was a relic from that forgotten era?
Unlike firearms, which were mass-produced and later rediscovered by the Lateran people, this backpack seemed far rarer. It wasn't a weapon for war but a unique, high-grade piece of equipment. Its purpose? Defense, and nothing else. Yoren speculated that ancient scholars might have foreseen the coming of Terra's cataclysmic disasters and had developed this artifact as a safeguard against them.
The Pitram people, to whom Snowsant belonged, were exceedingly rare. Beyond her, Yoren had never encountered another. And strangely, despite her nickname "Turtle," there was nothing distinctly turtle-like about her besides the backpack. In fact, she seemed completely human. This realization unsettled him.
The Sakota, or Angel race, were the only known species with access to advanced weaponry like Originium guns. But rumors suggested that these firearms hadn't been invented by the Sakota themselves but unearthed through archaeological digs deep beneath Lateran. If angels were considered messengers of God, then perhaps their access to lost technology was no coincidence.
If Snowsant's backpack was even rarer than Originium weaponry, then its existence pointed to something even more profound—something that had been deliberately hidden from history.
Perhaps Snowsant's amnesia wasn't an accident, but an inherited condition. Maybe the Pitram people were connected to this ancient technology in ways even they didn't understand. What if their memories were systematically erased to prevent them from uncovering the truth? If so, that would explain why the Pitram population had dwindled over the years. Deprived of their past, they lost not only their history but their very purpose.
Snowsant had already dismissed her Absolute Domain, and now the operators surrounded her, curiously poking and prodding her backpack. She simply scratched her head and smiled innocently.
Her smile was pure, like a princess basking in the kindness of the world.
But Yoren knew better. He knew her innocence came at a terrible cost.
She had forgotten everything—her home, her friends, her family, even the reason for her journey. For a girl so young, such loss was cruel beyond words.
She had survived alone in this dangerous world, weak and directionless, clinging only to her mysterious backpack for protection. Fear, betrayal, and hardship must have plagued her at every turn. Yet despite everything, she still smiled, still trusted, still walked forward.
How many times had she been deceived? How often had she curled up in her "turtle shell," waiting for danger to pass? She had likely been tricked, cast aside, and even hurt. Yet those painful memories had faded, swallowed by the curse—or mercy—of her forgotten past.
And still, she smiled.
Was this a curse? Or was it kindness?
The operators chattered excitedly around her.
"Little sister, you're incredible. I give up!"
"That defense is unreal."
"Hey, ever thought about joining a gang?"
Snowsant only scratched her head and laughed. "Ehehe… I'm not that amazing."
Yoren, standing at a distance, watched her quietly. A thought crept into his mind.
Maybe forgetting wasn't always a bad thing.
Yes, memories held precious moments—but they also carried unbearable pain. Perhaps it was because she had forgotten so much that she could remain so innocent and optimistic, continuing her endless journey without the weight of sorrow.
But now, her journey had changed.
If history had played out as before, Snowsant would have continued wandering until she stumbled upon Rhodes Island three years later. But now, because of Yoren's presence, that future was uncertain. He had altered the course of fate, unknowingly setting off ripples that would change everything.
Had he not existed, Truth wouldn't have escaped the villa that night. Winter wouldn't have leaked information about the Scourge to Vina. The Glasgow Gang wouldn't have crossed paths with them on the road to Mandel City. And without this meeting, Snowsant might never have found Rhodes Island at all.
This was the butterfly effect—a force beyond anyone's control.
Since the moment he arrived in this world, the fates of those around him had begun to shift.
Yoen stepped forward, weaving through the crowd until he reached Snowsant. He gently took her small hand in his.
"Turtle, it's cold outside. Come on, I'll take you to the truck."
Snowsant looked up at him, eyes bright. "Okay."
And in that moment, Yoren understood why he had been brought here. Among the millions of Arknights players, why had he alone been summoned?
The answer was simple.
Because he was the only one who would save those he loved
No matter what it took.
The wind and snow paused for only a moment before resuming their relentless descent. The flakes were pure white, as if trying to cleanse the filth of the world.
Snowsant sat quietly in the truck, gazing out at the fleeting scenery with a gentle smile. Perhaps, in the fragments of memory she still retained, this was the first time she had ever ridden in a vehicle.
Yoren rummaged through his seemingly endless shopping bag.
"Turtle, do you want to drink milk first or try some jelly?"
Snowsant blinked curiously. "What's jelly?"
"Jelly is... Never mind, just drink the milk first."
He pulled out a can of Wangzai milk, popped the tab, and handed it to her. "Just drink it straight. Don't worry, it's not poisoned. It's good for you."
His reassurance was unnecessary. Snowsant took the can and gulped it down without hesitation.
Yoren was momentarily speechless.
He had intended to take a sip first to show her it was safe, but this girl was completely defenseless. It was a miracle she had survived this long, wandering alone.
Then, suddenly, Snowsant froze mid-drink.
Yoren waved a hand in front of her face. "Hey, you okay?"
Her lips pursed tightly, and her face quickly turned red.
"Oi, don't scare me—did you choke on the milk?"
For a brief moment, Yoren wondered if she had some kind of allergy. But before he could react further, Snowsant exhaled deeply, then leaned back in her seat with closed eyes, unmoving.
Alarmed, he reached out and patted her cheek. "Turtle? What's wrong? Say something!"
Snowsant opened her eyes slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's so delicious... I fainted."
Yoren stared at her, utterly dumbfounded.
She sat up, still clutching the can with both hands, her expression full of wonder. "Where can I get more of this?"
"Well... unless you have interdimensional shipping, probably nowhere but here."
Snowsant's eyes flickered with hesitation, as if she were grappling with a serious internal debate. Then, after a moment, she spoke hesitantly.
"Um... Uncle—"
"Oi! Don't call me uncle! Do I look that old?!"
He wasn't delusional—he knew he looked mature for his age, but being called "uncle" was unacceptable. More importantly, if he was uncle, what would that make ACE, who was sitting nearby with his massive beard?
"Then… what should I call you?"
Yoren paused. A mischievous idea crossed his mind, and he coughed awkwardly before glancing away.
"I don't really have anything in mind..."
Snowsant tilted her head. "Is it really that hard...?"
Yoren crossed his arms as he sighed. "I'm just not sure alright..."
Snowsant seemed to think about the situation before speaking once more.
Yoren merely glanced at her expression attempting to garner something out of her expression.
Snowsant narrowed her eyes. "Yoren, I can't think of anything."
Coughing into his fist, Yoren simply muttered "Forget it. Just call me Yoren or Brother, whatever works."
Snowsant thought for a moment. "Then...Brother Yoren."
Brother Yoren? Yoren twitched.
"Isn't there a cuter option?" he asked, hopeful.
Snowsant put a finger to her lips. "Hmm… Brother Yoren? Boss Feng? Big Windmill?"
Yoren sighed. "Forget it. Call me whatever you want."
She cradled the milk in both hands, staring down at it with a mix of hesitation and anticipation.
"Um… Brother Yoren, I have a small request. I've been traveling alone for a long time, and I don't even remember where I was going. But after thinking about it… I just want to find a place to stay. I don't have many requirements. I can work, I can help… As long as I can drink this again…"
"Stop right there."
Yoren already knew what she was going to say.
Even if she had forgotten her past, the loneliness she had carried all this time remained, buried deep in her heart.
She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay—by his side.
Of course, the irresistible taste of Wangzai milk might have played a significant role in her decision, but that wasn't the point.
She was still too young to hide her emotions. Yoren could see right through her.
But he couldn't just promise her anything on a whim.
He wasn't about to abandon her in Mandel City and part ways. That was never an option. Yet, if she followed him, that meant becoming part of the Glasgow Gang.
And that was the problem.
No matter how close he was to Vina, the gang wasn't his to control. He couldn't make decisions on a whim. The Glasgow Gang was built through the blood and sweat of its members—it wasn't just his to command.
Could he really say with confidence, "Turtle, you'll follow me from now on"?
That was when the realization hit him.
Compared to this brutal world, he was too weak.
There were too many things he wanted to change, too many people he wanted to protect. If he were strong enough, he wouldn't even need Vina and Winter to go through the tragedies they had endured.
Outside the window, snowflakes continued to drift from the gray sky.
Yoren stared at the unfamiliar landscape, and a bold idea took root in his mind.
If he could, he would create his own force before Rhodes Island even existed—one powerful enough to directly bring Amiya's ideals to life.
Save everyone?
Impossible.
That was nothing more than an unreachable dream. Even Amiya, no matter how pure-hearted, couldn't save everyone. Whether Infected or ordinary people, when faced with conflict, most would prioritize their own survival.
That was human nature.
People would gladly step over the suffering of others if it meant securing their own future.
Every road to power was paved with blood. If he clung to naïve ideals, he would never be able to stand against someone like Tallulah—a woman willing to discard everything in pursuit of her truth.
Yoren wanted to make Amiya's dream a reality. But he didn't want to be an angel who saved everyone, nor did he want to be a demon drenched in blood.
If forced to choose between black and white, he would carry the burdens Amiya could not—including the sins.
The sky darkened. Snowflakes swirled through the air, tinged with something darker, something ominous.
At the northern horizon, a massive black cloud loomed, swallowing the land beneath its suffocating shadow.
Vina, watching the distance, narrowed her eyes.
"That's the black cloud left behind by the natural disaster. Everyone, stay sharp. We're about to reach Mandel City."