“Explain,” Kaelen said, raising his railgun halfway.
Three nods. One from each race.
The surface of Novus, near the border of the Cora and Bellato territories. The Holy Alliance’s crystalline spires glow faintly in the distance, while the Accretian Empire’s mining fortresses scar the horizon.
For the next twenty minutes, Kaelen played his role: RF Online helper . He patched the stabilizer into the Cora soldier’s suit, guided the Accretian around the crystal sinkhole’s edge, and helped Lise recalibrate her MAU’s power core. Not a single shot was fired. Not a single insult traded. rf online helper
The Cora mystic looked up. Her eyes glowed faintly. “We can argue about territory after the bleeding stops.”
Lise pointed. “The sinkhole collapsed while I was patrolling. That Accretian—designation ‘Anvil-3’—pulled me out. But the Cora soldier got caught in the crystal fallout. The mystic says without a stabilizer field, he’ll crystallize from the inside.”
Kaelen arrived first. Echo-7—a nervous Bellato engineer named Lise—stood beside her disabled MAU. But she wasn’t alone. A Cora mystic knelt nearby, tending to a wounded soldier in silver-and-black robes. And behind them, an Accretian combat unit—its chassis dented, one optic flickering—had planted its massive frame like a shield between the group and a sinkhole full of radioactive crystals. “Explain,” Kaelen said, raising his railgun halfway
Kaelen sighed and checked his railgun. “Non-combat” in RF Online usually meant someone had run out of battery cores, gotten their MAU stuck in a crevice, or—worst of all—wandered into a neutral zone being contested by all three races.
He was a veteran of the Bellato Federation’s mechanized corps, now serving as a field guide—someone who kept new recruits from getting their brains melted by a Cora psychic or their limbs crushed by an Accretian war machine. The request came from a rookie callsign: .
As dawn broke over Novus, the three groups withdrew to their own lines. The Cora mystic paused, glancing back. “You Bellato are still fools,” she said. “But you’re not savages.” The surface of Novus, near the border of
Lise looked at Kaelen. “Is this how it always works?”
The comm unit on Kaelen’s wrist pulsed with a single amber light. Not red—that would mean an immediate recall to base. Not green, which would be supply routing. Amber. A request for a helper .
The Accretian’s vocoder crackled. “Statement: Biological preservation is not illogical. Temporary truce is efficient.”
He shook his head. “No. Usually someone starts shooting. But that’s why they call us helpers—we’re the ones who try the third option.”
“You’re the helper,” Lise said. “You know the neutral codes. You know how to talk to all three factions.”
