The helmet delivered to Loyalist's office was unusual.
It looked exactly like a regular game helmet, but it had been painted a peculiar white, with a red cross on it.
Just like a damn medic's helmet.
Hey, slap it on your head and pair it with a tiny revolver whose barrel was too small for even your thumb to fit inside, and congratulations—you'd just become a "combat quack" who could only give shots and treat injuries, no matter what happened.
But like all the terminals before it, Loyalist searched the entire helmet and couldn't find a single sealed interface.
Clearly, he couldn't take the thing apart, just as he couldn't take apart his own helmet.
Speaking of which, this helmet was ridiculous.
Over time, it developed tiny scratches and deformations that didn't affect its use. But that physical property only applied to the effects of time. The moment an outside force tried to crack it open, the thing would immediately display all kinds of behavior that defied common sense.
I'm not exaggerating. After getting permission from his superiors, Loyalist had even stuffed a grenade inside the thing. But guess what?
Not a scratch!
It hadn't even chipped the paint.
In theory, this miraculous property should have attracted plenty of attention from players. The problem was, how precious were game helmets?
Each one was permanently bound to its owner. The development team had even said on the forums that they wouldn't replace any helmet for any reason. In other words, if you broke yours, you could say goodbye to Transia forever.
In that situation, who would carve or scratch their precious helmet with a knife unless they were under work-related pressure?
Only people like Loyalist, who had duties and responsibilities, would attempt such a violent disassembly. They'd even brought in a