- 露托
- ルトナダ
- 루토나다
Lutonada
Defender — Juggernaut
Cannot be healed by allies
- BV33
- Melee
- Survival
- Defense
Bonuses
[Code Name] Lutonada
[Gender] Female
[Battlefield Cleanup Experience] 10 Years
[Place of Birth] Bolívar
[Date of Birth] Reported as Unknown
[Race] Zalak
[Height] 159cm
[Infection Status]
Originium crystals distributed across surface of body, confirmed Infected by medical examination.
[Gender] Female
[Battlefield Cleanup Experience] 10 Years
[Place of Birth] Bolívar
[Date of Birth] Reported as Unknown
[Race] Zalak
[Height] 159cm
[Infection Status]
Originium crystals distributed across surface of body, confirmed Infected by medical examination.
[Physical Strength] Standard
[Mobility] Standard
[Physical Resilience] Excellent
[Tactical Acumen] Standard
[Combat Skill] Standard
[Originium Arts Assimilation] Standard
[Mobility] Standard
[Physical Resilience] Excellent
[Tactical Acumen] Standard
[Combat Skill] Standard
[Originium Arts Assimilation] Standard
Operator Lutonada, once active in war-torn regions across Bolívar. Unaffiliated with any local organization, she made a living cleaning up after battles. She now receives treatment on Rhodes Island and has signed a cooperative agreement with Logistics, where she will occasionally assist on field missions as a consultant on battlefield conditions.
Imaging tests show the indistinct outlines of internal organs, obscured by abnormal shadows. Originium granules detected in the circulatory system. The subject is confirmed to be infected with Oripathy.
[Cell-Originium Assimilation] 9%
Lutonada has lived in harsh environments for long periods. She has long been suffering from Oripathy, and Originium crystals are present on the surface of the body.
[Blood Originium-Crystal Density] 0.31u/L
Lutonada's condition is under control.
We have stressed to her that even though she is already infected, she still needs to take protective measures seriously before undertaking any battlefield cleanup, which involves coming into contact with retrievable items such as ID tags.
[Cell-Originium Assimilation] 9%
Lutonada has lived in harsh environments for long periods. She has long been suffering from Oripathy, and Originium crystals are present on the surface of the body.
[Blood Originium-Crystal Density] 0.31u/L
Lutonada's condition is under control.
We have stressed to her that even though she is already infected, she still needs to take protective measures seriously before undertaking any battlefield cleanup, which involves coming into contact with retrievable items such as ID tags.
'Forgive me, I'm used to making a living from the dead.' We occasionally hear this phrase from Lutonada as a response to people noticing her peculiar behaviors.
When she came to Rhodes Island for Oripathy treatment, her body had just recovered. She is extremely quiet, often sitting by herself in lonely corners of the ship, and when people do talk to her, she seems rather distant. At first, others did not fully comprehend the meaning of that phrase, assuming it was an old trauma of hers. She claims to have been cleaning battlefields in Bolívar for a long time, and tragic backgrounds are hardly rare on Rhodes Island. Everyone intuitively knows not to pry until the person in question brings up the topic themselves.
Once, an operator recognized something belonging to a relative among the items Lutonada had gathered. Lutonada then proceeded to relate the circumstances of that relative's passing without mincing a single word, including every detail no matter how unbearable. As she gave her account, her face was painted in grief as it always was, but not as emotional as the operator trembling in sorrow. Her eyes were as tranquil as a cloud-strewn, windless sky.
We can confirm that Lutonada has already undergone psychological evaluation, and became one of our operators after passing a series of examinations. It's just that she still needs time to adjust to life off the battlefield. Considering her health, we have provisionally assigned her to Logistics to help with asset organization. If you hear odd noises coming from the storage rooms at night, or see her polishing the items she's recovered in the dark, do not be surprised. Those are habits formed over many years in the business.
The battlefields of Bolívar are often quiet only at night, and even then, such silence is momentary at best.
[HR Record]
'Your codename is... Lutonada? Are you sure? You said everyone called you 'Yellowscarf' back in Bolívar.'
'Right. That was then. Please call me Lutonada from now on...'
'In Bolívar, it means 'mourning'.'
When she came to Rhodes Island for Oripathy treatment, her body had just recovered. She is extremely quiet, often sitting by herself in lonely corners of the ship, and when people do talk to her, she seems rather distant. At first, others did not fully comprehend the meaning of that phrase, assuming it was an old trauma of hers. She claims to have been cleaning battlefields in Bolívar for a long time, and tragic backgrounds are hardly rare on Rhodes Island. Everyone intuitively knows not to pry until the person in question brings up the topic themselves.
Once, an operator recognized something belonging to a relative among the items Lutonada had gathered. Lutonada then proceeded to relate the circumstances of that relative's passing without mincing a single word, including every detail no matter how unbearable. As she gave her account, her face was painted in grief as it always was, but not as emotional as the operator trembling in sorrow. Her eyes were as tranquil as a cloud-strewn, windless sky.
We can confirm that Lutonada has already undergone psychological evaluation, and became one of our operators after passing a series of examinations. It's just that she still needs time to adjust to life off the battlefield. Considering her health, we have provisionally assigned her to Logistics to help with asset organization. If you hear odd noises coming from the storage rooms at night, or see her polishing the items she's recovered in the dark, do not be surprised. Those are habits formed over many years in the business.
The battlefields of Bolívar are often quiet only at night, and even then, such silence is momentary at best.
[HR Record]
'Your codename is... Lutonada? Are you sure? You said everyone called you 'Yellowscarf' back in Bolívar.'
'Right. That was then. Please call me Lutonada from now on...'
'In Bolívar, it means 'mourning'.'
Nobody would connect the disappearance of trash awaiting disposal to the petite Zalak girl unless they saw it for themselves. When we traced it back to the logistics warehouse that Lutonada oversees, what we saw shocked us: well-mended clothing drying on a line, written-off equipment looking good as new, and all sorts of labelled components and materials neatly organized, as though exhibits in a museum.
As early as her onboarding examinations, Lutonada has shown an innate talent for repair and restoration. She can accurately assess the value of trash and repair objects that have been heavily damaged. Thanks to her many years of battlefield cleanup experience, she has developed a keen awareness of her surroundings, and is able to calmly scavenge dangerous ruins for food, medicine, and maps, all while identifying still-valuable equipment to restore and trade for a meal. There is no doubt that the neatly organized cabinets before us were products inherited from her past.
Another thing we weren't expecting to see was a steel frame made from discarded components, matching the shield leaning against it. It protected the bed she had dragged from the dormitories, resolutely isolating it from the outside world. As for Lutonada, she had curled her frail body in the darkness under her bed, fast asleep and accompanied only by the sound of her regular breaths.
Unwilling to disturb her any further, we quietly left the warehouse and filled in the relevant abandoned item forms in her stead.
After we obtained her medical history, we found that she suffers from a chronic form of 'trauma exposure.' Thanks to the past pressures of her environment, she lacks an understanding of ordinary life, and sees the outside world from a completely different perspective, one that also affects her sense of self. During psychological examinations, Lutonada often mentioned an unusual species of giant fowlbeast, one that devoured carrion off the battlefield and fought each other for scraps. At times, she would ask a question in a fearful tone.
'What separates me from those fowlbeasts?'
It was hard for us to answer. At the same time, we thought of a question of our own—
'Who forced her into this sort of life?'
On the 16th of October, I was with the army cracking down on some village where they said Coalition boys were stationed. There, we took some brats in..
They were all kids, so no point sending them off to battle, but they could still make themselves useful by cooking, delivering messages, carrying things... but mostly they helped clean the battlefield.
After a battle was over, they'd be sent out to look for valuables... and also any dog tags belonging to the unlucky bastards who died. Kids are small and flexible, so they can reach places adults can't, without knowing what kind of danger they're getting into. It's also real easy to scare those brats into doing as they're told. We'd even order them to bring back their fallen comrades' backpacks. As long as a few managed to make it back alive, we'd be able to minimize our losses on the battlefield.
...A war crime? Look, sir, what do you want me to say? That's just how war is. If they weren't taken in by us, the other side would give 'em crossbows and use them as cannon fodder. That's just how things are.
Take that brat pack I mentioned. They managed to live longer than any of the others. Though most of them ended up dying, I do remember one girl who managed to make it through... Err... She was special, always had a yellow scarf around her neck.
—Excerpt from a transcript of the interrogation of a low-ranking True Bolívarian soldier
As early as her onboarding examinations, Lutonada has shown an innate talent for repair and restoration. She can accurately assess the value of trash and repair objects that have been heavily damaged. Thanks to her many years of battlefield cleanup experience, she has developed a keen awareness of her surroundings, and is able to calmly scavenge dangerous ruins for food, medicine, and maps, all while identifying still-valuable equipment to restore and trade for a meal. There is no doubt that the neatly organized cabinets before us were products inherited from her past.
Another thing we weren't expecting to see was a steel frame made from discarded components, matching the shield leaning against it. It protected the bed she had dragged from the dormitories, resolutely isolating it from the outside world. As for Lutonada, she had curled her frail body in the darkness under her bed, fast asleep and accompanied only by the sound of her regular breaths.
Unwilling to disturb her any further, we quietly left the warehouse and filled in the relevant abandoned item forms in her stead.
After we obtained her medical history, we found that she suffers from a chronic form of 'trauma exposure.' Thanks to the past pressures of her environment, she lacks an understanding of ordinary life, and sees the outside world from a completely different perspective, one that also affects her sense of self. During psychological examinations, Lutonada often mentioned an unusual species of giant fowlbeast, one that devoured carrion off the battlefield and fought each other for scraps. At times, she would ask a question in a fearful tone.
'What separates me from those fowlbeasts?'
It was hard for us to answer. At the same time, we thought of a question of our own—
'Who forced her into this sort of life?'
On the 16th of October, I was with the army cracking down on some village where they said Coalition boys were stationed. There, we took some brats in..
They were all kids, so no point sending them off to battle, but they could still make themselves useful by cooking, delivering messages, carrying things... but mostly they helped clean the battlefield.
After a battle was over, they'd be sent out to look for valuables... and also any dog tags belonging to the unlucky bastards who died. Kids are small and flexible, so they can reach places adults can't, without knowing what kind of danger they're getting into. It's also real easy to scare those brats into doing as they're told. We'd even order them to bring back their fallen comrades' backpacks. As long as a few managed to make it back alive, we'd be able to minimize our losses on the battlefield.
...A war crime? Look, sir, what do you want me to say? That's just how war is. If they weren't taken in by us, the other side would give 'em crossbows and use them as cannon fodder. That's just how things are.
Take that brat pack I mentioned. They managed to live longer than any of the others. Though most of them ended up dying, I do remember one girl who managed to make it through... Err... She was special, always had a yellow scarf around her neck.
—Excerpt from a transcript of the interrogation of a low-ranking True Bolívarian soldier
...
What does 'mourning' mean?
I found the scout's team and returned her belongings to them.
Her comrades kept only the valuables, then casually asked me what her final words were.
I told them the truth: that she had begged me to mourn her.
Some smiled, just for an instant, before the somber mood took over once more, but I'm sure I wasn't seeing things.
Some say that in the fires of war, grieving is like breathing, and will pass in mere moments. To them, there would be nothing strange about it.
Others say that people like me, those who make a living from the dead, have no need for this sort of thing.
They're not wrong.
I put her things down, and at that moment all I could think of was leaving that camp. I even forgot to ask for a reward.
All the scout had left behind were some useless last wishes. But were they truly useless?
(Short pause)
...At the very least, I remember what she looked like.
...
What does 'mourning' mean?
I found some medicine today. It originally belonged to a team of medics, but they had already started decomposing by the time I found them.
There were painkillers and anti-inflammatories. I sold them on the black market for some cash and a dictionary with missing pages.
Thankfully, on page 146 I found the word. 'Mourning,' or 'luto' in Iberian. Feminine form 'lutonada.'
(She slows down as she reads 'lutonada,' enunciating every syllable)
The definition in the dictionary is rather short. 'Expressing a state of sorrow and reminiscence towards the dead.'
(Short pause)
'Sorrow' and 'reminiscence.' Another two words I don't really understand.
...
What does 'mourning' mean?
At an attacked settlement, I found a dead child by the side of the road.
He held a ring in the palm of his hand, and it had two words engraved inside.
I guess they were the names of his parents.
Though the scrap metal man said it could fetch a high price, I decided to keep it.
I have a few vague memories.
I remember a woman whose face was covered in blood. I remember how she smiled as she tied this yellow scarf around my neck.
I remember her quivering lip. While these memories are distant, they still bring me comfort.
After that brief moment of comfort, is the emotion that rises 'sorrow'? Or maybe 'reminiscence'?
(A pause, punctuated only by breathing)
...If this is 'mourning', then how can I—
(There appears to be an explosion in the background, and the voice is cut short)
—Lutonada's records, stored within a recorder she found.
What does 'mourning' mean?
I found the scout's team and returned her belongings to them.
Her comrades kept only the valuables, then casually asked me what her final words were.
I told them the truth: that she had begged me to mourn her.
Some smiled, just for an instant, before the somber mood took over once more, but I'm sure I wasn't seeing things.
Some say that in the fires of war, grieving is like breathing, and will pass in mere moments. To them, there would be nothing strange about it.
Others say that people like me, those who make a living from the dead, have no need for this sort of thing.
They're not wrong.
I put her things down, and at that moment all I could think of was leaving that camp. I even forgot to ask for a reward.
All the scout had left behind were some useless last wishes. But were they truly useless?
(Short pause)
...At the very least, I remember what she looked like.
...
What does 'mourning' mean?
I found some medicine today. It originally belonged to a team of medics, but they had already started decomposing by the time I found them.
There were painkillers and anti-inflammatories. I sold them on the black market for some cash and a dictionary with missing pages.
Thankfully, on page 146 I found the word. 'Mourning,' or 'luto' in Iberian. Feminine form 'lutonada.'
(She slows down as she reads 'lutonada,' enunciating every syllable)
The definition in the dictionary is rather short. 'Expressing a state of sorrow and reminiscence towards the dead.'
(Short pause)
'Sorrow' and 'reminiscence.' Another two words I don't really understand.
...
What does 'mourning' mean?
At an attacked settlement, I found a dead child by the side of the road.
He held a ring in the palm of his hand, and it had two words engraved inside.
I guess they were the names of his parents.
Though the scrap metal man said it could fetch a high price, I decided to keep it.
I have a few vague memories.
I remember a woman whose face was covered in blood. I remember how she smiled as she tied this yellow scarf around my neck.
I remember her quivering lip. While these memories are distant, they still bring me comfort.
After that brief moment of comfort, is the emotion that rises 'sorrow'? Or maybe 'reminiscence'?
(A pause, punctuated only by breathing)
...If this is 'mourning', then how can I—
(There appears to be an explosion in the background, and the voice is cut short)
—Lutonada's records, stored within a recorder she found.
Once, Lutonada told us of the voices that have resonated in her mind for a long, long time.
After setting foot onto the battlefield, she had the urge to do more than simply survive. At first, she wanted to remember the deceased in their final moments, but such things slipped from her mind all too quickly in the chaos. Their images scattered, leaving only their distant voices.
In the simplest of terms, she tried her best to describe the voices to us: some wailed, some muttered, some gave final requests through clenched teeth. All brimmed with emotion, without exception. Fear, refusal, remorse, hope... They wove together, they resonated, and in the end they formed a tangled chorus in her mind.
'It's here.' Lutonada points at her ear, then softly covers it. 'It's loud, and it never stops.'
At some point in the past, she learned the word 'mourning' from a dictionary. Since then, she has begun to untangle those final words, and as she experienced more in her life, people and words related to those experiences would come to her unbidden. She noticed that many final words showed the deceased's reluctance to part with life, alongside the helplessness they felt when facing their demise.
After relating all this to us, her gaze abruptly became sullen, as though she were trapped in a dark cloud of memories.
After notifying Medical about her condition, we made a suggestion: she could record those final words as a way of removing them from her cluttered mind, like emptying a storage box during spring cleaning. She accepted our proposal.
Not long after, we received a set of hand-written notes from her. A wishlist.
[A clumsily handwritten list]
...
Grow a lot of melons in the backyard of the house with a blue roof on the west side of Toca (Completed)
Wash and iron that uniform and bury it in Bolívarian soil with the medals (Completed)
Eat pesto barbecue until I can't eat any more (I couldn't eat much, but completed)
Make a mossback beast toy and send it to a girl named Molly at Quílamo Elementary (The toy's finished. I'll send it during my next field mission)
Meet the lead actor from 'City of Mystery' and get their autograph.
Climb a mountain covered in snow.
Make a handprint in the mud of the Black Flow.
...
These are the last wishes I remember.
If you remember the wishes of anybody else, or have some of your own that would be hard to achieve...
...write them down in a blank space, and I'll help you do it.
'I didn't understand back then. I thought I didn't have anything, and that I couldn't change that.' When we asked her why she wanted to fulfill these unfulfilled wishes, that was her reply.
'I think... I'm beginning to understand why people are reluctant to let go, and why eternal loss causes sorrow and reminiscence.
'As for me, people like me exist. It's not that I could survive because others passed on...
'I live because they lived too.'
She faces the sunlight, her hand resting on her faded yellow scarf while her ears gently move up and down.
'Listen. They've begun to quiet down.'
After setting foot onto the battlefield, she had the urge to do more than simply survive. At first, she wanted to remember the deceased in their final moments, but such things slipped from her mind all too quickly in the chaos. Their images scattered, leaving only their distant voices.
In the simplest of terms, she tried her best to describe the voices to us: some wailed, some muttered, some gave final requests through clenched teeth. All brimmed with emotion, without exception. Fear, refusal, remorse, hope... They wove together, they resonated, and in the end they formed a tangled chorus in her mind.
'It's here.' Lutonada points at her ear, then softly covers it. 'It's loud, and it never stops.'
At some point in the past, she learned the word 'mourning' from a dictionary. Since then, she has begun to untangle those final words, and as she experienced more in her life, people and words related to those experiences would come to her unbidden. She noticed that many final words showed the deceased's reluctance to part with life, alongside the helplessness they felt when facing their demise.
After relating all this to us, her gaze abruptly became sullen, as though she were trapped in a dark cloud of memories.
After notifying Medical about her condition, we made a suggestion: she could record those final words as a way of removing them from her cluttered mind, like emptying a storage box during spring cleaning. She accepted our proposal.
Not long after, we received a set of hand-written notes from her. A wishlist.
[A clumsily handwritten list]
...
Grow a lot of melons in the backyard of the house with a blue roof on the west side of Toca (Completed)
Wash and iron that uniform and bury it in Bolívarian soil with the medals (Completed)
Eat pesto barbecue until I can't eat any more (I couldn't eat much, but completed)
Make a mossback beast toy and send it to a girl named Molly at Quílamo Elementary (The toy's finished. I'll send it during my next field mission)
Meet the lead actor from 'City of Mystery' and get their autograph.
Climb a mountain covered in snow.
Make a handprint in the mud of the Black Flow.
...
These are the last wishes I remember.
If you remember the wishes of anybody else, or have some of your own that would be hard to achieve...
...write them down in a blank space, and I'll help you do it.
'I didn't understand back then. I thought I didn't have anything, and that I couldn't change that.' When we asked her why she wanted to fulfill these unfulfilled wishes, that was her reply.
'I think... I'm beginning to understand why people are reluctant to let go, and why eternal loss causes sorrow and reminiscence.
'As for me, people like me exist. It's not that I could survive because others passed on...
'I live because they lived too.'
She faces the sunlight, her hand resting on her faded yellow scarf while her ears gently move up and down.
'Listen. They've begun to quiet down.'
...Doctor? We meet again.
Right, I'm tidying up the things of operators who passed away, just like last time.
Did you come to 'think fondly of them' too? I still remember that. You taught me that expression, after all. I'm gradually beginning to understand what it means.
I clean this storage room regularly, making sure to get all the dust off everything, including the files. They're just like they were when their owners were still with us.
I think... they haven't truly left us.
Because everything they've done for this ship was for our sake, as we chart our path to tomorrow.
And so, I believe that Rhodes Island will continue to carry their wills and dreams forward on this long journey ahead.
They live on.
Right, I'm tidying up the things of operators who passed away, just like last time.
Did you come to 'think fondly of them' too? I still remember that. You taught me that expression, after all. I'm gradually beginning to understand what it means.
I clean this storage room regularly, making sure to get all the dust off everything, including the files. They're just like they were when their owners were still with us.
I think... they haven't truly left us.
Because everything they've done for this ship was for our sake, as we chart our path to tomorrow.
And so, I believe that Rhodes Island will continue to carry their wills and dreams forward on this long journey ahead.
They live on.
HP
3950
ATK
790
DEF
545
RES
10
Cost
34
ATK Interval
1.6 sec
Block
3
Redeploy
70 sec
Talents
- From Death's ClutchesRecovers 16% HP when an enemy being blocked by this unit is killed.
Skills
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Power Strike βOffensive RecoveryAuto ActivationSP Cost3Increases the ATK of next attack to 230%atk_scale2.3
Magnetic DefenseAuto RecoveryManual ActivationInitial SP20SP Cost35Duration30 secStops attacking and deploys a massive shield, creating a powerful magnetic field. Gains +130% DEF, deals 100% ATK as Arts damage to all nearby ground enemies every 2s, and drags all unblocked enemies slightly towards self.p_force0mode1def1.3magic_atk_scale1interval2
Modules
ORIGINALLutonada's Badge
Operator Lutonada has demonstrated a remarkable aptitude for holding the front with minimal support.
The Field Operations Department has thus passed the following resolution:
This operator shall be appointed a Defender Operator during field operations to exercise Juggernaut responsibilities.
In witness whereof,
This badge is hereby conferred upon the above named.
UNY-XSurvivorsStage Stats Upgrade Description 1 - HP +180
- DEF +30
Juggernaut Trait Cannot be healed by alliesTakes 15% less damage from enemies blocked by this unit2 - HP +280
- DEF +50
From Death's Clutches Recovers 18% HP when an enemy being blocked by this unit is killed.3 - HP +350
- DEF +60
From Death's Clutches Recovers 20% HP when an enemy being blocked by this unit is killed.
Hmph. I'm still alive.
I remember Originium bombs blowing up nearby... Lucky me, I guess.
Wall's wet. Looks like some long-abandoned tunnel? How did I get here, though?
Wait, is someone there?! Show yourself! Don't move!
...A Zalak? Ha, guess I was rescued by some little girl.
She calls herself a battlefield cleaner. Found me on my last legs and dragged me back here.
When she saw me wake up, she gave me my stuff back. Weapon, medkit, even my dog tag.
Before I could even thank her, she'd already gone to the next guy.
Lorenzo? Now that I get a good look, that poor torched bastard is actually Lorenzo.
Hey, let go of him, Zalak! He's one of us! Get away from him!
He's still alive, goddammit! Can't you see him breathing? He's still trying to survive! I'll save him!
Dammit, Lorenzo, why's your body so cold? He's still bleeding—
......
Lorenzo's dead.
His wounds were too much, I... I couldn't save him.
That Zalak girl brought back another wounded soldier. An enemy.
Dammit... They're the ones who killed Lorenzo. I wanna kill the bastard, but it's like that girl is stubbornly blocking me.
She told me I could save this one. She wanted me to save him.
Ha, this is beastshit. I couldn't save Lorenzo, but I can save an enemy...
The girl's heading out again. She's put wheels on her shield; says she can carry more people that way.
I hear people snorting and laughing in disdain, and others groaning in pain.
I hear explosions above me, and feel dust falling into my eyes. It stings.
Right... What was even the point of this battle, where people die every day?
......
Twenty-three. There are now twenty-three people in this hole in the ground, all brought back by that girl.
She's far stronger than she looks, considering she could drag all these people back.
I feel numb. I inject meds into the injured, dress their wounds, and wait for their breathing to steady and their faces to relax.
I just... don't want to see any more pain and suffering.
I don't know when it started, but I feel hot all over. I hear the feeble calls of one of the wounded, and I lean over to put my ear up against their mouth—
I'm surprised to hear a trembling 'thank you.'
I wanted to check his dog tag, but all of a sudden, I can't see anything through the tears.
I know that I didn't need to know his identity. I just needed to know that someone survived.
That's right. Thanks to her, I lived, and they lived too.
We lived. Is there anything more meaningful than that?
RIIC Base Skills
MeticulousWhen this Operator is assigned to the Workshop to process Elite materials, reduces the Morale consumed by all corresponding formulas that cost 2 Morale by -1
High Efficiency Recycling
When this Operator is assigned to the Workshop to process elite material, the production rate of byproduct increases by 70%