Chapter 355: I'll Tell Yelena Too
As it turned out, food and supplies could solve most problems in this world.
With Steven, the resident "filthy rich dog," offering to hand over some of his resources, what had looked like a crisis for Talulah was resolved in an instant.
Food and shelter—those were the first and last needs of the Infected. Before ideals, before justice, before rebellion—survival came first.
Give them bread and meat, and they'd follow Talulah anywhere. If she cried out, "Why should nobles and emperors be the only ones with power?" then right now, half the camp would probably rise up with her.
Talulah herself had never expected Steven to step in so decisively. For a moment, the weight of gratitude and emotion swept her away. She rushed forward, wrapped her arms around him, and planted a kiss squarely on his cheek.
The warmth stunned him.
But to her, it was clear now—Steven had never truly abandoned her. He only wanted her to grow, to sharpen herself into a rational, wise leader instead of a naïve girl waving slogans. And with his support behind her, she finally felt a steady foundation beneath her feet.
Like a butterfly, she fluttered back from him, cheeks flushed but eyes firm, before striding toward the infected camp to rally her people.
As for Steven—well, she had never once doubted his word. He had promised. And if there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he never went back on a promise.
Now it was her job to make sure the infected seized this chance to escape while they still could.
Patriot, meanwhile, stood in silence, watching the two young ones. Behind the skull mask, his crimson eyes flickered with something indescribable.
Then, he turned his gaze toward Steven. That gaze was heavy—like a father's unspoken judgment.
He had suspected there was something between this boy and those two girls. But now… now it was obvious. And that meant danger. His daughter's danger.
Steven, still rubbing the cheek where Talulah's lips had brushed him, let out an awkward laugh.
"Well, she couldn't control her emotions. It happens. Anyway, about the supplies—you guys handle the distribution. Just jot down the accounts under my name. When I have time, I'll swing by the warehouse and settle it. Oh, and of course the guerrillas won't be working for free. Ten percent cut for handling fees—sound fair?"
Let them pass out the goods, let them organize the chaos. That way he didn't have to bother with the messy parts—numbers, ledgers, arguments. Easy outsourcing.
Patriot gave a slow nod. Free supplies with a bit of profit on the side? The guerrillas had no reason to refuse. But his voice when he spoke again… was cold.
"I will tell Yelena what just happened."
"…Wait, what?"
Steven blinked. Surely he'd misheard.
"I will tell Yelena about your… interaction with Talulah."
The old warrior's tone was calm. Too calm. But Steven could feel the faint pulse of suppressed fury beneath it, like a rumble in a frozen mountain.
It was the kind of statement that wasn't just reporting facts. It was the kind of statement that poured oil straight onto the fire.
If Yelena—the big white rabbit—heard about this? Steven could already imagine the scolding, the disappointment, the look.
And yet, when he put himself in Patriot's position… he couldn't say he didn't understand. If he were the father, watching his daughter's affections risked by some cheeky outsider…
Yeah, he might want to stir the pot too.
If it were him—if he had a daughter, and she was openly cozying up to some boy while that boy was also charming another girl right in front of him—Steven admitted he'd probably peel the kid's skin off.
The fact that Patriot was staying this calm, speaking to him in level tones? That was already a display of remarkable restraint.
"Alright, fine. She'd find out sooner or later anyway."
Steven waved his hand dismissively, unwilling to argue further. Instead, he turned toward the direction Talulah had gone.
Helping with the evacuation wasn't his thing—but lending Alina a hand with her luggage? That was different.
"Wait."
Patriot's voice stopped him. After a pause, he asked, "That explosion earlier… was it you again? Did you defeat another Collapsal? You didn't clash with the Emperor's Blades?"
Steven glanced back, brows arched.
He's not surprised that the old man had noticed.
The blast had clearly come from the direction he had disappeared toward. And given that he was standing here alive and well, it wasn't hard to guess who had come out on top.
Defeating a Collapsal was well within his ability—Patriot had never doubted that. But the Emperor's Blades who had also gone after it? They weren't the sort one tangled with lightly. Even he himself, a legend among guerrillas, wouldn't dare guarantee victory against several of them at once.
Yet Steven didn't have a single mark of battle on him.
"Yup. Took down a big one." Steven shrugged easily. "As for the Emperor's Blades? Why would they cause me trouble? I'm not an infected. I'm clean. They actually thanked me, believe it or not."
That was the truth. His biggest advantage here in Ursus was simple: he wasn't infected. No Oripathy in his body. At a glance, he was just a perfectly ordinary man.
To infected, Ursus was oppression incarnate. But to a normal citizen? Prejudice barely brushed against them. And he wasn't just "normal"—he was a "normal guy" who could do what even Emperor's Blades struggled with: kill Collapsals.
Why would they pick a fight with him? That'd be shooting themselves in the foot.
"…I see." Patriot's crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "In that case, all the more reason you should not stand too close to the infected… or the guerrillas."
His voice rumbled low, with a weight that pressed like falling snow.
It wasn't a rejection, not exactly. More like… a father urging distance for the boy courting danger—and maybe his daughter, too.
In the end, Steven wasn't one of the Infected. He had no reason to empathize with them. With his strength, he could easily have been welcomed as a guest of honor in Ursus society. Getting too close to guerrillas or Infected was nothing but trouble for him.
And Patriot knew it. What baffled him was why Steven still chose to cooperate with them.
With Talulah, he understood. Her ideals, her convictions, burned clearly enough that even he could sense them. His suspicion of her came from something else—the snake's shadow lurking in her.
But Steven? He was different. His actions had no clear logic, no pattern. His motives were an enigma. Even now, when he was handing the guerrillas enormous benefits, Patriot's unease only deepened.
"I think you've misunderstood," Steven replied with a grin, his tone light. "I never planned on siding with anyone. The only reason I'm here is because I'm Yelena's friend—and Talulah's companion. Helping you guys and the infected is… an after effect of that. That's all."
It was the truth. He wasn't here to "join" Ursus politics, or to lead rebellions. He simply wanted to experience something new, lend a hand to people he liked, and enjoy himself along the way.
Why should everyone live like Talulah, clinging desperately to ideals? Steven didn't hate her ideal and way of life, but it wasn't his way.
Then, just as he was about to walk away, he suddenly stopped and turned back, narrowing his eyes at Patriot.
"Oh, right. One more thing. I probably shouldn't meddle, but… as a 'doctor' in name, I'll say it anyway. Your Oripathy is worsening. You should think about getting some proper treatment—maybe a dose of the strong stuff."
He leaned in close, inspecting the towering Wendigo with exaggerated seriousness.
Patriot's coughing earlier hadn't escaped him. Beneath that iron-tower body was the same disease that gnawed away at all the Infected, slowly but surely burning up his life.
"And," Steven added slyly, "I'll be sure to tell Yelena too."
That was the real strike.
For a man like Patriot, hiding weakness was instinct.
Men never admitted to fragility until the moment they collapsed.
If he wouldn't listen, then perhaps only his daughter's words could move him.
Patriot didn't answer. He only shook his head quietly.
But even in silence, one thing was clear: for now, at least, Steven held no malice. Toward him, toward the guerrillas—none at all.
As long as that didn't change, everything else could be tolerated.
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
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