Chapter 278: That's Cute
"One who speaks of illuminating this land with nobility... Someone like that surely wouldn't waver as I have, would they?"
Viviana's gaze drifted slightly, caught between uncertainty and relief.
If someone could say such words and still be acknowledged even by someone like the Black Hole Knight... then perhaps, just perhaps, that person really could accomplish what they claimed.
Maybe they are the very image of a knight—just like the ones she'd read about in stories and legends. The kind of person she had always admired.
"But really, does being a knight even matter that much?" Steven said with a soft chuckle. "Whether you're a poet, a knight, or just a farmer—who cares? What matters is whether you can be true to yourself. That's the key, isn't it?"
He bowed slightly, holding out his hand to the girl before him in a gesture that resembled a dance invitation—equal parts gallant and theatrical.
"I've rambled enough, haven't I? Then, Miss Viviana—graceful and beautiful as ever—may I ask you to take your leave now? This round is my victory. And perhaps it's time for you to step down from this stage that was never truly yours."
With the poise of a consummate gentleman, Steven locked eyes with Viviana's pale, wintry irises.
He had no doubt that she would understand. She wouldn't attack again.
And indeed, just as he expected, Viviana responded with a gentle smile. Without a word, she placed her slender hand into his.
"I suppose... I've no choice but to accept, do I?"
There was no bitterness in her voice—no resentment. Only quiet resignation, and perhaps... a hint of anticipation.
She was curious to see what kind of answer the Black Hole Knight could wrest from the people of Kazimierz through his actions.
What would the people of Kazimierz say a true knight looked like?
Without warning, a black hole materialized beneath her and consumed her form entirely. Moments later, it disappeared into the void—along with the one beneath Steven's feet.
In Viviana's private resting chamber within the coliseum, another silent void opened and gently deposited her unconscious body onto her bed before vanishing as if it had never been there.
"...Tch. So even the so-called champions of your precious knightly games can't answer my question, huh?" Steven clicked his tongue, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips. "In this vast land of Kazimierz, is there really not a single true knight willing to step forward?"
With Viviana gone, he flicked his wrist casually—like dusting off the remnants of an old performance—and dropped his gentlemanly persona like a discarded mask.
In an instant, the arrogant, over-the-top villain was back.
Floating mid-air above the arena now half-consumed by his black holes, Steven laughed boisterously, his voice reverberating through the arena despite the lack of broadcast drones.
Everyone present could hear him clearly.
"And what about the so-called Knights' Association? The K.G.C.C?" he sneered. "I'm standing right here, trampling over your territory, your property—and yet you cower like turtles in their shells."
"Or maybe," he added, voice dripping with sarcasm, "you'll say I'm using the lives of the spectators here to hold you hostage—again—and that's why you can't act, right?"
The moment Steven mentioned the Knights' Association and the K.G.C.C, the scorn and loathing in his voice practically oozed into the air. Anyone with ears could tell—this man had come here specifically to challenge those two forces.
Some spectators couldn't help but murmur their approval.
After all, many shared Steven's hatred for the two dominant organizations. But even then, none of them dared to voice that agreement too loudly.
They weren't stupid. Badmouthing either association in the Grand Knight Territory was a surefire way to end up as tomorrow's headline—and not in a good way.
Not that Steven cared.
He didn't need some half-hearted chorus of support. He wasn't here to rally a crowd—he was here to finish something.
All that mattered was crushing whatever counterattack the Knights' Association and the K.G.C.C had prepared for him.
As long as he remained standing, every word he spoke was like a slap across those associations' smug, well-polished faces.
And clearly... they were ready for that slap.
"For the safety of all spectators, please evacuate the arena in an orderly manner. The upcoming conflict may severely impact the structure. For your own protection, please leave immediately. All future developments will be streamed live via Roar Sentinel Security drones."
A new batch of drones buzzed overhead, blaring this announcement across the arena.
The crowd, many of whom had been clinging to the hope that someone—anyone—from the associations would finally shut the Black Hole Knight up, found themselves promptly and firmly escorted out.
Steven didn't try to stop them. He simply hovered midair, watching coldly as the masses were herded out like sheep.
Honestly, he preferred it this way.
No more noise. No more gawking eyes. Just silence—freedom to move without restraint.
'Now, let's see,' he thought lazily, 'if the bastards behind all this noise can at least put on a decent show. Otherwise... this'll be a real letdown.'
Once the last of the civilians had been evacuated, Steven turned his gaze toward the arena's main entrance, where a strange Originium-based energy pulse had just begun to ripple outward.
It was chaotic. Violent. Reeking of bloodlust and madness—twisting through the air like visible currents of Originum energy. He couldn't see them yet, but he could feel the ones behind it.
And whatever they were... they sure as hell weren't normal.
Steven's smile grew sharp.
Interesting.
It's unexpected, sure. But not entirely outside the bounds of what he'd predicted. Definitely something the K.G.C.C would cook up.
From the arena's shadowed corridor, a squad of heavily armored knights began to emerge. But these weren't ordinary warriors.
Every inch of their bodies radiated an eerie, pale blue glow—clearly corrupted Originum energy. Their eyes, hidden beneath thick helmets, were vacant and lifeless. Chains and iron restraints clung to their bodies—restraints that no knight would willingly wear.
But the most disturbing feature?
The horns.
Where there should have been proud, sweeping Sarkaz horns, there were only jagged, mutilated stumps—as if they'd been sawed off with brutal, unfeeling hands.
One or two like this might've passed as eccentric outliers.
But a whole squad of more than a dozen?
This was no coincidence. This was no rogue band.
This was manufactured—a carefully assembled, inhuman force wearing the skin of "knights."
Even calling these things "knights" felt generous.
To him, they were closer to machines—soulless automatons than men. Whether they even qualified as human anymore was a question worth serious thought.
"So this is what the great K.G.C.C has been cooking up behind the scenes? Human experimentation using Sarkaz, no less. Even by your standards, that's the kind of thing you don't exactly put on a brochure."
He let the words roll lazily off his tongue, his voice sharp but calm. He wasn't bothering to hide it—he wanted them to hear.
Up in the control room, Czarny did. And when he did, his expression darkened. A deep sense of unease was beginning to gnaw at his gut.
"No wonder they had to clear out the audience," Steven went on with a chuckle. "This definitely isn't something your average citizen should be seeing."
His eyes narrowed with amusement.
"But... you're not planning to deal with me using just these things, are you? Enhanced cannon fodder is still cannon fodder. Or are you hoping I'll catch Oripathy and slowly waste away in a hospital bed?"
He laughed—a cold, amused sound—and glanced down at the armored figures glaring up at him with pure, unfettered hatred.
Then, without warning, he descended—landing softly in front of the very creatures that seemed seconds away from tearing him limb from limb.
He didn't hesitate.
After all, if he stayed floating above, how else was he supposed to enjoy whatever twisted "gift" the K.G.C.C had prepared for him?
Standing face to face with the so-called knights, Steven's gaze was calm and curious.
The Sarkaz warriors before him were long past sanity.
The look in their eyes was vacant. Hollow. Whatever had once made them people—was gone.
The signs were everywhere: originite energy seeping through the cracks of their armor like smoke from a dying fire.
Not even their equipment could contain it anymore.
'Honestly,' Steven thought to himself, 'these things are worse than the augmented cultists I saw in the Church of the Deep.'
At least some of them volunteered... and even gained strength in return.
But this?
These "knights" were just tools. Hollowed-out bodies with no will, no purpose—just remote-controlled monsters acting on their creators' commands.
In a way, the K.G.C.C's cruelty had impressed him. They never failed to cross every line with spectacular efficiency.
And now, the moment his boots touched the ground, those barely restrained creatures lost all reason.
With a thunderous roar, they surged forward—wielding massive, brutal weapons, each one longer and thicker than Steven himself. The air trembled as they rushed him, bloodlust leaking off them like steam.
And then, the next part of the trap sprang open.
A fleet of drones—silent until now—suddenly lifted off, each one carrying canisters filled with high-density, unstable originite.
With mechanical precision, the drones dropped their payload across the already battle-torn arena.
Within seconds, the entire battlefield was drenched in radiation. Saturated with the corrupting essence of unstable originium. The air shimmered with it—thick enough to kill an ordinary man within minutes.
Steven glanced around, inhaling once through his nose.
Then, as if someone had just told him a slightly inconvenient joke, he sighed and smiled.
"Ahh, I see. So you really are trying to kill me slowly with Oripathy... That's cute."
He chuckled again—light, amused, completely unfazed by the deadly concentration of originite surrounding him.
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1iuyfwNVFHzIi9H4rWNT_lAm7jTSiah_M
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