Chapter 367: Speak Your Mind
[Ursus Emperor's Puppet]
That neat little tag hovered above the boss health bar. Once Steven caught sight of it, the pieces fell neatly into place.
Rumor had it the previous emperor of Ursus had died suddenly, from some "accident." And now this new ruler? Clearly, far more cautious. Even with all these Emperor's Blades for protection, the one standing before the armies was nothing but a puppet, moved by unseen strings.
Prudent, indeed.
Of course, part of him couldn't help but wonder—if he smashed this puppet open, would it drop something interesting? Some hidden loot, maybe? But after a moment's thought, he let the idea slide. He was here as a guest, after all. Attacking without provocation would be unsporting.
Before long, one of the Blades returned, beckoning him forward. Steven followed without fuss.
"Our master wishes to grant you an audience, Mr. Steve. We only ask that you mind your words when the time comes."
The lead Blade had been tempted to demand he hand over any weapons—but then remembered this man had walked in empty-handed, and his clothes left nowhere to hide blades or guns. In the end, the Blade settled for a polite warning.
They never once named their master outright. They didn't need to. Someone like Steven was sharp enough to know exactly who awaited him behind those curtains.
Still, there was worry among them. They didn't quite understand his temperament, only that he was strong and… eccentric. A man like that might say or do anything.
"I'll try," Steven said with a grin. "But honestly, it's just a chat, right? No need to be that uptight."
He did nod, though. Guest or not, a little courtesy in the host's home was only fair.
Soon enough, he was brought to a lavishly decorated chamber. At its center stood a heavy curtain, behind which sat a shadowed figure.
Once they had delivered him, the Emperor's Blades withdrew, leaving the vast room empty save for Steven and the puppet-ruler's obscured silhouette.
But knowing the truth—that it was only a puppet—Steven felt no need for formality. Without hesitation, he fished a foldable chair out of his inventory, set it up, and dropped into it with all the ease of someone lounging in a night market food stall.
If they were going to talk, better to do it comfortably.
"Lord Steve, you are truly… unpretentious," came the voice from behind the curtain at last.
It was oddly magnetic—neither male nor female, ageless and impossible to place.
"Isn't it better this way?" Steven shrugged. "If my casual style bothers you, well, that's your problem, not mine. Do as you like."
He smiled, utterly at ease. Emperor or not, puppet or not—did it really matter? Even if it were the real sovereign, what difference would it make? Steven was going to act as he pleased, regardless.
"With strength such as yours," the voice behind the curtain replied calmly, "you are free to act as you wish. There is nothing wrong in that."
The figure behind the curtain showed no anger at Steven's casual tone, nor any hint of insult taken. Instead, the shadow merely inclined its head in agreement.
"Spare me the flattery. If you wanted to meet me, it's not just to sigh about my so-called strength, is it? Whatever business you have—say it straight."
Steven waved dismissively, signaling he wasn't interested in empty courtesies.
"…Very well," came the reply. The voice shed its polite veneer; even the self-address shifted into the imperial "We." "If you are so direct, then We shall be the same. The truth is simple: We invited you here to confirm a single matter."
"Go on," Steven said lazily, stretching in his folding chair as if he were sunbathing instead of sitting before the Emperor of Ursus. This was their emperor, not his—so why bother groveling?
"We have heard much of your strength," the curtain-veiled ruler continued. "Your feats against the Collapsals are spoken of among the Emperor's Blade with admiration. Yet word also reaches Us that you are unusually close with the Infected. And so—"
The voice grew heavy, the atmosphere in the chamber shifting as a palpable pressure rolled forth, a ruler's weight pressing against the air itself. It could not touch Steven, but the room itself seemed to grow colder.
"…We wish only to know one thing. Lord Steve—do you intend to become an enemy of Ursus?"
The words hung like a blade in the silence.
Steven chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"Do I look like someone with that kind of hobby? At least for now, I've no interest in such a tedious game. Fighting an entire nation? That's not just boring—it's profitless. Nothing but trouble for me."
He waved a hand from his chair, his tone as casual as if swatting away a fly.
"But those 'Collapsals'—the demons—that does interest me. Wiping them out benefits me directly, which is why I lifted a hand in the first place."
His gaze sharpened, glinting with amusement.
"Profit is what moves people to act. I imagine, Your Majesty, you understand that better than anyone."
He looked toward the curtain, knowing full well that though a puppet stood there, the true emperor's will guided every word.
A long silence followed before the voice spoke again.
"…Then may We take your words to mean you are harmless to Ursus? That you will not lend aid to the Infected in their resistance?"
Steven's lips curled into a half-smile.
"Tell me, Your Majesty—how exactly do you decide that the Infected are 'harmful'? Were they not citizens of Ursus before they were marked by the disease?"
Rather than answer, he lobbed the question back across the room, his tone light but his eyes steady, waiting to see how the shadow behind the curtain would respond.
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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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