Chapter 228: The Critical Moment – One Step Ahead
Roar Knightclub—according to the casual chatter among the Kuranta employees on their way to work—seemed to be a Knightclub dedicated solely to the crafting of armor and defensive gear.
However, this towering building in the city center wasn't their actual production base—it was merely their sales headquarters. If this had been the factory itself, Steven wouldn't have stumbled across it smack dab in the heart of the mobile city.
After all, setting up a full-scale factory in the central district of a moving metropolis—where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold—was a pipe dream. Not even the president of the General Chamber of Commerce could pull that off, let alone the Roar Knightclub.
Fortunately, Steven wasn't all that interested in their fancy armor and equipment in the first place.
Sure, the designs looked cool, but that was about all they had going for them. They were flashy—nothing more than style without substance.
It wasn't that Steven disliked flashy things per se, but these particular pieces just weren't cutting it for him. Besides, he hadn't snuck in here just to swipe a couple of gaudy breastplates.
That'd be way too low for someone like him. If he was going to make a move, it had to be something big. Something loud.
The elevator had only climbed about ten floors before all the other employees had filed out, floor by floor. Steven couldn't help but wonder who came up with this absurd unspoken rule: the higher your rank, the higher your floor?
Maybe the altitude gave them some illusion of superiority, like they were literally standing above the rest of the world.
Steven didn't quite get it—but whatever. He reached into his inventory, pulling out a black hooded coat and threw it over his shoulders. At the same time, his finger casually pressed the button for the topmost floor.
A bit of disguise never hurt. He wasn't so arrogant as to just waltz into someone else's turf without at least a bit of cover.
Still, he wasn't stupid enough to go the full cliché route—no pantyhose mask nonsense. That kind of disguise didn't even work. It didn't hide your face, and it just made people want to laugh.
Besides, there was no way he had something that ridiculous stuffed in his inventory.
Now that he thought about it, Specter did seem to have a thing for black stockings. He had no clue who got her into that, but honestly, Steven was more baffled by how Terra's bizarre tech tree even managed to churn out something like pantyhose—something that required specialized development but was clearly born from pure fetish fuel.
Guess you could never underestimate the power of perverts. If laziness was mankind's biggest innovation driver, then horniness was definitely a close second.
Shaking those thoughts from his head, Steven turned his attention back to reality. The elevator chimed—top floor.
He took a swig from a vial of invisibility potion, draped a piece of black cloth over his face, and with an easy confidence, strolled right out of the elevator.
The hallway before him was decked out like a luxury hotel—gilded walls, marble floors, and intricate lighting. Clearly, someone had sunk a fortune into decorating this corridor.
At its far end, a door with gold lettering read: Spokesperson's Office.
Steven's lips curled into a smirk.
"Well, looks like I got lucky. First guess, and I already found the big fish."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Steven's lips—but he had only taken a few steps forward before something… off caught his attention.
It wasn't an ambush. No guards leaping from the shadows, no sudden alarms blaring. Rather, it was the silence. A silence that was just too perfect.
He wasn't expecting a full security team, but this was the top floor of a corporate HQ. Shouldn't there at least be… an assistant? A secretary? Someone?
But the chair next to the "Spokesperson's Office" was completely empty. No sign of life. No papers. Not even a half-drunk cup of coffee. It looked like no one had been working there for a while.
And then there were the cameras.
Mounted on the ceiling along the corridor, they should've been tracking movement, glowing with that soft, ever-watching red light. But every single one of them hung limp, powerless—turned toward the walls as if someone had deliberately cut the power.
"…Yeah, that's not right. This feels way too much like a trap. Am I about to walk right into someone else's setup?" Steven muttered to himself.
His brows furrowed in suspicion.
Something definitely wasn't normal about this place. And the weirdest part?
It probably wasn't even aimed at him.
Steven wasn't exactly famous around here. He had no blood feuds, no vendettas, no long list of enemies in Kazimierz. His appearance here had been completely on a whim—so who would've gone to all this trouble for him?
Unless…
A gleam sparked in his eyes. "Ohhh? A feast of schemes, huh? And I'm just lucky enough to show up in time for the first course?"
His tense expression relaxed, giving way to a grin of genuine interest.
A live conspiracy. Right in front of him. He couldn't ask for better entertainment.
Stealthily adjusting his steps to silence his footsteps, Steven moved casually through the hallway, finally stopping before the heavy, ornate doors at its end.
There wasn't a single sound coming from the other side. If he hadn't been paying attention, he'd have thought the room was empty—abandoned.
But Steven had one little cheat most people didn't: a minimap.
And right there, beyond that thin stretch of wall, his minimap clearly marked a single icon.
Neutral.
Which meant one thing: someone was still inside. Alive. Still breathing.
He paused in front of the door for just a second… then gave up on the whole sneaky act.
Whatever this was—trap, banquet, ambush, or some corporate exec's last gift for an intended guest—it didn't matter. The only thing that did?
He was here first.
Finders keepers. That's how these things worked.
With a flick of his wrist, Steven casually twisted the doorknob—unlocked, of course—and walked right in.
If someone had planned all this as a "grand reveal" for their chosen visitor, then too bad. That guy was late.
Steven was the first one to show up for the robbery. Everything else could wait until after he finished his business.
But the moment he stepped into the office, Steven realized what "over-the-top rich" really looked like.
Gold leaf trim, silk-covered walls, marble so polished he could see his reflection. The whole place practically screamed I have too much money and zero restraint.
It was such an absurd contrast to the humble mountain villages of Ursus that for a moment, Steven didn't even know how to describe it.
'Yep, guys like this? Definitely not short on cash.'
Which just meant one thing to him—there was plenty to loot.
Then, from within the room, a calm voice spoke:
"So, you've finally come. The wait for death has been… agonizingly dull."
At the center of the extravagant office, the executive chair slowly spun around, revealing a middle-aged Kuranta man seated behind the massive desk. A luxury cigar dangled from the corner of his mouth—just one look, and it was obvious this wasn't the kind of smoke you could get from a street vendor.
His eyes lifted to meet the figure entering from the door.
But the next second, the calm, fatalistic look on his face cracked with a flicker of confusion.
There was no one there.
He could swear someone had pushed open the door. The way it creaked, the breeze that followed—it couldn't have opened itself. But now, as he stared toward the entrance… there was nothing.
Nothing at all.
And that made no sense. At this time, in this situation, only one kind of person would willingly come through that door.
Assassins.
He narrowed his eyes.
"I've never heard of the Armorless Union playing games with their targets before," the Kuranta muttered, voice low, laced with bitter amusement. "Shouldn't this be over by now? Or did the General Chamber of Commerce suddenly decide I still have some… value?"
His gaze swept the room warily, searching for a shadow, a movement—anything.
He had already come to terms with his fate. The moment his assistant locked him in, dismissed the guards, and cut the security feeds, he knew.
He wasn't getting out of this office alive.
But what he didn't know… was that Steven was standing right in front of him the entire time.
Leaning in, actually.
With great curiosity, Steven peered at the name floating above the man's head:
[Former Spokesperson of the Roar Knightclub – Durich]
'Huh. Pretty normal name,' Steven mused silently, 'and he really looks the part, too.'
Middle-aged. Clean suit. Stocky but obviously not a fighter. Definitely the kind of corporate type who'd fold in a real brawl.
But what caught Steven's attention most was the title: Former spokesperson?
That probably meant Durich himself didn't even realize he'd already been replaced.
And all this talk… it was fascinating.
There were layers to this assassination. Layers of politics, backstabbing, and corruption within the General Chamber of Commerce.
And then there was a name: Armorless Union.
Steven's ears perked up at that one.
'Now that's a cool-sounding name,' he thought, grinning. 'Judging by Durich's muttering, they sound like hitmen-for-hire. A black-gloved kind of syndicate?'
"...What do you want?" Durich suddenly barked toward the empty space ahead of him. "Yes, I embezzled funds from the K.G.C.C. Yes, I got caught. That was my mistake. But you know as well as I do—once something like that comes to light, there's no surviving it. So what are you waiting for?"
His voice echoed in the silence. He sounded like a man already halfway in the grave.
No assistants. No guards. No working surveillance. The perfect stage for the Armorless Union to make their move.
Every detail added up. Everything screamed: you're going to die here.
But then—
"Ahem. So, uh… what if I told you you've got the wrong guy?"
Steven's voice rang out just as his invisibility potion faded, and he reappeared in the middle of the room—right in front of Durich's stunned face.
Scratching his cheek with a sheepish grin, Steven gave a half-shrug.
Durich stared at him, utterly gobsmacked.
"…What?"
"Let me rephrase that," Steven replied, eyes gleaming with mischief, "this is a robbery. Hand over the money."
He reached into his inventory, pulled out a pistol, and casually pressed it against Durich's forehead.
And with a grin worthy of every highwayman in history, Steven delivered the most iconic line imaginable—
"Stick 'em up."
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind spending $5 monthly to see till the latest chapter, please go to my Patreon[1]
Latest Chapter in Patreon: Chapter 274: Let's Retire[2]
Link to the latest chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/130087803?collection=55713[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/55713?view=expanded[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/collection/55713?view=expanded
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/130087803?collection=55713
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/130087803?collection=55713
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/55713?view=expanded