Chapter 363: The Invitation
The news Patriot delivered was already dire, but Steven knew better. For a man like him to appear in person—it couldn't be just about regular soldiers.
If it were only Ursus troops, the guerrillas had countermeasures. Enough, at least, that Patriot wouldn't trouble himself to come here personally.
His presence meant something bigger was moving in the dark.
Sure enough, as Steven followed Talulah and Patriot toward the forward line where the enemy was expected, Yelena quietly explained the real reason.
"In addition to the regular army… there are guests among them who should never be here."
She said it with a frown, ears twitching uneasily in the freezing night air.
"The guerrilla scouts cut contact the moment they spotted them. That alone tells us enough."
Her gaze swept across the endless white tundra ahead, where only the bitter wind howled.
"——It's something only the Royal Guard could do."
And as if to confirm her words, the ones who awaited them were not guerrilla sentries.
Instead, from the night emerged figures draped in black coats, their silhouettes broken by the glow of strange red lights on their masks and at their belts.
The snowfall drifted from the gray sky, but where the flakes touched those dark coats, they turned black, then shattered and fell as foul ash into the snow.
The tundra was unnaturally silent. The only sound was the slow, rasping hiss of respirators:
Hsssss—hhuuuuh.
That attire. Those iconic gas mask-like visors. Everything about them screamed their identity.
The Royal Guard. The secret police of Ursus.
And what made Talulah's breath hitch wasn't just their presence, but their number.
Bathed in the moonlight, the shadows stood in plain view, making it easy to count them. They didn't even bother to hide. On the contrary, their brazen stance made their confidence suffocating.
Eight.
Eight Emperor's Blades, lined across the snow. The ground beneath their boots was already stained black, as if the land itself had been poisoned by their presence.
Even Patriot's eyes narrowed. For the usually unshakable Wendigo to show caution was a rare sight. Never before had he seen so many Emperor's Blades gathered outside the northern frontier. A squad of this strength—even he could not guarantee walking away unscathed.
But their appearance here left no room for choice. A clash was inevitable.
"As a Royal Guards, you should be stationed on the far northern border. Not here."
Patriot stepped forward, voice deep, steady, his shield gripped tightly. His words shattered the tense silence like a crack of thunder.
Clearly, there was history between him and these enforcers.
Hsssss—huuuh.
One figure finally moved. From among the silent ranks stepped a leader, his bearing heavier, his stance marking him as captain or commander.
He studied the towering Wendigo at the front, then spoke, his voice muffled by the mask yet still carrying that cold authority.
"…Legendary Wendigo. You should not be here."
Steven couldn't help but wonder if he was imagining things—because in the masked officer's tone, he swore he caught something like… admiration? Almost as if the man were addressing an idol, not an enemy.
"The ones behind me are my kin, my comrades. The ones who shouldn't be here… are you."
Patriot exhaled, the sound like wind through bone, and raised his long spear. Its tip gleamed cold as it leveled at the black-clad enforcers.
"There's no need for alarm, Captain," the leader of the Emperor's Blade said, voice calm, almost polite. "This time, we are not here for you, nor for the Infected under your protection."
He paused, almost disdainfully.
"They may indeed be carrion long overdue for disposal… but that has nothing to do with our orders."
Instead of matching Patriot's hostility, the officer turned his masked face… toward someone else. His gaze swept through the group, searching—until it locked onto a certain black-haired boy, standing there whistling as if he'd only come to spectate.
Then, to the shock of everyone present, the commander lowered his head. The man leading this terrifying squad of Emperor's Blades bent at the waist, bowing in deference—toward Steven.
"Mr. Steve. Our master requests that you honor us with your presence. There are matters of great importance which must be discussed with you personally."
The words dropped like thunder.
For a moment, all eyes turned on Steven, who had just been playing the part of a bystander.
Never mind who this mysterious "master" was—just the way the Emperor's Blade treated him was absurd enough.
What had Steven done, exactly, that the dreaded secret police of Ursus would come in force, not to arrest him, but to bow their heads and beg him to come along?
Even Patriot, hailed as a living legend, received nothing more than respect. Yet these men were practically ready to carry Steven off in a sedan chair.
"…If this is just an invitation, you really didn't need to bring so many of you, did you? And since when do 'invitations' come with drawn weapons?"
With a put-upon sigh, Steven finally stepped forward, squinting at the unfamiliar officer and the long blade hanging at his side. His smile was faint, almost mocking.
If he had to guess, half these Emperor's Blade weren't even here for him—they were meant as reinforcements against that so-called "Collapsal." The detour to fetch him must've been a side mission.
But really—if they genuinely wanted to invite him, one messenger would've been more than enough. Marching in with a squad this size? It felt more like a village brawl than a polite summons.
"Mr. Steve, you misunderstand," the commander replied smoothly. "Our invitation is sincere. But we cannot ignore the possibility that… certain monsters may have infected or nested within this column of Infected. Caution is necessary."
His glowing red eyes shifted.
"…And, of course, there is also the matter of confirming the status of the duke's daughter."
The masked gaze lingered now—not on Steven—but on Talulah.
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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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