Chapter 360: The Art Style Gradually Collapses
The back-and-forth boasting match between Steven and Surtr dragged on until the sun had completely set, leaving not even a trace of sunlight behind, before it finally came to an end.
Originally, Steven had planned to call it a day and take his leave. But when he saw Surtr—already knocked out cold from excessive drinking—trying to just flop down on the hay-covered ground as if she planned to sleep there, he found himself stopping in his tracks.
Sure, with her constitution, it probably wouldn't cause her any real harm. What's more, that massive sword by her side seemed to have some sort of will of its own, keeping her wrapped in a cozy warmth by regulating its own heat. Still, he couldn't bring himself to just leave her lying there like that.
And besides… if he did walk away, who knew how long it would take for someone like her—whose sense of direction was beyond hopeless—to actually make it out of this place? For all he knew, she'd be wandering until the next century.
During their earlier talk, Steven had learned that she'd already grown tired of hanging around in Ursus and was planning to head off and see other countries. She was the kind of person who couldn't stay still for long—a trait she shared with him.
But given her "Zoro" level of hopeless navigation skills, that plan was easier said than done.
With a resigned sigh, he thought it over for a moment before deciding to take her back to his cabin for the night.
It wasn't that he didn't want to bring her to an inn in the nomadic city; rather, it was when he got close enough that he noticed something—she, too, was an Infected.
This world had more Originium-infected people than he'd imagined. Even a traveler like her hadn't been spared that fate, huh?
Muttering softly to himself, Steven gently slung the unconscious Surtr over one shoulder while reaching for her one and only possession—her ridiculously cool-looking greatsword.
But the moment his hand closed around it, something stirred. It was as if the sword rejected being touched by anyone other than its master. A blinding flame erupted along its blade, heat surging outward as the weapon transformed into a towering figure—a giant woven from fire and scorching wind—glaring down at Steven with a guardian's fury.
"What? Shh, keep it down."
Unfazed, Steven calmly put a finger to his lips as if he couldn't feel the searing heat at all, ignoring the way the weapon burned like molten iron in his hand.
But of course, a simple shushing motion wasn't going to be enough to convince a guardian born from flames. After a brief pause, the fiery giant lunged at him in a wave of heat.
Before Steven could even react, the blade at his waist—Yamato—let out a sharp, ringing cry.
Unlike the greatsword, it didn't conjure any illusionary guardians. Just a single, resonant sword hum. Yet that sound alone crushed the fire giant's presence, forcing it to shrink rapidly before retreating back into Surtr's weapon.
The greatsword, Laevatain, cooled almost immediately, its surface no longer glowing red-hot—as though nothing had happened in the first place.
"Good grief… so even a sword can bully the weak and fear the strong, huh?"
Steven couldn't help but grumble at Surtr's greatsword. With a sigh, he opened a black hole and promptly warped both the blade and its unconscious master straight into his own little cabin.
After Talulah and Alina, this marked the third woman his humble home had ever hosted.
Steven casually set Surtr down on the bed—still out like a light—and placed her beloved greatsword within arm's reach. Only then did he turn his attention to his own weapon, Yamato, which had just caused quite a commotion earlier.
He couldn't remember a single time this blade had ever cried out on its own. After all, it was nothing more than a product of his SlashBlade Mod, a simple katana with cutting power off the charts. Even the genuine Yamato from Devil May Cry didn't have a will of its own, let alone turn into one of those "sentient blade men" you read about in legends.
But then, his gaze sharpened. Because now, when he checked its details, a brand-new line of text had appeared.
[Awakened Yamato (Pseudo): After absorbing the blood and souls of too many bizarre beings, this blade has begun to undergo a biological awakening. Its future evolution is beyond prediction.]
"…Well, that explains a lot."
The corner of Steven's lips twitched.
He'd never been the type to meticulously wipe blood off after a fight. Still, Yamato had always felt like an indestructible, immaculate edge—more like something that rejected filth rather than drank it in.
Sure, he'd cut down his fair share of eldritch nasties with it. But no one had told him that a sword could start mutating from absorbing too much of their essence!
Come to think of it, he had noticed something odd before. He'd installed the SlashBlade Mod, yet monster drops of proud souls—the rare loot—were surprisingly scarce. Now he knew why. His damned sword had been secretly skimming them off as commission!
Whether this transformation was good or bad, he honestly couldn't say. It wasn't some scripted event from a mod—it felt more like the weapon had fused with the world's natural laws and started evolving on its own.
Which, if anything, made it even cooler.
Instead of being alarmed, Steven was practically giddy. A blade that could grow alongside its wielder? He'd always thought that was the coolest kind of weapon imaginable. Finally, he was getting a taste of it for real.
With a quiet chuckle, he shook his head and slid Yamato back into its sheath. He liked this kind of unpredictability. It kept things exciting.
But then, a thought struck him. "If I'm already raising a sword… might as well raise this thing too."
He reached into his inventory and pulled out something that looked disturbingly like a fleshy egg—the Primordial Collapsal Egg.
If he was going to chase thrills, then why not go all the way?
But when he held it in his palm, another problem quickly presented itself.
Sure, if it were just a normal egg, he had a thousand different ways he could cook, fry, or boil it into a meal. But hatching one? Now that was a different story entirely.
Who knew what the incubation conditions for an eldritch monstrosity would be? Steven certainly didn't have a clue.
"Anyway… guess the first step is cranking up the temperature, right?"
Steven thought back to how eggs normally hatched in real life and quickly arrived at the most obvious conclusion: heat.
But then he yawned. Who was he kidding? As if this was going to be that simple. Who knew how much heat this thing needed? And even if he nailed the temperature, there was still humidity, airflow, and who knew what other conditions he'd have to figure out one by one.
That sounded way too much like work. He wasn't here to clock in as a poultry farmer. He wanted a pet, not a full-time job!
So after a short pause of "deep consideration," Steven made a decision—a move that every Minecraft player in history would immediately recognize.
Want to hatch a chicken? Easy. You just take the egg and smash it on the ground, right?
That's how baby chicks always pop out!
And if, by chance, this turned out to be one of those times where the egg didn't hatch but instead just splattered into a sticky mess… well, then tough luck. Not his problem. He certainly wasn't going to lose sleep over it.
With that logic firmly in place, he tossed the Collapsal egg into the air and sent it crashing down toward the floor.
And then—
Instead of cracking open, the thing bounced.
Like some absurd meatball with spring-loaded legs, it ricocheted off the floorboards, rebounding high into the air. Again and again, it careened around the cabin, boinging off walls like a rubber superball, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.
Only Steven's quick reflexes saved his house from being wrecked; he snatched it out of the air mid-bounce, finally putting an end to its chaos.
When he looked down, though, he blinked in surprise.
The egg hadn't changed at all. No cracks, no splits—nothing to suggest it had just been bouncing around like the star of some slapstick comedy routine.
"…Y'know, I bet if I cooked this thing up like a juicy meatball, the texture would be amazing."
He absentmindedly kneaded the egg in his hand, squeezing it into different shapes. It was sturdier than he expected—more like one of those stress-relief squeeze balls than any egg he'd ever handled. It looked fragile, like a normal egg, but it could take abuse like a champion.
And as if it understood the horrifying fate he'd just imagined for it, the fleshy orb suddenly shuddered violently.
Then, right there in his palm, it began to writhe and contort, twisting itself into new shapes like putty being molded.
Steven's interest was piqued. He cupped it carefully, letting it squirm and shift in his hands. "Alright then, let's see what kind of so-called 'forbidden pet' you actually turn into."
Fortunately, the transformation didn't take long. In the blink of an eye, the fleshy mass had finished reshaping itself and revealed its new form.
From a pale, fleshy lump… it had become a translucent, green orb.
Its appearance and jellylike consistency immediately reminded Steven of an old, familiar friend. A loyal companion, a faithful grind-partner, and the source of endless slimeballs—
"Slime-kun, is that you?"
But before he could laugh at the resemblance, the orb's body split open to reveal what looked like a jagged mouth. And from that gash came a shrill, eerie cry.
"Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!"
Steven froze, his expression slowly turning into something between blank disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.
"…Great. Of all the things it could've been, I end up hatching a slime that speaks Lovecraft."
The creature chirped again, this time almost like a newborn crying out in joy. Steven arched an eyebrow.
"This thing… might be more trouble than I bargained for."
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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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