When Big Bob and his group arrived at the entrance of the cavern said to hold the knights' treasure, the sight that greeted them was unexpected.
The ground was littered with fallen bounty hunters, groaning or unconscious. And standing at the entrance, battered and bloodied yet still holding her ground, was Grani.
"Big Bob… you're here…"
The moment Grani saw him emerge together with the members of Reunion, a chill ran through her heart.
Something was terribly wrong.
Big Bob didn't look like a hostage. On the contrary, the Reunion members seemed to be faintly treating him as their leader.
"…You're one of Reunion? I thought you people usually operated in Ursus."
"…Of course. We're here for the treasure."
Big Bob did not deny his ties to Reunion.
---
"Big Bob, are you truly leaving Reunion?"
"Yes."
Inside a tent at Reunion's encampment, Big Bob stood facing Talulah, who was in the midst of drafting plans for the movement's future.
He had made up his mind. He would tell the leader directly: he intended to leave Reunion.
After all, Talulah had taken care of him and his companions during their time here. To disappear without a word felt dishonorable—something his conscience would not allow.
He had even neatly folded the Reunion uniforms belonging to himself and his comrades, ready to hand them back.
"Forgive my bluntness, but… is there something about Reunion that disgusts you? Tell me, and perhaps I can change it."
"…No. The atmosphere within Reunion is fine. The problem isn't with Reunion—it's with me and my companions."
Big Bob's tone was firm, his face set with solemn resolve.
"To put it frankly… Reunion is walking a path that can only lead to destruction."
Talulah fell silent at his words.
The air inside the tent grew heavy, the silence pressing down.
Big Bob knew how insulting his statement must sound to this idealist leader. He braced himself, every muscle tense, ready to flee at the first sign of hostility.
But instead, Talulah's lips curved into a bitter smile.
"You sound just like my foster father."
"…Your foster father? You mean, Duke Kashchey?"
"Yes. He once told me the same thing—that both I and my ideals were laughable."
Talulah's voice grew quieter as she continued.
"He told me that if Oripathy can never be cured, then it is foolish to dream of a world where the Infected and the uninfected live in harmony."
Big Bob listened in silence.
The Duke's territory was known to be the most tolerant toward the Infected within all of Ursus.
Big Bob had considered seeking refuge there once. But entry into the Duke's domain required a grueling process—evaluations of connections, psychological stability, assessments of one's value to society.
And even if one passed, life there meant being constantly monitored.
Big Bob longed to live under the sun, but not under the feeling of being watched at every moment.
So he had chosen Columbia instead—a freer land, where tolerance toward the Infected was higher, and the shadow of surveillance less suffocating.
"…Do you still remember what I once said, when I recruited new members into Reunion?"
"Of course," Big Bob answered in a low, heavy voice.
"As long as you wear the mask, anyone can be part of Reunion."
"Yes."
Talulah's eyes gleamed with fervor as her voice rose with conviction.
"I do not believe that every uninfected person will persecute us. Among them, there must be those who will fight to change the plight of the Infected! And I do not believe that every Infected must sacrifice their lives for my ideals by default.
We must unite with all who can be united, reduce the number of our enemies, and increase the number of our allies."
Her gaze bore into Big Bob's helmet, unwavering.
She could not see what expression Bob wore beneath his helmet, but Talulah knew she had to speak her true thoughts.
Unbidden, her mind drifted back to the day she had confessed her ideals to her foster father—and the scorn she had received in return.
"Talulah, it seems I can teach you knowledge, but not wisdom."
Sitting high upon his ducal throne, Kashchey looked down on her with cold contempt.
He could not comprehend why Talulah would throw away a life of luxury in the Duke's household for a dream he deemed utterly unrealistic. If she would only obey, he would not even mind letting her inherit his title for a time—at least enough to spare him from the tedious affairs of governance while he rested.
But she had refused. Worse, she had gone so far as to deliberately infect herself in pursuit of her ideals.
That act made Kashchey furious.
He had long since given up the idea of seizing Talulah's body for himself; after raising her for so many years, he had developed some faint attachment. Yet she had chosen to become an Infected of her own will.
Did this foolish daughter not understand the trouble she had invited?
Would not the pro-Draco nobles of Victoria see this as an insult? Would the imperial court of Yan, which placed great importance on bloodline purity, tolerate it?
And within Ursus itself, the many powerful factions hostile to the Infected—how would they react when they learned Kashchey's designated heir was one of the very people they despised?
They would fear that Kashchey, already accused of being too "lenient" toward the Infected, might one day go so far as to let one of them inherit his title.
Even the Duke of Kashchey could not escape the backlash such a revelation would bring.
"Talulah, if you truly wish to help the Infected, why not begin with my domain?"
Kashchey's voice carried both irritation and incomprehension.
"…I'm sorry."
That was all Talulah said as she lifted her head, her stubborn gaze meeting her foster father's cold eyes.
Through their years together, she had come to see just how chillingly rational Kashchey could be, how utterly devoid of warmth he was. And that terrified her.
It was true that within Kashchey's territory, Infected could live with dignity.
None dared persecute them under the watchful eye of the Committee of Welfare and Security, where Infected inspectors also held authority. Some non-Infected had even begun to accept their presence, influenced by Kashchey's propaganda.
But when Talulah asked her foster father why, with such power, he did not seek to improve the condition of all Infected across Ursus, the answer she received made her blood run cold.
"Why, to make my Infected more devout, of course."
Kashchey spoke as though explaining something utterly self-evident.
"Terran desire is without end, Talulah.
When they are hungry, those who provide food are adored.
When they are suffering, those who give safety are cherished.
But once their basic needs are met, they will crave finer food, greater comforts… even the power to dominate others."
"The better the lot of the Infected as a whole, the less they will value my 'gifts.'
I have no wish to waste my strength appeasing their ever-growing desires just to win their loyalty."
"But if their lives remain harsh, then by meeting the simplest needs—needs ordinary people take for granted—I will earn a following of devoted, powerful Infected."
"Of course, one must also take care not to neglect the feelings of the non-Infected. Balance must be maintained…"
Kashchey droned on, speaking with zeal as he lectured Talulah on the art of maintaining control.
But she no longer heard a word.
In that moment, she had come to recognize Kashchey's true nature. And she finally understood—she and her foster father were never truly walking the same path.
It was precisely because she had seen the difference between the Infected under Kashchey's rule and those outside that she had first resolved to fight for change. Yet now, she realized Kashchey's motives were utterly self-serving.
Even so, Talulah's determination did not waver.
She knew she could never change Kashchey, an immortal bound by cold calculation.
But she could still choose her own way.
And she would fight for her dream—her way.