Chapter 231: Will It Kill You to Talk?
Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1iuyfwNVFHzIi9H4rWNT_lAm7jTSiah_M
Chapter 231: Will It Kill You to Talk?
Centaurea lowered her head to inspect the wound on her leg. A wave of pain radiated from it—but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If she could still feel pain, it meant the leg wasn’t completely ruined.
Still, the injury looked… bad.
Blood seeped through the torn white stockings, dripping steadily onto the dusty ground below. A jagged, angry-looking gash marked her pale skin—grotesque and raw.
“Uh… need help bandaging that?” Steven asked casually.
He’d clearly noticed it too. ‘What a waste of a fine leg,’ he mused inwardly. ‘That kind of leg would be great for pedaling a rickshaw—what a shame to see it go to waste.’
Centaurea blinked at him, confused for a moment. Then, slowly, she gave a small nod.
It was… strange. He’d just called himself a burglar, right? A self-proclaimed home invader. So what was he doing offering to dress her wounds like some field medic? It was absurd.
But then again, she didn’t have much of a choice. A growing sense of weakness was spreading up from her legs—a clear sign of blood loss.
Steven, taking her silence as consent, crouched down beside her without hesitation. In a move so smooth it seemed second nature, he tore open her blood-soaked stocking with practiced ease, revealing the ugly mess underneath.
Then, with a calmness that didn’t match his supposed criminal status, he pulled a bottle of clean water from his bag and gently rinsed the wound.
Centaurea’s breath caught for a moment. The sensation was cold, but not painful.
Next came a diluted healing potion—just a few drops, applied with care. Finally, he took out a piece of leather and used it to firmly, yet gently, bind the wound.
His movements were swift, efficient, and oddly gentle.
It was clear he'd done this kind of thing before.
In fact, if Steven hadn’t been deliberately holding back, he could’ve just healed the injury in seconds with a few drops of undiluted potion. But that would’ve raised more questions than answers, so he decided to keep things low-key.
Centaurea watched the whole process in silence.
She couldn’t figure him out.
He’d moved so naturally, so fluidly—as if bandaging wounds was just another everyday task.
More than anything, she was baffled.
“…Um, Mister Burglar,” she asked, still looking dazed, “why do you have all this stuff on you anyway? I mean, for a guy who’s supposedly just robbing places, you’re carrying a lot of weird supplies…”
Steven chuckled. “Ah, you just don’t get it. If you bring a bit of everything, you never have to worry about not being prepared. See? I didn’t expect to use it today, but here we are.”
He tied the knot in the bandage with a final tug and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It won’t leave a scar.”
Total lie, of course. But he wasn’t about to tell her that he walked around with a literal inventory system’s worth of gear, potions, and tools like some over-leveled RPG protagonist.
“…”
“…Thanks,” she said softly.
No sarcasm. No suspicion.
Just a quiet, genuine thank-you.
And in that moment, inside the cramped, debris-filled pocket of safety, Centaurea finally allowed herself to trust this strange, ridiculous, but oddly kind burglar. Even if just a little.
Centaurea lowered her gaze, quietly observing the wound Steven had just finished dressing. A neat bandage now covered the injury—tied off with a small, delicate butterfly knot, of all things. Somehow, it warmed her heart more than she expected.
‘How long has it been since someone cared for me so unconditionally?’ she wondered.
Ever since she had left the shelter of her family, that kind of warmth—the quiet kind—had all but vanished from her life. No one had ever shown her kindness without some form of expectation or order.
But reality, as always, came knocking quickly.
Steven wasted no time in reminding her that in this world, there was no such thing as free kindness.
“Don’t thank me,” he said nonchalantly. “I only patched you up because if you died here, I wouldn’t be able to get the information I want.”
He smiled, almost too pleasantly, as he pulled the sidearm from his belt—the one that had seemed like just a prop until now—and casually pressed the barrel against her forehead.
The warmth that had just bloomed in her chest turned ice cold in an instant.
“You said earlier that you’d deal with me after the spokesperson was taken care of,” Steven continued, eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, I’ve got time now. So why don’t we have that little chat right here?”
His finger moved to the trigger.
Centaurea's smile froze on her lips.
Of course she recognized the weapon.
Even among the upper echelons of Kazimierz, very few held such a rare and deadly short-barreled firearm.
These things were prohibitively expensive—even the mass-produced models that the Grand Knight Territories allowed for non-Leithanians were astronomically priced.
So how the hell did someone like him have one?
‘Was he really just a thief? Or was he… someone else?’
Her mind kicked into high gear. Normally she just followed orders, rarely needing to analyze her surroundings. But this man—Steven—was throwing all her assumptions into chaos.
Only a select few would dare oppose the Armorless Union, an organization that is backed by the K.G.C.C. And if she followed that logic… there was only one real possibility.
The Adeptus Sprawiedliwi? Could he be… a campaign knight?
But what rank? Judging by the way he walked through that earlier explosion like it was a summer breeze, it was clear that he was no ordinary foot soldier.
“I don’t think there’s much to talk about,” she replied with a bitter smile, slowly shaking her head. “I was just following orders. Whatever was supposed to happen to you… that wasn’t up to me.”
With a soft sigh, Centaurea removed the damaged earpiece from behind her ear—a casualty of the earlier blast—and held it out for him to see.
Had that not been broken, she wouldn’t have been stuck here, helpless.
Steven glanced at the ruined earpiece in her hand. His smile curled slightly.
“Yeah… figured as much,” he said. “You had that ‘just doing my job’ look earlier. That’s why I believed you weren’t personally out to kill me. Otherwise—well, you’d probably be a corpse right now.”
He gave her a look—calm but clear.
The headset was no ordinary device. Steven could tell that much. The Armorless Union was clearly ahead of the curve when it came to tech. Even he had to admit, not just any organization could afford something like that.
“So let’s break down the situation here,” Steven said, settling down on a relatively clean rock. He placed the flashlight beside him, illuminating the small, wreckage-filled space. “I saved your life. Technically, I can still take it back at any time.”
He gave her a casual smile, as if discussing the weather.
“So in return, I’d like you to cooperate. Tell me a bit about the organization you work for—the Armorless Union, or whatever it’s called. Sound fair?”
He tilted his head. “Let’s just pretend I’m robbing you of information. Special circumstances. You understand, right?”
Centaurea met his gaze, her expression calm but wary.
“…And what if I say I can’t tell you?”
A deeper bitterness clouded Centaurea’s expression.
Even though Steven had long since lowered the gun, she knew well enough that didn't mean he needed it to be dangerous. His confidence was absolute, and not the kind that came from bluffing. Whatever strength he had, he clearly didn’t see her as a threat.
But even with all that... she still couldn’t say it.
She couldn’t talk about the Armorless Union.
That organization wasn’t just strict about information—it was obsessive, pathological. They were assassins. Secrets were their currency, and the price for breaking that rule was always paid in blood.
So what if she was the new Platinum?
The last person who held the Platinum title had been slaughtered right before her eyes—pinned to the wall like a hunting trophy. His corpse had been left dangling as a warning.
If anyone ever found out that she’d leaked even a scrap of intel... she'd be the next one nailed to the wall by one of those spear-like arrows.
“...Is it that you won’t talk?” Steven asked with mild amusement. “Or that you can’t?”
He studied her curiously.
She looked so young. Maybe seventeen or eighteen—barely out of high school, at best. A college-age girl with the world ahead of her, and yet here she was, already caught up in the brutal world of killing and espionage.
What a waste.
Worse still, it was obvious—she didn’t even like this life. There wasn’t a shred of pride or satisfaction in her eyes. Only exhaustion and... fear.
“I can’t,” she finally admitted, her voice low. “If I do, I’ll die. So... if I don’t talk… will I still die anyway?”
She forced a bitter laugh, but it came out more like a whimper.
Tears threatened the corners of her eyes. The look on her face was one of complete resignation—the kind that comes when someone has run out of choices. She looked like she was about to break down at any moment.
‘I don’t want to die,’ she thought. ‘Not yet. There’s still so much I haven’t experienced. I’ve never even had a real romance... Am I supposed to die with nothing but regrets?’
Steven sighed.
“Relax. I’m not the kind of guy who kills people over that stuff,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “If you really can’t talk, then fine. We’ll drop it. I’m not unreasonable.”
He leaned back, resting one arm on his knee, then grinned.
“You could always pay me instead. Cash, valuables, even just some other useful intel like that guy earlier gave me. As long as I’m not leaving empty-handed, we’re square.”
He wasn’t interested in being the villain who made girls cry. That wasn’t his style.
Sure, he was curious about the Armorless Union—but not enough to destroy someone’s life over it. He didn’t have any personal grudge against Centaurea, after all. There was no need to go that far.
“...Huh?”
Centaurea blinked, stunned.
She had already steeled herself for the worst. She’d prepared to be interrogated, maybe tortured... But instead, he’d just let it go?
Every word he said completely flipped her expectations.
He was… nice? Or maybe just eccentric. Either way, he wasn’t what she’d expected. Not even close.
Steven scratched the back of his head, looking annoyed.
“Don’t tell me you don’t even have anything on you? Geez. Looks like I might have to take advantage of you a little, after all. I can’t just walk away with nothing, right?”
He gave a sheepish smile, but it was clear he was only half-joking.
Despite herself, Centaurea let out a tiny laugh.
“I was just thinking... why are you even doing this?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. “With your ability, you could get anything you wanted. Money, information—it would be easy for you. So why go through all this trouble?”
Steven rubbed his chin, expression unusually thoughtful.
“Hm… probably because it’s more fun this way?”
That was his serious answer.
In short: Because I want to. That’s all.
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