Chapter 346: Even Being Bad with Directions Has Its Limits
"Uh…"
Steven stared at the girl who had just blurted out that adorably clueless line, completely unfazed.
For a moment, he had no idea how to even respond.
He'd left Ursus more than a month ago, hadn't he? And yet she still hadn't managed to find her way out?
What's more, this spot wasn't even a few kilometers from the place where he'd first boarded Rhodes Island's ship.
That wasn't just "bad with directions." That was straight-up Zoro.
Honestly, calling her a "wanderer" was generous. More likely, she was just a full-blown directionless drifter, going wherever her feet took her.
He raised an eyebrow.
Somehow… it really did seem like the kind of thing this girl would do.
"It's fine," Surtr said breezily, as if her hopeless sense of direction wasn't worth a second thought. "Are you done with what you're doing? Want to come over to my place? I just picked a bunch of wild fruits—I might be able to make some special new ice cream flavors."
She licked her lips slightly as she extended the friendly invitation.
Of course, Steven wasn't fooled. She could talk about "new flavors" all she liked, but he knew perfectly well that what she really wanted was another chance to mooch off his stash of frozen treats—the ones far superior to anything she could whip up with her fruit and honeyed popsicles.
"I still have a few things to deal with first. Why don't you tell me roughly where your camp is? Once I'm done, I'll drop by."
Steven scratched his head.
It wasn't that he was stingy enough to balk at sharing ice cream—it was just that there were still two Collapsals waiting for him. He couldn't exactly ditch that to sit around chatting.
"I'm camped near that nomadic city over there," Surtr said, pointing. "But you could also just send me your coordinates. I can come find you later."
Her mood brightened immediately at the mention of ice cream.
Clearly, she wasn't about to let the opportunity slip by.
Steven twitched the corner of his mouth. "…Better not. Why don't you stay put at your camp and wait for me? Otherwise, odds are I'll never find you again."
Given her catastrophic sense of direction, there was no way he trusted her to make it on her own. It would only mean him trudging across the snowfields later to search for her. Far easier to make her stay put.
Still, he cast a glance toward the nomadic city she'd pointed at.
The thought of heading inside stirred in him.
Last time, he'd left too quickly to explore a nomadic city properly. This time, maybe he could take a look around… and perhaps pick up a few local specialties to bring back for his "daughter."
After making his arrangements with this unexpectedly re-encountered acquaintance, Steven disappeared once more into the snowfields, heading toward where the two Collapsals still prowled.
Surtr, meanwhile, lowered her gaze to the massive crater left from the earlier battle, her expression thoughtful.
If she herself had been the one facing that thing… could she have won?
"…Maybe I should spar with him later and find out?"
She pinched her smooth chin between her fingers, mulling it over.
Nothing proved a point better than practical experience, after all.
As for Steven, he had no idea that the girl had already set her mind on challenging him.
But even if he did, he'd probably have welcomed the chance—after all, what could be more fun than a good fight?
For now, though, there were more pressing matters to deal with.
Without hesitation, he headed toward Patriot's battlefield.
Compared to the Emperor's Blade, helping the guerrilla leader—someone he had a closer bond with—was clearly the higher priority.
Before Steven even caught sight of the battlefield itself, his eyes first landed on the black-armored Shieldguards standing in formation at the perimeter, sealing off the area.
It was clear that Patriot had no intention of letting his men take part in the fight against such a dangerous monster. Instead, he'd ordered them to hold position in safety.
A sensible decision. After all, if the creature truly grew stronger with recognition, then throwing more bodies at it would only serve to buff it like some twisted team support.
The moment Steven noticed the Shieldguards, they noticed him as well. The tense atmosphere quickly softened once they recognized who he was.
To the Shieldguards, Patriot's personal men, Steven was not a stranger. To Yelena, he was someone worth worrying about—and that made him someone they were familiar with too. On top of that, he was Yelena's savior and the one supplying the guerrilla fighters with vital resources. The more they knew about him, the more they liked him.
"What are you doing here? Captain is fighting a dangerous monster inside. You shouldn't go any further."
They stepped in front of him with disciplined precision, dutifully carrying out Patriot's orders. Former soldiers to the core—their instinct was absolute obedience.
"That's exactly why I have to go in. Don't worry. For me, this isn't all that dangerous."
Steven flashed them a reassuring smile.
If it had been anyone else trying to stop him, he wouldn't have even bothered with words and just dashed in. But these men's intentions were pure, and he respected that enough to explain himself.
"No. Captain's orders were strict. No one goes in, and nothing comes out. We don't have the authority to let you pass."
The squad leader shook his head firmly.
To him, the slim, ordinary-looking boy standing before him hardly looked capable of helping Patriot. If anything, he feared the boy might interfere and end up hindering the Captain instead.
Steven sighed. "Well, can't be helped then. But honestly—there's no way you're stopping me."
He shrugged, and in the instant his words fell, his figure vanished.
When the Shieldguards blinked, Steven was already behind them.
The speed was so incomprehensible it might as well have been teleportation.
By the time they turned to look, he was gone, slipping deeper into the battlefield.
They didn't try to stop him again. Just that one display of speed was enough to convince them—maybe this boy really could help the Captain after all.
Under their watchful eyes, Steven pressed on until he reached the battle itself.
Even before he could take in the sight, the sound hit him—an ear-splitting crash that seemed to shake the air itself.
And then he saw him.
Patriot.
His already massive frame had swelled further, empowered by some unknown Originium Art. Black-red energy seethed around him, coiling and lashing out like living flame. Every strand of that power devoured the miasma rising from the ground, stripping away the black pollution that didn't belong to him.
The Collapsal that the massive Patriot is fighting hardly looked to be in good shape.
Most of its writhing tentacles had been severed, several gaping holes pierced through its body by the guerrilla leader's spear. From those wounds, foul-smelling fluid gushed out, spreading a stench so thick it seemed to rot the very air.
To the untrained eye, it might have seemed as though Patriot held the upper hand. But Steven knew better.
That broken, battered body was a façade. He'd already seen firsthand how monstrously fast these things could regenerate. If anything, this was just bait—to lull Patriot into lowering his guard.
Its true weapon wasn't its tentacles at all, but the noxious fluid spilling from its wounds. Slowly, silently, it spread across the battlefield, warping everything it touched. And Patriot, standing within it, was no exception.
To his credit, the Originium Arts flowing around Patriot seemed to suppress the pollution somewhat. But suppression came at a cost. If he couldn't find a way to truly kill the beast, it was only a matter of time before the miasma consumed him.
Of course, that assumed Patriot had no trump cards.
But this was the man who led the guerrillas. The man he himself acknowledged as the strongest human he'd ever seen. There was no way he'd go down so easily.
And sure enough, Patriot soon revealed his true strength—and his terrifying wealth of battlefield experience.
What Steven could see at a glance, Patriot understood instinctively. The Collapsal's "weakness" was nothing but a soldier's trick, meaningless against someone who had walked through oceans of fire and rivers of blood. He had already discerned the nature of the miasma as well.
The pollution didn't just empower the creature—it was reshaping the battlefield into an environment where the monster thrived. Which meant there was only one path to victory: brute force.
If regeneration was the problem, then overwhelm it. Outpace it. Make every strike so devastating that its healing couldn't possibly keep up.
That was exactly the same logic Steven himself had used: Regeneration isn't invincibility. If you heal 100 points at a time, then all I need is to hit harder than 100 points. That's all it takes.
Forget mechanics. Forget counters. Just hit until it breaks.
And as Patriot stopped holding back, his crimson eyes blazed brighter, twin sparks of blood-red light. His massive spear thrummed with a destructive aura so immense it seemed to devour the world itself. At that moment, he looked less like a man and more like a demonic god of war descending upon the battlefield.
"Yes… that's it. That's what I wanted to see. Truly, as expected of Patriot."
Standing at the edge of the fight, Steven made no move to intervene. He merely watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
For a warrior like this, to step in would not be aid—it would be insult.
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
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