Being Picked Up and Adopted by Talula

"……?"

Orson looked at Talula in confusion, not understanding what she meant by that statement.

"The fate of the infected in that village… if I had witnessed it with my own eyes, I don't know what choice I would have made back then."

Talula withdrew her gaze from the window and spoke softly to Orson, her previous anxiety greatly reduced.

Because of Orson's existence, a survivor who seemed to have slaughtered those "commoners," Talula did not focus her attention on the infected who had died unnaturally, thus avoiding the last straw that might have crushed her.

"You are right, Orson. If I forget how to move forward, then I should seek help from others. My original goal was for the ordinary people and the infected of this continent to smile."

Talula shook her head, wanting to cast off all the anxiety and fear she had accumulated, to welcome a brand new tomorrow.

"We'll go back after the snow stops, Orson. Then we'll think about tomorrow together—"

"Careful!!"

Orson had been passively maintaining a small-range, low-frequency monitoring. Although his detection range and frequency were weakened due to his current physical condition, he still sensed the approaching figures outside the window immediately.

Those figures were not passing by; they stopped by the window and took out some kind of bow-string structure.

It was a crossbow—

Orson shouted and got up from the bed, pushing Talula away from the window. Almost simultaneously, the sound of shattering glass and crossbow bolts piercing flesh shattered the tranquility.

"Nn… Urk, cough!"

Orson clutched his abdomen, half of a crossbow bolt embedded in his body.

Before he could say anything, Orson collapsed to the ground, covered in sweat from the intense pain. This was different from the hunger that had gradually drained his life before; it was a more burning, painful experience. It was as if someone was pouring hot oil onto his abdomen, and he couldn't even exhale, only passively drawing air into his body.

"What are you doing—!? We pose no threat to you!"

"You still have the nerve to say that, carrying that sword with you."

The person who seemed to be the village chief looked disdainfully at the chipped and worn greatsword in Talula's hand.

"…I understand. Is this acceptable now?"

Talula threw the longsword to the villagers. The village chief took it and looked at the greatsword, which had once pierced Koschei, with a sly smile.

"Looks like it'll fetch a good price."

"I'm no longer a threat, hurry and stop Orson's bleeding!"

Talula said loudly, but the villagers were unmoved.

"What else do you want?"

Seeing the villagers in front of her with sinister smiles, Talula realized something. These people were not acting in "self-defense."

"You're not nobles, are you? No, even if you were nobles, it's the same. In this desolate place, it's fine if a few nobles die. Anyway, all your stuff belongs to me."

The village chief raised his crossbow and aimed it at Talula.

"——"

Talula's mind went blank at that moment, not out of fear of the current situation, but out of anger.

This village had ample resource reserves, no signs of the Enforcement Team having been there, and had even prepared ways to resist the cold winter.

These people were not desperate. They had a decent life.

But even so…

Greedy, short-sighted, illogical, cold-blooded, killing for the sake of trivial, unknown gains with such flimsy reasons.

They had no idea what kind of retaliation would be incurred by acting against "nobles," nor had they considered the karma they would bear after killing someone.

They had thought of nothing. Even though their lives were not difficult, they would kill strangers who had expressed no hostility for incomprehensible reasons.

Were these the people she wanted to save? Were these the people who pulled the trigger on Orson?

"You, you bunch of—"

Talula trembled as she raised her palm. She had the ability to burn this village to ashes and intended to do so.

Just before the purgatorial karmic fire engulfed the village:

"[Rest Note]"

Orson, lying on the ground, extended his hand with difficulty. The shadow named [Rest Note] turned into a physical entity and directly pierced the village chief's head, completely exploding it from the inside.

"…Huh? What, what splattered on my face…?" "Ah… Ahhhh, Ah!?" "Wuu—Wuuuaaaahhh!? It's Infected, they're Infected!!"

With the village chief's sudden death, the other villagers immediately fled the room in a panic.

"…Orson!"

With no target left to burn, Talula could only retract her hand and turn to look at Orson, who lay on the ground, his breathing growing weaker.

"You can't kill them—didn't you say that yourself… this continent is worth saving, but… some people aren't worth it… Leave these people to me… Talula, you, maintain your…"

"Stop talking!"

Talula tore open Orson's clothes, trying to treat his wound using methods she had learned from FrostNova and other Reunion infected.

"I'll use burning to stop the bleeding, then we have to go back… go back now…! Hold on, Orson, hold on!"

Ultimately, Talula was just a young girl. She couldn't carry Orson in a way that avoided aggravating his injuries, so she could only drag him away from the village, half-carrying, half-leaning on him.

Orson knew clearly that if things continued like this, he wouldn't make it back to the settlement alive. He would suffocate and die from unconsciousness halfway there.

Orson was more panicked about this fact than he'd expected, not because of the fact that he was "about to die," but because of what might happen after he died.

Alina hadn't woken up yet. If he left now too, who would accompany this girl, who was walking on the edge of a cliff, to keep going?

Live… I have to live. I need to think of a way.

This time, I won't wait for Talula to save me. I'll live by my own strength—because Talula is the one who needs saving.

I absolutely cannot lose consciousness. If I pass out, it's all over.

Just as he was about to completely lose consciousness, Orson finally thought of a way. He desperately used his last bit of strength to manifest the white musical score—the score of his soul.

Orson reached out his hand towards the white musical score, then forcefully clenched his palm around it.

"—!!??"

An incomprehensible and indescribable pain exploded from within his body. However, this tearing sensation from his soul actually allowed Orson to temporarily regain the consciousness he had almost lost.

—I can't die.

Orson desperately held onto his soul with a strength that could crush his teeth.

—I can't die here.

Every second felt like a minute. The endless pain and torment at the soul level made Orson want to let go of his soul's score at all times.

—If I die here, everything will turn to nothing…!

Orson tightly gripped his soul, like a climber clinging to the edge of a cliff. Even if his palm was completely torn, he couldn't let his consciousness fall into the endless abyss.

—I want to change those damn tragedies. I want to see her receive the reward she deserves. I want to gather around a bonfire and watch the stars with everyone again…

—So, even if I have to use my will to die, I cannot die here…!

Orson didn't let go, and Talula didn't let go either.

There were no gods in this world, nor miracles. Orson had known this for a long time.

If that was the case, he would rely on himself.

Until the very end, Orson still didn't release the hand that was tightly gripping the score of his soul.

17. Snowfield and Dandelion Field

In a purely white hospital room, Orson stood quietly beside a hospital bed filled with medical equipment.

Orson hated white. The boundless pure white, the pervasive white, the white like a winter covered in snow—these only made Orson feel angry.

Orson looked at the girl lying on the bed. Although he still couldn't see her face clearly, Orson didn't care about this detail.

He tightly held the girl's slender palm, hoping to transfer his body heat to her this way. But Orson dared not use too much force, fearing he might hurt the back of her hand, which was covered in blue needle marks.

"Don't give up. You can get through this. I spoke with the doctor, and the next results will definitely be better."

Orson said softly to the girl, who managed to force a pale smile at him with all her might.

"Probably. Listen to me, Little Sen."

The girl gently turned her head and brought her lips close to Orson's ear.

"Little Sen, you are very kind. Although you never think so yourself, I know you can't just stand by and watch the tragedies happening around you without doing anything. Because of me, you've suffered a lot, haven't you?"

The girl smiled at Orson. Just as Orson was about to retort, the girl stopped him with a shake of her head.

"Back then, I wanted to become a violinist, so you desperately asked around if anyone had a spare violin. You even secretly brought me sheet music from the music room yourself—you're such an idiot."

The girl chuckled softly, but it quickly turned into a cough.

"Thank you, Little Sen. If possible, I hope… consider all the suffering I've endured in this life as an exchange, so that you, Little Sen, can meet someone worthy of your kindness in the future, someone who can truly stay by your side."

"Wait a minute—"

The girl's heart stopped beating. Whether it was fortunate or not, at least she still had a smile on her face.

Orson opened the window. Outside was an endless field of dandelions. He just stared at the flower field, lost in thought.

I'll just stay here. Even if I leave, I have nowhere to go.

No… do I really not?

As Orson pondered in confusion, a knock came from the hospital room door.

Orson mechanically walked to the door, unlocked it, and then stared blankly at the visitor before him.

"..."

Dragon horns, silver-white hair, a crisp military uniform, a determined yet gentle expression.

"Orson, we still have to move forward, right?"

Talula stood at the door, extending her hand to invite Orson.

"I..."

Orson hesitated and looked back, only to find that behind him was no longer a hospital room, but a dandelion garden stretching to the horizon.

The girl stood amidst the swirling fluff, smiling at Orson.

Orson turned back again. Before him was a dim, overcast sky completely covered in ice and snow. Cold snowflakes swept violently from the sky, and the frigid air tore at his skin and face like sharp blades.

Orson stood at the boundary between high summer and deep winter, silent.

Before him lay endless darkness and cold, a place filled with the white he detested.

Behind him lay a warm, vibrant field of flowers, where under a clear sky, all worries could be forgotten.

The choice was already obvious.

"...I'm sorry, Little Pu. I really can't rest easy with her walking alone in that kind of environment."

Orson turned back to the girl surrounded by dandelions. This time, her face was finally clearly visible: azure eyes, short golden hair, and a smile as warm as the sun.

"Good luck, Little Sen."

The girl smiled and waved goodbye to Orson, then disappeared from the dandelion garden.

"Yes, I will."

Orson shifted his gaze back to the frozen land and extended his hand to Talula.

"Sorry to keep you waiting—"

He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Talula's horns.

Orson blinked hard, his vision gradually clearing from blurry to sharp. It was then he noticed he was lying on a bed, and the "Reunion Tyrant" before him was sitting beside him, tightly holding his hand.

He was still alive.

"Morning, Tal—ua!"

Before Orson could even greet the Talula in front of him, she lunged and threw herself into his arms.