The Matter of Being Picked Up and Adopted by Talula

The infected person at the front opened their mouth, their tone hesitant, but they quickly made up their mind.

"We plan to leave here."

"——"

After a brief silence, Talula nodded.

"I can understand."

"Talula, it's not that we don't trust you, we just... we've just lost faith in the future."

The infected person spoke with a pained frown.

"You once said that we would set foot on southern lands, that the cold of this ice field would eventually melt away. But... we're still treading water, and the snow and ice remain just as cold, unchanged."

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to fulfill the promises I made back then. It's good that you can voice your thoughts. As infected, don't forget that we also have the right to speak."

Although the actions of these infected individuals severely impacted morale, Talula wasn't angry. She simply smiled and expressed understanding.

"Talula, we..."

"When are you planning to leave?"

"Right now— we won't be taking too many supplies, so please don't worry."

"Take some seeds with you. May you find a warm land full of wheat."

Faced with Talula's response, the infected individuals felt a mix of emotions, but they ultimately resolved to leave the settlement. The once lively settlement was instantly marked by a palpable void.

After the meeting, Talula still hadn't left. She sat motionless in the snow.

"The bonfire's out, Sister Talula."

Orson pointed to the pile of white ash that had replaced the fire between them.

"It's fine, I'm not cold."

"The problem is, I'm a bit cold..."

Orson shivered, his tone full of complaint.

It was well past dusk, and the camp was enveloped in darkness. The only light came from the stars in the sky.

"...You really are..."

Talula gave a wry smile, then stood up and looked at the boy beside her who had been silently accompanying her since just now.

"Stay with me for a while tonight."

11. Not a Fighter, Nor a Tyrant

Don't panic, this is just a technical adjustment.jpg. Being invited into her tent by the future tyrant of Reunion at night must have a reasonable explanation, even if it seems illogical!

Talula's abrupt invitation made Orson's brain work at full capacity.

The only answer he came up with was:

"Am I finally going to be killed...?"

"?"

Talula felt that Orson's mind had a tendency to act up intermittently.

Upon entering Talula's tent, Orson, who had been trembling and walking on thin ice, prepared to "instantly gouge out his eyes if he saw the beautiful girl's intimate apparel, begging her to spare his life," found that Talula's tent was much simpler than he had imagined.

"There's no tiger head, nor bear rug."

Orson surveyed Talula's tent. Aside from a weapon rack, it was virtually indistinguishable from anyone else's.

"Even if I had those things, I wouldn't put them in the room. For one, it's too tacky. And for another— we are all people of the same status, there's no need to distinguish ourselves with external objects. Surviving in this ice field is already difficult enough, and the infected need to stick together."

If it were the old Orson, he would have likely dismissed Talula's words as a "useless righteous speech."

But through his time living in the settlement and interacting with Talula, he knew very well that Talula was qualified to say such things.

The title "Fighter Talula"— the meaning it contained wasn't just about her always being at the forefront of every battle.

This young Sankta truly cared about the infected on this frozen land, and she treated everyone with genuine equality.

Orson didn't understand why Talula chose to walk this path. Through his brief experience as a villager, he had already deeply understood the cruelty and brutality of the continent of Ursus towards the infected.

But Orson knew that her actions, the goals she strived for, were something that others could not criticize or mock.

"I know, Orson, you're probably curious, harboring doubts like, 'Why does this person who looks like a noble always talk about doing things for the infected?'"

Talula removed the greatsword she always carried at her waist and hung it on the weapon rack beside her. She sat on the campaign bed nearby, her eyes quietly fixed on Orson.

"Hmm... not really? It's pretty normal for nobles to push for revolution, isn't it? I remember most revolutionary movements were spearheaded by people with good family backgrounds and social standing. After all, the more you see, the more directly you can understand the differences between people, and the desire to change the world arises. At the same time, you have the resources and wisdom to start."

Orson responded to Talula with the extent of his middle and high school knowledge, but Talula was still taken aback by his reply.

"This is the first time I've heard this theory, but what you're saying, Orson, seems quite reasonable. 'Because of the differences in what one sees, the scope of understanding is also different'... In other words, if we could make the infected realize the world beyond their own, perhaps it would make them more proactive in resisting this tyranny?"

Talula seemed to be pondering something, then smiled at Orson.

"That's an interesting point, Orson. You've provided a new perspective."

"Yeah... it's nothing."

Looking at Talula, who, despite her exhaustion, still treated him with gentleness and peace, Orson felt something more deeply.

The Talula before him at this moment was entirely different from the scheming tyrant in that game.

This Talula, who pulled him out of hell, possessed noble ideals, exceptional drive, shrewd decision-making, and grand ambitions—

But these were not Orson's main focus.

The Talula who would wait by Ino's side until he fell asleep, The Talula who would occasionally appear in the kitchen, silently studying recipes and knife skills, only to be dragged away for wasting food, The Talula who, unable to find a place to dry her uniform, would blush and wear a black lace dress, acting fierce all day—

Beyond the countless halos and beliefs surrounding her, Orson saw Talula's most ordinary, even clumsy, side.

It was these moments that made her, like a girl from next door, a "tangible, living presence" to Orson.

She also had things she wasn't good at, but at the same time, she would clumsily try to prove herself.

Orson noticed the sewing kit on the table, and next to it, a lopsided creation that could have been a scarf, a mask, or even a bellyband.

This was proof of this girl's existence, not as a "fighter," not as a "tyrant," but simply as "Talula."

"..."

"..."

The emotional outpouring and reflections were over, but why hadn't Talula spoken yet?

Orson, who had imagined many scenarios, realized the problem: their conversation hadn't progressed at all since their last exchange. The tent was silent.

Orson looked at Talula, intending to ask if her prolonged silence was a prelude to a grand, righteous speech. However, when he saw her, he realized that the invincible Talula was also avoiding his gaze, her expression subtly awkward.

Moreover, as someone who had been closely with Talula for nearly a month, Orson's [Sankta Biology] had reached +80 during this time, making it easy for him to notice the faint redness at the base of Talula's horns.

Many must be curious why Sankta horns turn red. This editor is also eager to know. In fact, when the base of a Sankta's horns turns red, it signifies extreme shyness. If you don't escape quickly at this point, major trouble will ensue.

—So, you just casually dragged me here, but you actually had no idea what to do after bringing me over!?

Orson was self-aware enough to know he wasn't called over to "comfort Talula." It should have been a life consultation about his own future, the future of the resistance, and so on.

But in reality, Talula hadn't intended to discuss career planning with Orson at all. Rather, she had, uncharacteristically, pulled Orson over without thinking things through.

"In that case, I'll be heading back now, Talula?"

Lingering here awkwardly would only lead to further embarrassment. Orson might as well make a quick escape before he was "half-baked."

But just as Orson turned to leave the tent, Talula finally spoke:

"Orson... wait."

Talula called out to Orson, but still couldn't find any topic for small talk.

Orson turned back to look at Talula, and in the fleeting loneliness and confusion he saw in her eyes, he understood why it had to be him.

12. A Moment of Quiet by the Bed

Seeing Talula's momentary display of loneliness, Orson decided to shamelessly stay.

Because this was something "only he" could do.

He was no different from other Infected. The sense of superiority as a "transmigrator" had long been worn away during his half-year in Ursus.

If that was the case, why had Talula invited him? Why was he the one standing before her?

—Because I am an "outsider."

The Infected gathered here, including FrostNova, had all been personally invited by Talula to join the team.

They saw in Talula the will to resist, a warm flame, and that was why they followed Talula, followed the goal she was building.

But he was different. He hadn't been "invited" by Talula, nor had Talula ever proactively shared her grand vision with Orson.

He was just an "outsider" whom Talula had found and brought back to "raise," unrelated to the future of the Infected or the aspiration to find a new home in the south.

The only reason he was in this village was simply "because Talula found him and didn't kill him." That was all. Because of this, Talula didn't need to maintain the image of a "fighter" in front of him; she could briefly shed the burdens she carried, the ones imposed on her by others.

Orson didn't know what he could do with this identity, but he had to act, just like Talula, he had to act.

"Um... right! Talula, do you have paper and a pen?"

After a brief moment of thought, Orson had an idea.

"On that table... ugh!"

Talula pointed to the table beside her, only to notice the unfinished, strange item she had been knitting earlier. The base of her horns flushed red again.

"Let me borrow them."

Fortunately, Orson, with his strong survival instinct, pretended not to see the creation on the table. He took out paper and a pen from the drawer and began scribbling.

"Are you making a map?"

Talula watched with interest as Orson drew something resembling a grid on the paper.

"Something like that."

After finishing the grid, Orson took out a folding knife and cut out over a dozen circles, then wrote something on them with the pen.

"..."

Talula watched silently. Before long, a game of Chess appeared on the table in front of Orson, though it was just a super simple version drawn with pen and paper.

"All done. It looks rudimentary, but the gameplay is fine, and I think it should suit you well. This is... uh, a board game from Yan called Chess. Talula, have you ever played chess before?"

"I think I've heard of it, but I've never played. It looks quite interesting."

Talula sat down on the other side of the table and began to study the small war sandbox in front of her.

The tent flickered with the faint light of an oil lamp. Although it swayed due to the howling wind outside, this dim, yellowish light was more than enough.

"Then I'll teach you the most basic moves."

Orson picked up a piece and began to teach the girl, who seemed to know everything, how to play.

"The horse moves diagonally? That's not logical. A good warhorse could directly break through the enemy's lines."

"...It's probably because this horse isn't very good."

"The elephant moves diagonally. What is an elephant?"

"A super big horse."

"The pawns can only move forward? Heh, that does feel like the Ursus army."

"How scary is the Ursus army..."

"Protecting the king makes sense, but I also have the ability to fight. I will absolutely not just hide at the very back of the front line!"

"Sister, why don't you try a game first..."

Teaching Talula was more strenuous than Orson had imagined. He now wished even more that Alina would wake up sooner.