How Talula Found and Adopted Me, Chapter 8

The lead Infected opened his mouth, his tone somewhat hesitant, but he quickly made up his mind.

"We plan to leave this place."

"—"

After a brief silence, Talula nodded.

"I understand."

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

The Infected man frowned and spoke with some pain.

"You once said that we would set foot on the southern lands, that the cold of this tundra would eventually melt away. But... we're still standing in the same place, and the ice and snow are still just as cold, without the slightest change."

"I'm sorry. I still haven't fulfilled the promise I made back then. It's good that you can voice these thoughts. As Infected, don't forget that we also have the right to speak."

Although the actions of these Infected severely affected morale, Talula did not get angry. She merely smiled and expressed her understanding.

"Talula, we..."

"When are you planning to leave?"

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

"Take some seeds with you. May you find warm land covered in wheat."

Talula's response left the Infected with mixed feelings, but in the end, they still resolved to leave the settlement. The once-lively settlement instantly gained a visibly empty gap.

After the meeting ended, Talula still did not leave. She sat motionless in the snow.

"The campfire's gone out, Sister Talula."

Orson pointed at the fire pit before them, which had already turned into scattered white ash.

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

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

Orson shivered, his tone full of resentment.

It was long past dusk by then. The camp was wrapped in darkness, and the only light came from the stars in the sky.

"...You really are something."

Talula gave a bitter smile, then stood and looked at the boy beside her, who had silently kept her company all this time.

"Stay with me for a little while tonight."

Neither a Fighter nor a Tyrant

Don't panic, this is just a technical adjustment.jpg. Being invited into the tent at night by the future Reunion tyrant might seem unreasonable, but there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for it!

Talula's sudden invitation immediately sent Orson's brain into overdrive.

In the end, he arrived at the only answer:

"Am I finally about to get killed...?"

"?"

Talula always felt that Orson's brain suffered from intermittent malfunctions.

After entering Talula's tent, Orson had been trembling as if walking on thin ice, fully prepared to "stab out his own eyes the instant he saw a beautiful girl's intimate clothing and beg her to spare his miserable life." But he discovered that Talula's tent was far plainer than he had imagined.

"No tiger heads, no bear-skin rugs either."

Orson looked around Talula's tent. Aside from a weapon rack, it was practically no different from anyone else's tent.

"Even if I had those things, I wouldn't put them in my room. For one thing, that would be too tacky. And for another—we are all people of the same standing. There is no need to rely on external things to distinguish ourselves as special. Surviving on this tundra is already difficult enough, and the Infected need to stand together even more."

If this had been the old Orson, he probably would have dismissed Talula's words as a "useless justice speech" and ignored them outright.

But after living in the settlement and spending time with Talula these past days, he knew very well that Talula was qualified to say such things.

"Fighter Talula"—the meaning contained within that title was far more than simply charging at the front of every battle.

This young Sankta truly cared about the Infected on this frozen land, and she genuinely treated everyone equally.

Orson did not know why Talula had chosen to walk this path. During his brief experience as a villager, he had already deeply experienced the cruelty and brutality Ursus showed toward the Infected.

But what Orson did know was that no one could condemn or mock her actions or the goal she strove toward.

"I know, Orson. You're probably wondering something like, 'Why does someone who looks like an aristocrat keep talking about doing things for the Infected?'"

Talula removed the greatsword that had always hung at her waist and placed it on the weapon rack beside her. She sat on the cot nearby, quietly watching Orson.

"Um... it's actually not that strange, right? Aristocrats driving revolutions is pretty normal. I remember that most of the main promoters of revolutionary movements were people with good family backgrounds and high social status. After all, only by seeing more can you more directly understand the differences between people. That's when the desire to change the world arises, and you also have the resources and wisdom to get started."

Orson answered Talula using the limited knowledge he had retained from middle and high school, but Talula still froze for a moment at his response.

"This is the first time I've heard such a theory, but what you said seems quite reasonable, Orson. 'Because what people see differs, the range of what they can understand also differs'... In other words, if the Infected could become aware of the world beyond the one they live in, perhaps they would resist this tyranny more actively?"

Talula pondered something, then gave Orson a smile.

"That's a very interesting idea, Orson. You've given me a new way of thinking."

"Mm... it was nothing."

Looking at Talula before him, tired yet still able to treat others with gentleness and calm, Orson felt something even more clearly.

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

This Talula, who had dragged him out of hell, possessed lofty ideals, exceptional drive, shrewd judgment, and grand ambitions—

But those were not what Orson focused on.

The Talula who silently waited beside Ino until he fell asleep,

The Talula who occasionally appeared in the kitchen to silently study recipes and knife work, only to be dragged away for wasting food,

The Talula who, unable to find anywhere to dry her uniform, could only wear a black lace dress with a red face and act fiercely all day—

Beyond all those halos and beliefs, what Orson saw was Talula's most ordinary, commonplace, even somewhat clumsy side.

It was precisely these scenes that made her, like some girl next door, a "truly living existence" to Orson.

She had things she was not good at too, but she still clumsily wanted to work hard at them.

Orson noticed the needle and thread on the table, as well as the crooked thing beside them that he could not tell was a scarf, mask, or something like a bellyband.

This was proof that the girl truly existed—not as a "Fighter," not as a "Tyrant," but simply as "Talula."

After all that sentimentality and reflection, why had Talula still not said anything?

After imagining all sorts of things, Orson realized the problem. His conversation with Talula had not progressed at all after that, and the tent was completely silent.

Orson looked at Talula, wanting to ask whether she had left such a long pause because she was preparing to unleash some grand justice speech. But when he saw her, he realized that the invincible Sister Talula was also letting her gaze wander to avoid his, and her expression seemed subtly awkward.

And that was not all. Having spent nearly a month closely living alongside Talula, Orson's Sankta biology had risen to +80 during that time. As such, he easily noticed that the base of Talula's horns had faintly reddened.

Many people might be wondering why a Sankta's horns turned red. I'd like to know too. In truth, when the base of a Sankta's horns turned red, it meant that person was incredibly embarrassed. If you did not hurry and run away, something big was about to happen.

—So you just dragged me in here on impulse, and you hadn't even thought about what you were going to do after dragging me in!?

Orson had enough self-awareness. He did not think he had been called over to "comfort Talula." This was supposed to be some life consultation about whether he would stay or leave, the future of the resistance, and things like that.

But in the end, Talula had never intended to discuss career planning with Orson. Rather, she had rarely failed to think things through, simply dragging Orson over on impulse.

"In that case, I'll head back first, Sister Talula?"

Staying here awkwardly would only make things worse. Orson would rather make a run for it before he was cooked medium-well.

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

"Orson... wait."

Talula stopped Orson, but beyond that, she still could not find any topic for small talk.

Orson turned back to look at Talula. When he saw the loneliness and confusion flash across her face for an instant, he understood why it was him.

A Moment of Peace by the Bedside

Looking at Talula, whose loneliness had surfaced for a moment, Orson ultimately decided to shamelessly stay.

Because this was something "only he" could do.

He was no different from the other Infected. That sense of superiority from being a "transmigrator" had long since been worn away during the half year Orson had spent in Ursus.

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

—Because he was an "outsider."

The Infected gathered here, FrostNova included, had all been personally invited by Talula to join this group.

They saw the will to resist in Talula, saw a warm flame, and so they followed Talula and the goal she had built.

But he was different. He had not come because Talula had "invited" him, nor had Talula ever taken the initiative to tell Orson about the grand blueprint in her heart.

He was merely an "outsider" Talula had picked up and brought back to "raise," unrelated to the future of the Infected and unrelated to the ambition of finding a new home in the south.

The only reason he was in this village was that "Talula had picked him up and had not killed him," nothing more. It was precisely because of this that Talula did not need to maintain the image of a "Fighter" before him, allowing her to briefly set down the burdens she carried herself and that others had forced upon her.

Orson did not know what someone with this identity could do, but at the very least, he had to take action, just like Talula. He had to act.

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

After thinking briefly, Orson came up with an idea.

"On that table... mmph!"

Talula pointed at the table nearby, only to notice the strange unfinished thing she had been knitting there. The base of her horns flushed red again.

"Let me borrow them."

Thankfully, Orson's survival instincts were strong. Pretending not to see the knitting supplies 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 from the side as Orson drew something resembling a grid on the paper.

"More or less."

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

Talula watched silently. Before long, a chessboard appeared on the table before Orson, though it was only an extremely simple version drawn with paper and pen.

"Done. It looks pretty crude, but the rules work, and I think it should suit you. This is a... uh, Yan Country board game called Chinese chess. Sister Talula, have you ever played international chess before?"

"I seem to have heard of it, but I've never tried it. It looks quite interesting."

Talula sat down on the other side of the table and studied the tiny battlefield before her.

A weak oil lamp flickered inside the tent. Though it swayed from the howling wind outside, this dim yellow light was already enough.

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

Orson picked up a piece and began teaching the seemingly omniscient girl how to play.

"The horse moves in an L-shape? That isn't reasonable. A good warhorse can charge straight through the enemy line."

"...Maybe because this horse isn't very good."

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

"A really big horse."

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

"How scary is the Ursus army..."

"I can understand protecting the general, but I can fight too. I absolutely won't just hide behind the battle line!"

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

Teaching Talula was more exhausting than Orson had expected. He now hoped Alina would wake up soon.