Arknightcraft Modpack (Steve in Terra) (Minecraft x Arknight) Chapter 357: Is This How You’re Supposed to Use Laevatain?

"…Am I really that untrustworthy? Or is it that I truly don't have what it takes to lead an organization like this?"

Talulah's worries were pointed inward. Being questioned and doubted had been sothing she anticipated. But now that it had actually happened, a thin shadow of uncertainty took root in her heart.

"If you put yourself in their shoes, their doubts are only natural," Steven replied, his tone unusually soft. "The problem wasn't what they asked, but when they chose to ask it. Still, for your first ti… you handled it well enough."

For once, he didn't douse her with sarcasm or provoke a quarrel. Instead, his hand rose to gently ruffle her short silver hair, his voice calm, almost fatherly.

From his perspective, Talulah's response had been more than decent. After all, Reunion had only just ford—it was little more than a ragtag band of misfits. Expecting them to be united at this stage was laughable.

Talulah's ideals were lofty, but spreading them—instilling them into the Infected who had joined only for survival—would take much more ti. Right now, her people had yet to "awaken."

She looked too far into the future, while they were shackled to the present. All they could see was how to survive today, not where they should go tomorrow.

"I'll do better," Talulah declared, her voice steadying as she pulled back from Steven's chest. Her small fists clenched with quiet determination. "I'll prove my ideals with actions. They'll see that choosing was the right decision."

"That's the spirit." Steven grinned, oddly proud. "That's what I like about you. That said, I'll leave Alina with you for now. I'll co find you two again tonight."

With that, he gently handed Alina over to Talulah's side.

His work here was done. The rest, he couldn't help with. And besides, he still had a promise to keep—with Surtr. Now that this matter was settled, it was ti to head off.

"You—" Talulah started, but he cut her off with a wave.

"What, did you think I'd always be here to solve everything for you? If trouble cos, you have to face it yourself. You can't rely on soone else forever. Worst case, ask Alina what she thinks. From a different angle, she might give you an answer you'd never consider."

Talulah fell silent for a long mont.

Of course she knew what he ant. His words weren't rejection—they were trust. They weren't dismissal—they were recognition.

"…I understand. Co back soon." She exhaled and nodded, calm once more.

"Oh, right. Before I go—keep an eye on those guys who butted heads with you earlier." He paused, his gaze sharp. "They're not on the sa road as you."

That wasn't a deduction. From the mont his eyes had landed on Brull, he'd felt it. That man—and those like him—were not Talulah's kind of people.

From the first mont he had laid eyes on him, he'd had a feeling.

If Talulah was the idealist type, then Brull was the opposite—soone who would do anything, cut any corner, so long as it ant keeping himself and the Infected alive right now.

That kind of man, in the seat of leadership, wouldn't necessarily be bad. But as a subordinate? He'd be little more than a thorn in the side—his views destined to clash with Talulah's.

"I'll keep an eye on them," Talulah nodded, though the words that followed made Steven chuckle softly. "But I also believe in them. We're all infected. Once the barriers are broken down, I'm sure we'll understand each other."

'Of course she'd say that.'

She was, without question, the most naïve person he has t so far. And yet, wasn't that precisely why he liked her?

Shaking his head with a wry smile, Steven turned and began the slow walk toward the nomadic city where Surtr had last been.

A reunion with an old friend deserved at least a little celebration, didn't it?

The red-haired girl… he liked her too—not in the romantic sense, but in that rare way when one drifter recognizes another. They were the sa kind of people. Aimless wanderers in this broken world, chasing stories, leaving footprints, collecting mories. That was the kind of life Steven lived for.

And Surtr, he was sure, carried the sa kind of spirit.

Well—except for one crucial difference.

He had his minimap mod. His teleports. His little cheats that at least gave him a sense of direction.

She, on the other hand…

. . .

By the ti Steven left the guerrilla camp and drew near the nomadic city, the sun was still up. Yet on his minimap, Surtr's icon was nowhere near the city.

"…Did sothing happen?"

Frowning, he zood the map outward. And there—barely five hundred ters from where they'd first t—was her marker.

Steven let out a long, exasperated sigh.

When he finally arrived, there she was: the red-haired girl had already pitched herself into the snow as if resigned to fate, her massive sword planted upright in the ground, flas licking from it to serve as a makeshift campfire.

Unbelievable.

So she'd set up camp here, practically within sight of the nomadic city, simply because a patch of woods had gotten in her way?

Steven pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped out from between the trees, his expression caught between amusent and despair.

"I really hope you're about to tell you stayed here for an actual reason," he said, eyes drifting over her crimson hair that glowed in the firelight. How does soone who looks this cool manage to be such a hopeless airhead?

"Couldn't find the way out," Surtr answered with total composure, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I'm used to it. Doesn't matter anyway—I carry everything I need. Wherever I stop can be my camp."

Surtr flinched slightly at Steven's sudden appearance, but quickly regained her composure. For so reason, the boy gave her a strangely familiar feeling, and so she felt no real need for caution.

"Done with your business already?"

She tilted her head, then shuffled sideways, brushing snow off the ground as she gestured at the clean hay mat she had laid out.

She made space for him, wordlessly inviting him to sit.

In weather this cold, anyone would want to share a fire.

Her crimson eyes lingered on him.

She hadn't forgotten the monster he'd faced before.

Her own mories of this land were fragnted and broken, but in those scattered shards… there were traces. Fragnts of legends about a fiend from the far north, a being that should've only existed in myth.

So why was it here? And how had he crossed paths with it?

"For now, it's taken care of," Steven answered casually as he plopped down beside her, stretching his hands toward the flas. "Curious, are you?"

The warmth from her greatsword-turned-bonfire was surprisingly comfortable. He couldn't help but wonder—maybe next ti he should try slapping a Fire Aspect on his own Yamato. If it worked, he could make his own portable heater too.

"…A little," Surtr admitted after a beat.

She pulled a small bag closer, rummaging inside until she produced a grimy root of so kind. With practiced ease, she skewered it on a stick and held it over her sword-fla.

Her expression said otherwise though—she didn't look particularly invested in the topic. If anything, it seed she was just making small talk.

Which, honestly, suited Steven just fine.

"Of course," he said, puffing out his chest in exaggerated pride. "When I take the field myself, it's nothing but child's play. That monster? Please. Even if Godzilla showed up, I'd still peel a layer off its hide."

He thumped his fist against his chest, smug grin in place. Banter was an art too, after all—and sotis you had to start with a little bragging to set the right mood.

"So that explosion," Surtr asked, lazily turning the skewer in her hands, her eyes flicking to his side profile.

"That was you too, wasn't it?"

"Of course," Steven replied without a trace of sha. "A wise man once said, 'True art is an explosion.' Next ti we've got a chance, I'll take you to set off so fireworks. Trust —you'll love the thrill."

From his coat, he pulled out a small flask of liquor, letting it thud onto the ground between them. A playful spark lit in his eyes.

"Want a little sothing?"

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