Chapter 225: "Wait, I Know That Champion—She Owes Me Money!"
"Which one?"
The bearded man blinked in confusion, then followed the direction Steven was pointing toward. When he saw the wall covered in photos, his expression shifted into one of proud satisfaction, like a father beaming at his promising child.
"If you mean that knight—the Radiant Knight of Kazimierz—then yeah, you must be new to the whole Kazimierz Major scene. She's a national hero, y'know? Loved by the masses, adored by fans. The Radiant Knight is practically a legend."
There was genuine admiration in his voice, and his eyes sparkled with the kind of reverence reserved for war heroes or childhood idols.
But Steven? He just tilted his head, looking increasingly baffled.
It wasn't that he didn't understand the hype. No—his confusion stemmed from something else entirely. The more he looked at that photo—the one that seemed almost overexposed, glowing from sheer brilliance—the more certain he became.
He'd met her before.
Back on Rhodes Island.
See, Steven was the kind of guy who wandered aimlessly around the medical wing when he was bored. And because of that habit, he ended up knowing more faces—patients and operators alike—than even some of the medical staff did.
After all, who else had the kind of free time he did? Just strolling through the halls with nothing better to do.
So yes, even though that photo showed a girl so bright she looked like she'd been Photoshopped into a sunbeam, Steven was positive he'd seen her around.
Which begged the question…
What the hell is someone like her doing here, being worshipped like a pop star?
From what little he knew, the operator in question went by the codename "Nearl." He hadn't interacted with her much, just noted that she stayed in the infected ward.
Yet oddly enough—she didn't seem infected at all.
And Steven would know.
As a Minecrafter with the ability to see people's status panels, that was the kind of detail he could confirm with certainty.
But hey, this was Rhodes Island. The place was crawling with freaks, spooks, and walking anomalies. A girl pretending to be infected? Barely cracked the top ten on his weirdness scale.
He didn't pry too much. Instead, he remembered more about the two other operators who were always hanging around Nearl—two Sarkaz girls, one pale as snow, the other dark as coal. Together, they looked like they belonged in some spooky folklore, the kind that scared kids into brushing their teeth. Black and White Wraiths, maybe?
But that wasn't how Steven met them.
He hadn't wandered into the underworld or anything.
They came to him.
And of course, the one who started it all was none other than Warfarin—because that vampire couldn't keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it. Somehow, she'd spilled something to that little trio and the next thing he knew, they were standing at his door.
In the morning, no less.
It had become something of a Rhodes Island tradition: random people blocking Steven's front door at ungodly hours. And no matter how early, they always managed to catch him.
Still, the three of them weren't rude. They were actually quite polite about the whole thing.
They just… wanted him to take a look at one of their own—specifically, a white-haired Sarkaz girl with the codename "Nightingale."
Naturally, her issues were the usual brain-related stuff.
Amnesia, trauma, memory gaps—you name it.
Steven had said it before: when it came to physical injuries, he was a pro. But mental health? Not his area. And yet, for some reason, people kept bringing him these cases.
He wasn't a miracle worker, okay? It's not like he could just chop off someone's head and grow them a new brain.
What frustrated him more was how badly damaged the girl's body had been. Far worse than what a typical Oripathy case would do.
There were other scars—old ones, deep ones—and Steven couldn't even tell how she got them.
Still, it didn't matter.
He wasn't one to ask questions he didn't need answered.
His job was to heal, not to investigate.
Back then, Steven told the trio plainly:
He could heal physical wounds, no problem. But when it came to mental scars, that was something they'd have to overcome themselves.
Surprisingly, the three of them seemed to trust him quite a bit. The real problem came when he brought up his fee.
Turns out, they didn't have enough to pay him.
Apparently, those three were just a group of drifters who had banded together out of necessity. If any of them had serious money, they wouldn't be living like that to begin with.
And Steven? He wasn't running a charity.
This wasn't some fairytale fantasy where the kindhearted doctor healed all wounds out of pure goodwill. Even actual hospitals charged for treatment. So what was so wrong with him expecting payment for surgery?
Thankfully, the girls were reasonable.
They promised they'd come back to settle the bill once they had the money, and then quietly left.
That was the extent of Steven's knowledge about the so-called "Radiant Knight" and her two close companions—both Sarkaz girls.
So now, running into her poster on a wall in Kazimierz of all places?
Yeah, it caught him off guard.
"Are you stunned by her radiant beauty or something?" the bearded man teased, grinning like an uncle showing off a niece's school trophies. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. Radiant Knight's got fans all over Kazimierz. You're in good company."
He leaned in with a conspiratorial wink, his breath tinged with alcohol.
"Between you and me, we're actually pretty close to her. That photo over there? Not something just anyone can get their hands on."
The guy was clearly tipsy, flushed red from too much hard liquor, but he still puffed himself up like a proud relative.
Steven just blinked, utterly unmoved.
"That's not what surprised me," he replied. "But if she really is the icon of Kazimierz like you say, then she shouldn't be in the Grand Knight Territory anymore, right? Wasn't she once a tournament champion or something? How else could she be this popular?"
The more he listened, the more things didn't add up.
If the Radiant Knight was that famous… then why the hell was she on Rhodes Island?
And not just that—why was she hanging around with two wandering Sarkaz girls?
Something didn't smell right.
"Ah… well…"
The proud glint in the bearded man's eyes dimmed instantly. His smug look gave way to a frown—and then, just as fast, to raw anger.
"Of course it was those damn bastards from the General Chamber of Commerce," he growled. "They said crap like 'an Infected can't be champion.' Just like that, they kicked her out of Kazimierz."
He scoffed bitterly.
"And now—now those same hypocrites are back on the 'Infected Knights are great' bandwagon, just because it boosts ratings. Can you believe that?"
The man laughed, but there was no humor in it—only bitterness. Clearly, he held nothing but contempt for the so-called "General Chamber of Commerce."
"Old Knight, you wanna keep your tongue, maybe shut it for once," came a warning from the bald bartender, who stepped in before things went too far.
He gave Steven an apologetic look, as if trying to sweep up the mess his drunk customer had made.
"Sorry about that. He runs his mouth when he drinks. As for what goes on with the people at the top... who really knows, right? Better not to dwell on it."
"No worries," Steven replied with a grin. "Totally get it."
'Heh... so even talking about them is off-limits now?'
This "General Chamber of Commerce" must have some serious pull if even bar gossip was being silenced.
Then again, that tracked. A hyper-commercialized city like Kazimierz wasn't just rare—it was straight-up unheard of in most worlds Steven had been to.
And when capitalists get money, they always go after power next.
That much, Steven knew far too well.
"So," he said casually, glancing at the TV screen in the corner, "if the Radiant Knight's retired, then who's the one fighting in that match? Are they just airing old recordings?"
Steven stared at the screen, scratching his head in confusion.
The girl shown in the broadcast looked… familiar. Not exactly like Nearl, but close. Maybe 70 or 80 percent similar. Blonde hair that practically glowed under the arena lights, graceful footwork, and a polished knight's bearing.
But something wasn't right.
He tilted his head slightly. "…Did Nearl switch weapons?"
He remembered her as the type who wielded a hammer and tower shield—a walking fortress. But the girl on-screen? She danced across the battlefield, wielding some kind of flexible blade—maybe a whip-sword hybrid?
And not just that.
Even though the two had similar golden hair, the girl on-screen looked shorter. Her frame was slimmer, more petite—less of a radiant war maiden and more like a delicate flower swaying in the wind.
Not that Steven minded either style.
Big and strong? Cute and dainty? Yes.
It's all in the face anyway.
But maybe—just maybe—this was old footage? That would make sense. People grow up, change. Maybe it was Nearl from a few years ago?
That theory crumbled the moment the bartender chuckled and waved it off.
"Oh, you've got the wrong gal, friend. That's not the Radiant Knight—though I don't blame you. They do look alike."
He leaned in, a little proud as if he had insider knowledge.
"Technically, that's her niece… or is it the other way around? Whatever it is, folks call her the Whislash Knight. She and the Radiant Knight are related, sure—but definitely not the same person."
He tapped the counter with a grin.
"And this isn't some ancient highlight reel, either. That's yesterday's match! She made it into the top 32 of this year's major just last night!"
The bartender and the bearded man both beamed with pride, like they were watching their own kid win the school talent show.
It wasn't the smug pride of someone seeing a knock-off copy.
It was genuine warmth—the kind reserved for family or close friends who were chasing their dreams.
"I see… guess I really did mistake her for someone else," Steven said with a sheepish laugh, squinting at the screen again.
Now that he looked closely, the differences stood out clearly. The stance, the weapon, the silhouette—it all clicked.
Two golden mares, but clearly distinct breeds.
"Speaking of," came a clear, girlish voice from behind him. "I couldn't help but notice you guys talking about me the moment I walked in. So? Doesn't getting into the top 32 deserve a proper celebration?"
All three heads turned toward the door.
Standing there was the exact same Kuranta girl from the broadcast, glowing with youthful energy and confidence. Her whipblade still coiled at her side, her blonde hair bouncing lightly as she walked in.
And now that he saw her in the flesh, Steven had to admit it—she really wasn't Nearl.
She was shorter, for one, and had a softer build. But what truly struck him was how effortlessly she combined elegance and strength. If Nearl was a knight from a heroic legend, this girl was the refined, quicksilver blade of a modern fencer.
Still—credit where it's due.
Despite the slender frame, her bust and hips were, frankly… impressive.
She's just as full as Nearl's in certain places, and Steven wasn't above noticing.
<+>
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