Chapter 291: Or Do You Think You Still Have Another Choice?
"It's fine. For now, I just need an answer," Steven said with a casual wave of his hand, as if none of this was particularly urgent. "Will you submit to me, or will you continue clinging to your ideals?"
His tone was light, but the weight behind the words was impossible to ignore.
"Of course," he added, smiling faintly, "if it's the latter… I can't guarantee your safety."
Everything the Darksteels had said earlier was irrelevant to him.
The K.G.C.C's supposed grip on them? Laughable. Those chains didn't concern him in the slightest.
After all, just like the Darksteels had already admitted, they weren't capable of helping him anyway. And more importantly… his goal had never been just the Armorless Union.
"You can think of this as a threat if you want."
As he tapped his fingers lightly on the table, the room was silent but tense, like the pause before a guillotine fell.
Still, he wasn't going to make the choice for them.
Live or die—that decision would be theirs.
He didn't raise a weapon. He didn't make a move. But for everyone in the room—everyone except Centaurea—it was clear. The young man was already baring his fangs.
A beast. One that had merely chosen not to bite yet.
"Boss! Don't just ask them! Ask me!" a voice suddenly rang out, breaking the heavy silence like a thrown rock in a still pond.
It was Roy.
"I'll gladly serve you! I'll pour your tea, watch your back, fetch your groceries—heck, you tell me to go east, I won't even look west. From today forward, I'm your loyal dog! Life and death, I'll follow you to the end!"
The sudden declaration was so shamelessly enthusiastic that even Steven had to blink in surprise.
Roy had jumped ship faster than anyone expected.
All that talk of dignity, honor, rank?
Please. Those were luxuries for people who weren't staring down a loaded gun.
Roy, on the other hand, had made a lightning-fast decision: Live.
And to be honest, it wasn't even that bad of a deal. Working under this young man seemed like a better gig than being an assassin anyway. Less stress. Better pay. And better future prospects.
And besides, he'd been looking for a way out of the business for a while now. This just made it easy.
"You spineless bastard!" Monique snapped, glaring at Roy with such venom that if she wasn't still stuck in that wheelchair, she might've thrown something at him.
"Don't you have any sense of pride? Any shame at all?"
Roy, wisely, said nothing.
Steven, meanwhile, let out a short laugh.
"Not bad. Write a self-reflection letter, clean up any messes you've made, and I'll have someone process your onboarding," he said, still smiling.
He didn't particularly respect Roy's shamelessness, but he didn't hate it either.
People like Roy had their uses. They were flexible. Adaptable. And most importantly—they understood survival.
As long as he paid well and kept the benefits coming, Roy wasn't the type to betray him. And if he ever did, well, he was more than capable of handling a cleanup.
He wasn't here to start a demon lord's castle, nor was he opening some kind of redemption center for criminals. He was in Kazimierz to start a company—and in a company, employees were expected to pull their own weight.
If Roy wanted in, he'd have to earn his keep and atone for his past mistakes himself.
But seeing Roy so easily secure his own survival using nothing but shameless loyalty, the two Darksteels exchanged glances.
And then—bitter smiles.
"…So?" Steven said, picking up the two massive longbows that had belonged to them and casually tossing them forward. "Have you made your decision?"
His voice was calm, almost kind.
"If you're ready to pledge loyalty—break your bows and leave your past lives behind. You don't have to be assassins anymore. You can choose a new future."
He paused.
"Of course," he added, his smile sharpening into something colder, "you can also hold onto them… and try to attack me. I'll respect that. I'll admire your courage. And I'll make sure your funerals are nothing short of glorious."
The longbows landed with a dull thud, right at their feet.
The choice was now theirs.
Steven spread his arms wide, voice casual yet firm—this was the final ultimatum.
He didn't have time to keep entertaining them. If he wasted any more minutes here, he might as well have made a round-trip to Ursus.
Of course, there was also a tiny bit of personal amusement behind his actions.
Deep down, he had always wanted to recreate that legendary moment from the old stories—where loyalty wasn't just sworn, but proven.
Realistically, swearing allegiance didn't need anything as dramatic as breaking a weapon, but where was the fun in being realistic?
"...…"
The two Darksteels exchanged glances, their hands tightening on their familiar longbows.
They had never felt these weapons to be so heavy before.
But they were out of time. The moment for hesitation had passed.
"Do we really have a choice anymore?"
"There's only one ending left…"
With faint, resigned smiles, they nodded in unison and raised their bows.
"The Darksteels of the Armorless Union pledge our loyalty."
And then—crack!
With a sharp downward swing, they slammed the bows against their knees. The sound of splintering wood echoed crisply through the room as the bows snapped cleanly into four broken halves.
"Fuhahahaha~! That's what I like to see! You people are really something, I'll give you that," Steven said, letting out a deep, theatrical laugh like a villain mid-monologue.
"Well then, I've decided—I won't destroy the Armorless Union after all."
Of course, that line had been prepared well in advance. He'd been waiting for the perfect moment to drop it, and now it landed with flair.
Still chuckling, he reached into his inventory.
The two Darksteels stared at him with mild confusion. What now?
From his inventory, Steven pulled out three large, industrial-looking weapons—and casually tossed them over.
"Here. Barrett anti-materiel rifles. Give them a shot. Seriously, what century do you think we're in? Why are assassins still using longbows?"
Then, as if that weren't enough, he retrieved three more items and laid them out beside the rifles. They looked deceptively simple—almost like metal pipes—but something about them screamed danger.
"Consider all this your welcome gift," Steven added with a smile. "I figured if you're going to work for me, you should at least have modern tools."
Because honestly, why go through the strain of pulling back a heavy bowstring when a Barrett could blow through an armored truck with one shot? Not to mention, rocket launchers were even easier to use.
They'd chosen loyalty. In return, he was going to upgrade them—no questions asked.
"Of course, if you're more comfortable with bows, I'll craft something for you later."
He clapped both of them on the shoulders like an approving boss at a team-building retreat, his tone light but full of meaning.
He didn't know the exact specs of their old bows, but frankly, his would be better. Period.
The two new recruits accepted the massive rifles, carefully cradling them in their arms.
One of them frowned slightly.
"Wait, why are there three?"
The weapon was unlike anything they had seen before—its design similar to the guns used by Laterano operatives, but this was far more refined.
Sleeker, deadlier.
And their instincts as veteran assassins were already screaming that this thing had more firepower than anything they'd ever handled.
But it was exactly because of that third rifle that they became suspicious.
There were three Darksteels, yes—but that last guy over on the bed? He looked barely alive, let alone combat-ready.
"Oh, that one's for the guy on the bed," Steven said matter-of-factly. "You think I'd let him slip away just 'cause he's missing an arm? Even with one limb left, he's still got to work for me."
He reached into his inventory again and casually placed a small glass vial on the table. A pale blue liquid shimmered inside—it practically radiated miracle-grade healing energy.
"Potion of regeneration," he added, nodding toward the unconscious Darksteel lying across the room. "Get him to drink this. His arm should grow back soon enough. As for convincing him? I'm sure I don't need to babysit you through that part, right?"
He clapped his hands as if dusting them clean.
Since he has resolved a major issue, he was visibly in a good mood.
Finally, his gaze turned to the two women in the room who had yet to make a decision.
As for the little horse girl? He decided to save that mess for later.
First, his eyes locked with Monique—the only one still visibly struggling. Her expression was tangled with conflict.
She had been firm in her opposition to the young man just minutes ago. Now, with the other Darksteels pledging their loyalty, her stance was… extremely awkward.
If she chose to resist now, he wouldn't even need to move. The two men beside her would probably be all too happy to test their brand-new weapons on her.
"I mean… do I really have any other options?" she asked quietly.
"Not really," Steven said, smiling. "But I do appreciate that go-getter attitude of yours. If I were running a company, I'd love to have employees like you—motivated, determined… desperate. The more you hustle, the more money I make."
She had already folded. Her question wasn't about choosing anymore—it was about how to survive gracefully. He could hear it in her tone.
He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. Just do your best. There's room for growth in this company. Who knows? Maybe someday you'll even bankrupt the boss," he said with a smirk, handing her an out.
And that was that. The last of the Armorless Union leadership had fallen in line.
Finally, he turned to the one person in the room who hadn't changed expression since the beginning—Centaurea.
Those emotionless, dead-fish eyes had followed him the entire time, as if she were watching a particularly lazy soap opera.
"So, what about you?" Steven asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not like the rest of them. I'll let you walk away if you want. No pressure, no hard feelings. Consider it a gift from me to you, my dear Centaurea."
She was a friend, after all. It wasn't like he was going to treat her the same as the others.
To his surprise, Centaurea simply shook her head.
"I think I'd like to stay," she said.
Her voice was soft, but firm.
"I'm curious," she added. "I want to see what kind of Armorless Union you'll build. Something different from before, I imagine. And besides… I do still need a job to survive."
Then she smiled—just a little—and added:
"So if it's not too much trouble, could you find me a role that gives me… say, seven days off per week? That would be ideal."
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1iuyfwNVFHzIi9H4rWNT_lAm7jTSiah_M
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