Fated to Die to the Player, I'll Live Freely with My SSS-Class Ship!

There goes the first casualty.

And as if everyone was struck speechless, no one moved for a good few seconds, simply staring at the giant collapsed on the floor, blood trickling from the crown of his head.

"...Let's take a step back," I whispered to Nyssra, pulling her a few steps backward.

I was already used to Eva's frequent outbursts by now. And this one? Definitely not something I needed to intervene in. Not at all.

If anything, letting her unleash a bit of carnage might actually work in our favor—proving that we weren't to be trifled with. That would certainly help during the upcoming negotiations.

"Y-You fucking bitch...!"

Finally snapping out of their stupor, the rest of the gang began to flare up. The fear they'd felt from Eva's earlier aura vanished in an instant, replaced by rage at seeing one of their own utterly incapacitated in, what, two moves?

Just to be safe, I drew my blaster and kept it ready, watching Eva carefully—though honestly, I doubted she'd need any help handling this rabble.

As the thugs started to surge forward, Eva's demeanor changed. Her switch flipped—and the very air seemed to turn electric. The pressure was intense, almost suffocating. Even I found it hard to breathe. It felt like we were trapped inside a vice, a suffocating force pressing on all sides.

The first to charge in was the same guy who'd initially blocked our path. He lunged forward, throwing a wild, clumsy haymaker aimed straight for Eva's face. It had no technique, just brute strength behind it.

"Too slow."

But Eva didn't even wait for the fist to get close.

With a single sidestep, she dodged it cleanly and countered with a punch of her own. In one brutal hit, the chest plate of his suit caved in—shattering like a faulty shield under pressure. It was so heavily dented, I honestly worried it might've punctured his chest.

Like a puppet whose strings were severed, the man collapsed to the floor and passed out with a moan, his eyes rolling into the whites.

Eva didn't stop there.

Just like she had with the first one, she raised her leg and brought her heel crashing down on his skull. A loud, dry crack echoed through the hallway.

"Hope he doesn't die from just that..." I murmured under my breath.

Then came another one. This time, a hybrid—a cross between a dog-like alien and a human—leaped forward with surprising agility. A confident smirk danced across his face as he rushed behind Eva and slashed.

*CREAK!*

His claws raked across the back of her suit, ripping it apart and leaving three deep gashes—exposing smooth, pristine white skin underneath.

Yet despite the tearing of the suit's material, she remained completely unharmed.

She... she wasn't this tough before, right? It honestly felt like she'd just picked up a Super Star from some famous Italian plumber game, becoming totally invincible.

"That fucking hurts...!"

Eva snarled, whipping around with a vicious back kick. It looked more like a spear strike than a regular kick.

Her sharp heels punched into the dog-man's stomach like a missile, embedding deep before launching him backwards like a cannonball. He flew straight across the hallway, disappearing into the distance with a sickening thud. No idea if he'd survive—but his body? Definitely wrecked. Dozens of broken bones, at least.

And that was the spark.

The whole gang lunged at once—a full-on brawl broke out.

Eva was surrounded, with fists and weapons flying at her from all directions. Yet apart from the earlier hit from the dog-man, not a single blow landed again. She danced between the attacks, catching fists mid-air, breaking arms, cracking helmets, and smashing bones through armor.

Every so often, a thug would go flying through the air, slamming into the walls and embedding into the metal like some twisted, Avant Garde art installation.

The brawl—no, the massacre—lasted only a couple of minutes.

When it ended, eighteen bodies lay scattered. Some were sprawled across the floor like discarded dolls, others were pinned against walls, slumped and unmoving. Not one of them looked intact—every single one had broken bones, shattered suits, or both.

I turned to glance at Nyssra. Her face was ghostly pale.

Was she imagining what could've happened to her if she had continued provoking Eva earlier? Or was she simply horrified by the brutal beating these lowlifes just received? Hard to tell. Not that I cared enough to ask.

"Nice fight," I said, walking forward with a casual greeting.

"Huh?!"

"..."

But the glare Eva shot back nearly froze my blood. God, how could she unleash that much killing intent in just one look?

Without a word, I tapped the pocket of my suit and retrieved a foil blanket—part of the default first aid emergency supplies. I stepped closer and draped it gently over her back.

"There's a massive hole torn across your suit's back, so keep this on until the damage repairs itself."

Our current spacesuits weren't ordinary gear, but some truly advanced items from the Meyers Star System. They were composed of a self-splitting material that mimicked the regenerative properties of skin cells.

These suits could "heal" over time, reverting to their original shape by referencing a stored molecular blueprint. With the extent of the damage, Eva's suit should recover fully within half an hour, tops.

*Phew...*

Eva finally let out a long, controlled exhale. The stifling pressure that had filled the air vanished along with the bloodlust in her eyes. But one thing didn't fade—the fear left in the eyes of everyone who had watched the carnage.

She had just dismantled more than a dozen armed men by herself. Some of them had even tried using weapons—but it didn't matter.

They were crushed, figuratively and literally.

As we continued onward, Eva still taking the lead, no one else dared to cast lecherous glances at either her or Nyssra. Thanks to that, we reached our destination without any additional delays. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Before us was a "room." Flanking either side of its massive entrance stood towering, golem-like figures—men of the Gulak Race.

Just before Eva could take another step forward, I gently pulled her shoulder back. I stepped in front of her and cleared my throat. It was my turn to lead from here.

"I'm Arthur Grail," I introduced myself with a calm yet commanding tone. "I'm here to meet with the Shadow Society's Boss, Christian."

The two guards, seemingly unbothered at first, visibly flinched at the mention of the name "Christian." That name—the identity of the boss of an underground syndicate—wasn't something that's passed around easily or lightly.

Their piercing gazes locked on me, sharp and full of suspicion. Just as one of them opened his mouth, probably to interrogate or challenge me—

"Interesting... Enter, Mr. Grail, along with the two beauties behind you."

—a composed voice echoed from behind the room's door, unmistakably clear and deliberate.

Immediately, the two Gulak guards straightened up, and without a word, pushed open one side of the enormous double doors. Just enough for us to slip through naturally, without offering a full view of what lay inside.

Without hesitation, I strode forward, taking the lead.

The moment I stepped in, my attention was seized by the familiar design of the room. It was nearly identical to what I remembered—the domain of the Shadow Society's boss.

The room was drenched in darkness, dim enough that I could barely see the floor beneath my boots. Orange lampshades glowed faintly along the walls, which were decorated with grotesque "trophies" collected from various species. One of them, disturbingly enough, was a human head—mounted as if it were an ordinary decoration.

Needless to say, it wasn't a sight easy to the eyes.

"Arthur Grail..."

The same voice echoed again. I turned my gaze toward its source.

At the farthest end of the shadowy room, a lone figure sat upon a single-person sofa.

Her face was angled and sharp, with features that were both beautiful and severe. Her skin matched the color of the room—almost pitch black—blending into the shadows so well that I might have missed her entirely, if not for the vibrant red of the sofa, the gleaming yellow of her eyes, or the unnervingly pristine smile of white teeth she revealed.

Her body was wrapped in a tight, sleek spacesuit that matched her skin tone, making it almost impossible to tell where the suit ended and she began. It was like looking at a sculpted shadow. With her figure, it was a visual spectacle—but...

"...Or should I call you Gerard Astoria instead~?"

...the fact she knew my real identity made me instantly cautious.

Noting my silence, she let out a soft chuckle. "Still... Christian, huh..." she murmured, as if remembering something long buried beneath the sands of time.

"It's a name I haven't used since I started living as a woman. I go by Christy these days. Keep that in mind," she said, her tone cool but firm.

I grimaced, getting reminded about this person's history.

According to the game's lore, Christian had once been a galactic-scale criminal—wanted across star systems, with bounties that rivaled hundreds of years of fleet operating costs. That is, until the day he chose to shed his identity and live as a woman. Since then, "Christian" had disappeared from history, buried like a myth.

No one was supposed to know that Christy and Christian were one and the same—aside from her most loyal bodyguards.

Yes. Despite the captivating figure before me... this woman was once a man.

Everything I was seeing was the product of a perfectly sculpted illusion—a masterwork forged through will and design.

"Then Christy it is," I said with a nod, offering a faint smile. "I know we're both busy people, so I'll cut to the chase. I have hundreds of pirates outside, and I want them turned into slaves. Can you handle that?"

"Oh? Straight to the point, are we~?"

Her smile widened, stretching just below the lower pair of her four sharp ears. There was a playful edge to her voice, amused and ever so slightly predatory.

"Well, I don't dislike quick men," she added with a casual shrug, then crossed her legs in a deliberately suggestive pose. "In any case... I can do it. But that depends entirely on what you're offering. You catch my drift~?"

With a theatrical snap of her fingers, a tile between us slid open. From the opening, a pedestal rose up slowly, displaying a single object in its center: a collar. Simple in design, but unmistakably high-tech.

"This is our latest model of the Slave Collar—SC–010–505–079 Revised. It comes with advanced stealth features capable of bypassing any and all detection systems," she explained. "It's our magnum opus. With this, your slaves will remain completely loyal to you, while untraceable."

"...Sounds good enough," I replied with a curt nod. "How much are we talking?"

Christy's grin widened as she stood up from her seat and strolled leisurely toward the pedestal, her movements fluid and calculated. She picked up the collar with slender fingers, turning it thoughtfully in her hands.

"I don't know... Why don't you throw me a number~?" she purred. "I'll decide if it's worth my time after hearing it."

I sighed softly.

The negotiation was just beginning!