I'm Fighting Kal'tsit? Seriously? Chapter 15

Banshee Incantations truly had their own unique merits. Even though he had just finished bathing, the temperature of the entire room could still shift subtly with his thoughts.

Whether he needed a touch of warmth or a hint of coolness, the Incantations responded swiftly, adjusting the surroundings to the most comfortable state, as though the room itself had become a loyal servant silently tending to his every need.

At last, Gerald had the chance to stand before the mirror and examine himself.

In terms of appearance, Gerald's face could hardly be called mature. If anything, he looked a little too young, making it impossible to associate him with someone who had spent ten years honing himself in the military. His straight silver-white hair fell just to his shoulders, its excess ends tied back with a simple band. The hair before his forehead hung loosely, trimmed into uneven layers.

His features had clearly inherited his mother's genes, exceptionally well-proportioned and open, his contours generous and free of sharp edges. Yet his eyes were entirely his father's—clear golden yellow, like amber beneath the morning sun.

His cheekbones were not particularly pronounced, and his brow ridge was fairly smooth. His skin had been finely tempered by the ceaseless winds of the wilderness for years, rough yet carrying a bright pallor beneath it.

Honestly, he was undeniably the sort who grew more attractive the longer one looked. In a Knight Competition, he would probably be prime gossip material.

As for his clothes... he had changed into a new set, and both the materials and craftsmanship were excellent. Still, he did not particularly want to investigate how the Banshees had learned his exact measurements and produced a new outfit in such a short time.

When he picked up the sword and ring placed by the door and stepped out of the washroom again, the entire room had changed.

The original disorder had returned to the state he had first seen, except the windows and door had now been opened, allowing some of the gentle sunlight to spill inside.

The Banshee Queen, who had left and returned, was sitting quietly beside a round wooden table, waiting.

Only after seeing Gerald emerge did she sigh as though troubled and invite him to sit.

"Would you like some breakfast?"

"I do, but forget it."

After hearing the tone in her words, Gerald's brows gradually relaxed. He found a chair and sat down. "If you had acted like this from the start, perhaps none of what happened earlier would have been necessary."

"...So this is what you're really like?" Lamaline fell silent for a moment before asking.

"The same goes for you, doesn't it?" Gerald naturally continued, "Without the young Banshees here, there was no need for so much beating around the bush between us. You don't trust me, and I don't trust you. You need to understand my goals and motives, while I hope to spar with you. We have no direct conflict of interest. Everything is perfectly clear."

Lamaline's gaze reached him through her veil, carrying an entirely different air from before. "You're very straightforward, Gerald. One rarely meets someone like you in the Royal Courts, especially among those of an older generation."

"The Pegasus may live longer than ordinary people, but we never have enough time. That's why, from the moment we're born, we force ourselves to stand, to walk, and then to run."

Gerald did not become the slightest bit tense under her scrutiny. Relaxing against the cushion, he said, "Thanks to that, I'm usually a little faster than others, and I save a little more time too."

He could tell that in those brief ten-odd minutes, Lamaline's attitude toward him had noticeably changed.

Her initially gentle and approachable demeanor had gradually faded, leaving behind the authority of the Banshee Queen—though she herself had nearly ruined that authority just moments ago.

It was fine. He was very understanding. He would not mention it.

This direct sort of conversation suited him much better. The more of it, the better.

But she did not seem to think so.

After that immature composure had been shattered once, her ordinary and genuine side began to faintly reveal itself during their conversation.

"That demeanor from earlier... wasn't merely an act either."

She sighed again, letting the authority fall from her face. There was a trace of worry in her voice.

"Before the young Banshees, the leader of their Royal Court cannot be shaken by trivial matters. Yet she must also blend into the group, becoming both a role model and someone they can rely on."

"She must distinguish rewards from punishments, listen to the youngsters' opinions and complaints, and guide the group in the right direction. But in daily life, she must also remain kind and approachable, so that when she criticizes them, the contrast in attitude makes them realize their mistakes."

"And yet you're explaining the intricacies of that to an outsider." Gerald lightly picked up the teacup on the table and took a sip of the black tea within. "The dignified Banshee Queen would not casually reveal her weaknesses. Other than lowering your stance because you wish to make a deal with me, I can't think of another reason."

"I do have something to ask of you."

She lightly tapped the tabletop with her slender pale fingers. "The Banshees could have been a force in rebuilding Kazdel... but our race is too fragile. Countless Banshees died in the war. We can no longer endure loss after loss like this."

Lamaline looked toward the window. Outside, the chains still flying through the sky carried the girls through several magnificent, difficult maneuvers. Perhaps one could even see some glistening liquid from above.

"Do you remember how many children burst into the room earlier?"

"Eight. Why ask?" Gerald replied, a hint of confusion in his tone.

"Because they are the last remaining young generation of the Banshee race after the war."

Lamaline's tone remained utterly calm as she spoke the cruelest words.

"Most of our core members died for Kazdel. The war left only a handful of us, while the Greater Banshees of the tribe had long since lost the ability to bear children."

"Some Banshees who had left the group returned to defend Kazdel. In the end, they too were buried there."

"The Banshees who barely survived could do nothing more than sing Banshee's Lament for them, hoping their souls would return to Many Souls. Other than that, nothing could stop this race from walking toward death... until the war ended."

Gerald said nothing.

He knew what that meant.

It meant that everything the Banshee Queen before him did, down to every smallest choice, bore the future of an entire race. No matter how calm and peaceful she seemed now, the fate on her shoulders was heavy enough to crush anyone.

And Lamaline continued speaking.

"The Banshee bloodline must continue. That is my duty, and Theresa agreed with my choice."

"That is why we moved from Kazdel to River Valley. It is also why I promised Theresa I would invite you here for this purpose."

Wait a second?

No, no, no. What did inviting him here have to do with continuing the Banshee bloodline?

He had merely reincarnated as a Kuranta and happened to gain certain corresponding sexual traits. That absolutely did not mean he had the ability to continue the Banshee bloodline!

—No, wait. She had mentioned Theresa.

Connect that with the continuation of the Banshees and the rebuilding of Kazdel.

"In Theresa's eyes, placing me by your side would benefit both River Valley and the Sarkaz."

Gerald quickly sorted out his thoughts. "Then what am I in your eyes? An outsider born in Kazimierz?"

"Or a bridge connecting Kazdel, River Valley, and the outside world?"

After saying that, although he could not see Lamaline's expression behind the veil, there was no mistaking the approval written all over her.

"You found the wrong person."

Gerald shook his head without hesitation, flatly rejecting her idea. "I have no connection to present-day Kazimierz. All I'm good at is war and killing."

"I have neither capital nor connections. I can't help you."

He could indeed put on an act and propose conditions for a deal. After all, this was only a dream.

Yes, it was only a dream. Why take it so seriously?

Why had he not simply killed all those young Banshees from the very beginning, provoked Lamaline's wrath, and then died again and again at the hands of the Banshee Queen before him?

Until some day in the future, when he became strong enough to break every Incantation, and then killed her?

Perhaps it was because this was somewhere beyond the battlefield.

Perhaps that was the only thing distinguishing him from a monster.

"You can do it." Lamaline's voice interrupted his thoughts.

When he looked up, the Banshee Queen's gaze held a persistence beyond common sense. "The children need an outsider they can trust, someone they are willing to open their hearts to, someone who can tell them stories beyond River Valley and Kazdel."

"River Valley needs time to heal its Trauma, and the children need time to grow, to face the encounters after leaving the group—both in strength and in spirit."

Gerald responded with silence, his gaze meeting hers as though weighing the gravity of her request.

Lamaline did not wait long. She straightened her body, her gaze becoming even firmer, her voice revealing an unshakable resolve.

"I swear to you, in the name of Lamaline Ducanfalis, leader of the Banshee Court."

"So long as you are willing, the Banshee Queen will satisfy your requests."

"Anything I can do, so long as it does not harm the Banshee race... anything."

Her voice echoed through the room. At the same time, the Incantations on her body lit up, vast amounts of text gathering like a tide into the form of a gemstone before gently descending onto the table before Gerald.

When sincerity was laid bare before someone without reservation, even time seemed to pause. The air fell so silent that even breathing appeared suppressed.

Gerald stood there, silently watching Lamaline before him—or perhaps more accurately, the sincerity in her words, brilliant as a gemstone yet equally weighty.

He could neither ignore such a solemn request nor casually agree to it.

Yet Lamaline quickly mistook his silence for hesitation. Her gaze lowered slightly, and a barely perceptible, complicated emotion surfaced in her eyes.

"I know my manner earlier may have caused you some misunderstandings," Lamaline said softly, a gentleness and sincerity impossible to conceal in her voice. "But I wasn't lying, Gerald. I believe in you, and the Banshees will always be your friends."

She slowly raised her gaze and met his eyes.

Through the veil, those red eyes shimmered faintly, like a mirror reflecting both the past and the present.

"I understand that even if the war did not end because of you, every step you took was not for our sake. But the Banshees who watched it all from the city walls will never forget that figure."

"—The figure standing before an army of thousands."

"Then and now, it has always been so."

Banshee's Kiss, but Consumable

Gerald was considering something else now.

But it was not whether to accept Lamaline's invitation. After all, if he wanted to seek Lamaline's guidance, this was the best opportunity, without question.

The problem was that, rationally speaking, the most sensible thing for him to do now was test how the dream operated through direct suicide. That would determine his next actions and plans. At worst, he would simply have to listen to this story again, though unexpected circumstances could not be ruled out.

...Forget it. There would be plenty of opportunities to test things later. Agreeing to this condition first was probably the best choice.

This development was indeed what he wanted. Even if future dreams developed independently according to their current tone, the opportunity to make requests of Lamaline should not simply be passed over.

"I accept." After considering it, Gerald directly met the Banshee Queen's gaze. "I'll do everything I can."

When Lamaline heard those words, her lowered eyes trembled slightly, as though lightly disturbed water had sent ripples spreading through her pupils in an instant.

An exceedingly complicated expression appeared on the face behind her veil, mixed with worries over uncertainty, relief, gratitude, and a tenderness beyond words.

She lowered her head slightly, as though concealing her emotions, yet her red eyes still shone brightly through the veil.

"Thank you, Gerald," she said softly, her voice gentle and warm, as though melting the cold air in the room.

Then Lamaline raised her slender jade-like fingers and brushed through the Incantations slowly drifting in the air.

Her fingertips moved slightly, and the Incantations immediately transformed into countless tiny runes, radiating a soft glow as they slowly flew toward the gemstone on the table at her will.

The runes revolved around the gemstone, intertwining with one another before quickly condensing into a delicate necklace. Its pendant seemed formed from gathered moonlight and starlight, giving off a faint, secluded gleam.

"This ornament bears the Banshees' blessing." Lamaline's voice was soft, carrying a sacred solemnity. "For every Banshee, creating a [Kiss] is one of the required lessons of their life."

"In those days of war, when diplomacy had become meaningless, this lesson was replaced with more aggressive Incantations."

She slowly extended her hand, lifted the necklace, then stepped closer and carefully placed it around Gerald's neck.

Her fingertips paused slightly when they touched his skin before slowly withdrawing.

Gerald lowered his head and watched the pendant sway gently, refracting hazy colors through the light and shadow.

Lamaline stepped half a pace back and carefully examined how the necklace looked upon him, like a painter admiring a freshly completed work.

She suddenly leaned closer, rising slightly onto her toes as she lifted a hand to gently press against his shoulder. Through the veil, her red eyes settled above his face as if confirming something.

After a brief pause, she moved closer still, her forehead nearly touching Gerald's.

Then she tilted her head up slightly and gently planted a kiss on his forehead.

The destructive power of this gift was no less than that Feline general's swordsmanship, perhaps even far greater.

After all, the Feline general's sword never produced surprises. It was always precise and proper, yet gathered the pinnacle of technique. The Kiss delivered by the person before him, however, possessed no technique at all, yet was nimble to the extreme: a strike-and-retreat as swift as light itself, leaving even a Pegasus no chance to react.

Her movement was extremely light, like a feather brushing past him. The sensation of the Kiss and veil touching his skin lingered with a faint fragrance.

Even after her body had retreated several steps at some unknown point, that fragrance still lingered around him, refusing to fade for a long time.

"As the first [Kiss] I personally made, it's not bad, right?"

When he looked up, the Banshee Queen's smile was different from before as well.

It held none of the affection, tolerance, or gentleness from before. There was only the delight of succeeding and the mischievous pleasure of teasing him, as though she did not care in the slightest how bold her actions had been.

—If not for her elf-like pointed ears having turned bright red because of it.