Am I Fighting Kal'tsit? Seriously?

The dream ended.

Familiar with this process, Gerald silently sat up in bed. The strange sensation in his neck made him not want to say anything.

It was only the second day.

The second day after defeating the Feline general. He hadn't even figured out what that piece of cloth was for before the Banshee lord had inexplicably hit him with a whole combo and follow-up attacks, nearly beating him so badly he couldn't crawl off the ground. She'd even packaged up a relic and handed it over along the way.

The second time! Their second meeting!

She was the lord of a Royal Court, after all. The Sarkaz Royal Courts' lifespans far surpassed those of ordinary people, so their sense of time was bound to differ from everyone else's. Given that, why did Lamaline's affection bar already look almost full? What kind of mechanism was this dream using?!

The little horse was dejected. The little horse was confused. The little horse couldn't understand.

Not being able to continue fighting the Feline general had already disappointed him greatly, and this baffling future left Gerald even more lost... Did he have to patiently chatter away with a group of Banshees for half a day every single day just to earn one chance to fight their lord?

Gerald admitted he was a chatterbox, but when efficiency should come first, wasting time was what he couldn't tolerate most.

Besides that, there was something else that puzzled him even more.

This was actually the first time he hadn't woken from a dream naturally.

Unlike last time, when he'd unknowingly witnessed the final moments of the Kazdel war before the dream pushed him out.

This time, he'd only escaped after finding an opportunity to personally swing his sword and cut off his own head.

Based on his experience with the previous dream, time within the dream seemed to have some connection to the real world.

Yet after waiting from morning until afternoon—even seeing several young Banshees sneak back outside his room to try speaking with him—he still showed no signs of waking up.

The unusual situation made it hard for him to let it go, but he couldn't reach any conclusions through thought alone. So he simply climbed out of bed, took out the books he planned to read tomorrow, and intended to write some notes to pass this unusually long night.

As for studying the relic, he'd decided to put that aside for now. What happened that morning had taught him a sufficiently profound lesson—the stinging smell of disinfectant mixed with dried blood still lingered throughout the room. Even if it didn't bother him, Anthony next door had probably reached his limit.

However, just as he was about to start taking notes, his gaze happened to fall upon the clock in the room.

That single glance instantly made his whole body stiffen.

As though he'd suddenly realized something, he quickly lowered his head and looked at the necklace Lamaline had given him. It still radiated a dazzling luster, as though all the world's finest things had been condensed into that tiny pendant.

Except for one issue—the color in the necklace's center had somehow vanished by a fifth.

Gerald's heart sank slightly. He reached for the necklace on his chest, intending to take it off and inspect what had happened.

And that was the problem.

He took it off.

Cyclops Bloodline Search in Progress

For ordinary people, a complicated problem that could still be resolved through normal logic wasn't much of a challenge. A problem requiring inspiration and talent, on the other hand, was genuinely difficult.

But the situation before him had no logic whatsoever. There wasn't even room for inspiration to help.

If the cloth from before couldn't be torn off no matter how hard he pulled, like a patch of skin on his body without nerves, then the necklace he now wore was no different from any ordinary accessory.

The question was why there was such a difference between them, and why this anomaly had appeared only with the necklace.

Thinking was useless. Action was what mattered.

Unsure whether the vanished color on the necklace was related to his suicide in the dream, Gerald conducted two simple experiments: entering dreams with the necklace and without it.

The latter wasn't completed in time.

Because when he opened his eyes again and heard the prison bell signaling the start of a new day, the period in which he could enter dreams had come to an end as well.

"You slept soundly."

Anthony's deep voice came from the neighboring cell. After a night's rest, his mental state had clearly improved considerably. "Even little disturbances didn't wake you. Looks like you finally had a good dream?"

"Quite the opposite. There was no dream at all." The emptiness he hadn't experienced in a long time deepened Gerald's doubts. "No battlefield, no warm room, nothing."

"Heh. One of my favorite kinds."

Yesterday's conversation with Gerald had clearly helped Anthony sort out his feelings. He'd learned to keep his resolve in his heart, and his tone had returned to its usual courteous manner. "After waking from a dream like that, you always feel much more alert than usual. I suppose that's the benefit of deep sleep."

Time waited for no one. Gerald stood up, savoring the unfamiliar feeling of chatting with a friend upon waking as he prepared to wash up. "If I had to study the next day, I'd agree with you. But this is a prison. What good is being a little more alert?"

"But you've been studying lately." Anthony poured the basin of water he'd filled the night before over himself, letting out a comfortable low growl.

Only after droplets of icy water ran down his fur and dripped onto the floor did he continue what he hadn't finished saying. "That isn't meaningless. I realized it when you told me those things yesterday."

"[Always be prepared] is what's meaningless." He wiped the water droplets from his body with a towel. "It's too vague, too broad. You never know what counts as being prepared, or whether everything you've prepared will actually work against your enemy."

"—Only action matters. Taking the initiative."

Gerald gave a perfunctory clap. "Sure, sure. Famous words. If you write a memoir when you're old, I'll remember to buy a copy, read a few pages, then grant it the honorable duty of propping up my table."

"Heh, trust me. If it comes to that, I'll put it within the first few dozen pages." Anthony seemed steadier after the night. He hung the cloth he'd used to dry himself on the room's rack. "It'll be the first sentence of Volume Two, introducing a certain friend of mine—I believe you'll like it."

"Just don't write anything weird about me." Gerald answered casually, then added after thinking for a moment, "Oh, right. Make sure you portray me as handsome."

"I think an accurate description would be enough." Anthony glanced at the figure beyond the large hole, then changed the subject. "Back to what happened yesterday—I plan to invite the girl who tried to assassinate me."

The Pegasus stretching his body wasn't surprised in the least. "You've made up your mind?"

Anthony stopped what he was doing, walked over to the large hole, and spoke earnestly to his friend on the other side. "Yes. Just as Kafka said, I have to escape this place. You mentioned before that you had a prison break plan. We can make preparations on both fronts."

"That assassin clearly has mechanical engineering experience. With her leg injured, she'll become an asset to us."

"This would also let us use her to contact the person pulling the strings and find a way out. We can achieve two goals at once. I can't think of any reason not to do it."

"I said yesterday that you're the one who was targeted for assassination. You decide how to handle it." Gerald nodded and didn't intend to spoil his friend's enthusiasm. "I won't interfere with the assassin. Before tonight, I'll give you my answer on my end."

"Tonight?" Anthony asked in confusion. "Is there something special about that time?"

"Sort of." Gerald shrugged. "Oh, right, I haven't told you, have I? I finished the last medical book in the prison last night."

Seeing that the confusion in the other man's gaze hadn't diminished at all, he fiddled with the necklace on his chest. Once he confirmed Anthony's attention still hadn't lingered on it for even a moment, he continued explaining.

"In other words, there's no reason for me to remain in this prison any longer."

The same time, the same place.

The prison library had originally been built at Anthony's suggestion, but now it had become a place for Saria and Gerald to meet in secret. That counted as Anthony doing his brother a good turn.

When Saria entered the library carrying a stack of engineering drawings, Gerald, who'd been secretly studying the necklace on his chest, jumped in fright. Before she could explain, he blurted out, "Wait, are you testing me on engineering now just to keep me from graduating?!"

"...I'm pleased that exams were the first thing you thought of when you saw blueprints. But unfortunately, these drawings have nothing to do with our agreement." Saria pulled a chair over and sat beside Gerald. "You can look through them."

Calcification formed solid blocks at the four corners of the drawings, pinning them flat against the table. Spread before Gerald were diagrams of the prison's structure.

"I can't really understand them, but since you're the one who brought them, I assume you can." Gerald merely glanced at the neatly arranged lines before feeling dizzy. "I can infer some of the basic elements, but hand-drawn diagrams... Are you also Rhine Lab's engineering department head?"

"I didn't draw these." Saria's answer was brief. "Do you remember what you told me yesterday? The things you told Barton."

"Of course." Gerald rolled his eyes. Having read so many books in such a short time and passed most of Saria's exams, his memory was naturally beyond question. "I told him to look into the prisoners in Blocks A and B, as well as the workers who came to build the prison—"

He shut his mouth.

"..."

"I understand now. So I'm not a Kuranta."

After a long while, as though trying to escape reality, Gerald muttered softly, "I've actually been a Cyclops all along."

"Your traits are ninety-eight percent similar to those of the Kuranta race. We can basically confirm that you are indeed a Kuranta."

Saria made a modest joke at that moment, but quickly explained the reason. "Back to the matter at hand. Barton had some guards search those workers' rooms. I found this on an intern."

"Just as foolish as ever. It damages the warden's reputation, but never mind."

Gerald's attention was on something else. "The person who hired the assassins had no reason to help them leave this place, so there are two remaining possibilities. First, this intern belongs to the faction trying to save Anthony. Second, this intern was looking for something hidden in the prison."

"..." Saria fell silent for a moment. "The latter is unlikely."

"I thought so too. Judging from these drawings, she seems to have been looking only for a route to the outside. Most of her search was focused on the central tower." Gerald casually flipped through the papers in his hands. "The prison's secret lies farther beneath Blocks A and B, near the mobile platform's power core."

Crack.

Saria had been sitting perfectly upright, her hands folded on the tabletop, looking as composed as ever. Even Gerald's analysis hadn't stirred the slightest change in her expression.

But when Gerald spoke the latter half of that sentence, her brow gave an almost imperceptible twitch, as though she were trying to confirm whether she'd heard correctly. Her palm, which had rested loosely on the table's edge, subconsciously tightened, her fingertips pressing harder against the surface.

Then she snapped off a piece of the not particularly sturdy wooden table.

"How did you know?" Saria barely suppressed her ominous suspicions and asked Gerald slowly, seriously.

"The wind."

Gerald replied in his usual carefree tone. "Normally, my hearing can't reach that far. The mobile platform's operating noises also interfere with my ability to distinguish things, unless I can use Originium Arts—like I have since yesterday."

"It's still crude, but as long as there's [movement], I can sense it."

This was also a combat style he'd developed himself during his fight with the Feline general.

To withstand the pincer attack of that monster and the Feline general, he had to keep his attention and eyes on the opponent's sword at all times, using the wind to sense and evade attacks coming from behind.

That included, but wasn't limited to, charges, sudden shockwaves, piercing attacks, biting, pouncing, and so on.

He had gradually adapted to a dynamic, ultra-high-speed combat environment. There was no reason he couldn't sense a static one. Still, this ability could only reveal a rough outline at most. For more detailed information, he'd have to explore and practice gradually.

That was why he missed the days of fighting the Feline general so much. Experience gained in dreams didn't lie.

Practice was useful. The more he practiced, the more skilled he became.

"What else can you sense?" Saria's tone became more urgent. "For example, the entrance leading there, the ventilation ducts connecting to it, the drainage outlets and water inlets? The number of people inside, the specific environment, their condition?"

"Hold on. Too many questions. One at a time."

Gerald directly made a T-shaped gesture with his hands, signaling for her to stop.

By then, Saria had more or less realized she'd lost her composure.

Her gaze flickered slightly. As though she had suddenly noticed she'd nearly leaned far too close, she adjusted her posture and slowly pulled her body back from where it had almost pressed against him.

Gerald finally had room to take control of the conversation. He placed the book he'd finished reading yesterday on the table and asked calmly, "What was our agreement, Saria?"

He raised his eyes and met Saria's gaze directly. "Four months. I finish every book you brought, prove my ideals and resolve to you. You remove my shackles and take Anthony and the others out with us."

"I read day and night to fulfill our agreement. I've written more than ten notebooks of notes, drained fountain pen after fountain pen of ink... I've now fulfilled our agreement, yet you still aren't willing to explain your true purpose for coming here?"

Saria's eyes fell on the books atop the table: the orderly pages, worn slightly from being read; the dense handwriting and ink in those notebooks; the check marks and crosses on the test papers.

She had no room to bargain, and she would never bargain over an agreement.

"You're right. Since I haven't removed your shackles, I naturally have no right to ask you these questions. They fall outside the scope of our agreement." Saria took a deep breath and nodded. "That was my mistake."

"When Mansfield next reaches Columbia, I'll take all of you out as we discussed."

A Vouivre who never knew how to adapt would naturally overlook the true meaning behind the other person's words.

Or rather, had she ever encountered so-called [sincerity]?

"You know, sometimes I really want to meet whoever raised you into what you are now... Does that sound a little too condescending?" Gerald stood and paced around the table, helplessness even entering his voice. "Working with you is efficient, but it's truly exhausting too, Saria. Even diamonds are more flexible than you."

"It's true that I never agreed to help you resolve your private matters, but who says we can't make another deal?"

"...You shouldn't get involved in my private affairs." Saria hesitated and shook her head. "This will involve Columbia's politics. Strength won't be of much use here."

As though he'd expected that answer all along, Gerald smiled at her. "True, but you're about to release me anyway, which means you've already gotten involved in Kazimierz's politics. That makes us even."

He didn't let Saria interrupt and continued. "I have no faith, so I won't talk about charlatan nonsense like [forgiveness]."

"I regard the agreement you made with me as an [investment], Saria."

"At this stage, you can see my potential, and I can make you a fortune. Your investment has been very successful."

"So now, it's my turn to invest in the head of the Rhine Lab Defense Division standing before me."

Gerald returned to Saria's side and extended his hand. "It isn't a huge investment. I'll help you resolve your private matter, and when we return to Kazimierz, you give me a ride. Deal?"

The one being invited merely looked quietly at Gerald. A rare trace of hesitation flashed through her eyes as her hands slowly dropped to her sides. She didn't immediately answer his proposal.

After a moment of silence, she spoke softly, her tone carrying complicated emotions.

"I wasn't seeking repayment from you through our previous agreement, Gerald. You don't need to accommodate me for that."