I'm Fighting Kal'tsit? Seriously?

By the time Gerald opened his eyes, sunlight had already filtered through the curtains and fallen across one corner of the room. A pleasantly warm breeze drifted in through the door, gently swaying the dreamcatcher beside the bed.

It was still the same room, but the point in time was clearly completely different from last time.

He gently touched the necklace on his chest and looked at the Banshee Queen, who was lifting her teacup and taking a small sip.

Outside the window, the chains binding the young Banshees were performing something resembling a Thomas Spin for who knew how many times.

The piercing shrieks had continued from the moment his consciousness returned until now. He could hear them clearly even without using his Originium Arts.

"Aren't you going to do something about those... Say, are they much older than me? Can I still call them young Banshees?"

Gerald had originally intended to probe the current point in time. Although every detail in the room suggested this was the moment when he had accepted Lamaline's proposal last time, who knew whether some new variable had changed things again?

He had not forgotten the one-fifth of the color that had vanished from the necklace.

But opportunities to deal with a group of long-lived beings were simply too rare, and his naturally talkative nature was beginning to rear its head.

If this was not a dream, he definitely would have wanted to keep chatting with Lamaline like this forever.

As the leader of a race that had experienced the destruction of its nation on the front lines of war, her abilities must have been honed through countless life-and-death battles. Even merely hearing some of her experiences or learning a thing or two from them would benefit him enormously.

At the very least, he had already witnessed Victoria's Steam Knights, Gaul's artillery, and Leithanien's tower mages on the battlefield in his dreams. Lamaline herself, who had personally fought these warriors of the past, could only be an even more precious and magnificent treasure.

How beautiful.

"People in the outside world seem very fond of using age as a standard for comparison." Lamaline smiled, completely unconcerned by words that would have been lethal for many people. "Young can indeed refer to age, but among Banshees, it usually describes their immaturity in skill and mind."

With great interest, Gerald removed the ring from his hand and rolled it around in his palm. "So you don't mind if I ask your age?"

"In fact, I do not mind at all. I can answer directly: ninety-six winters have passed since the day my mother gave birth to me."

Lamaline touched the skin on her face, her tone carrying a trace of complicated emotion. "Banshees possess ways to preserve their appearance forever, but not every member of our race chooses to do so."

"The older we grow, the more clearly we can feel death. It is immense suffering, and only suffering allows a Banshee to sing a gentle Elegy."

"Among the Sarkaz, Banshees witness the departure of their kin. Many regard the final Elegy of a life as a sorrowful honor... Though the act of praising death is meaningless in itself, if it can bring comfort to our people, Banshees will not begrudge them our songs."

"Of course, considering how the outside world views this matter..." Lamaline sighed softly. "Perhaps I should not be happy about this question. Even I feel hurt when called an old woman, even though I am considered young among the Greater Banshees throughout history."

Gerald silently listened to the story personally told by the Banshee Queen, then took a sip of tea.

He suddenly realized he had fallen into a misunderstanding.

His battle against that Feline general on the battlefield had been a fight to the death. Death would reset his time, sending him back to before the battle had begun.

During that process, his thinking had gradually shifted into something else. He had subconsciously assumed that every dream would reset his experiences, so there was no need to think too much. All he had to do was fight every time, since his words would not affect the current situation in any way.

Yet after he had defeated the Feline general last time, his progress had advanced by a great deal. Perhaps several months had passed, skipping all the way to the point when he arrived in River Valley.

And after he had killed himself last time, the dream had only reset him to the moment when he accepted the necklace.

That was the problem.

This checkpoint itself might be something that could be identified and judged. There were simply not enough samples yet to determine whether it would succeed every time.

But let him make an extreme assumption. If he happened to do something reckless right before a checkpoint—say, when he tried to kill himself, his sword had cut halfway through his neck, leaving him in a state where he was dead but not entirely dead—then his dream would be completely ruined.

In other words, to avoid that situation...

It seemed he had to treat every dream as reality from now on.

Anyway, Let's Tour First

"Still, many people in this world seek the path of immortality. Possessing a long life and never having to worry about age is nothing more than a luxurious concern to others."

Lamaline's words interrupted Gerald's thoughts for a moment. He gently shook his head and cast that terrifying possibility out of his mind.

"Perhaps. But you need not belittle yourself. If a long life means enduring the collapse of one's homeland and the deaths of family and friends, then I would rather trade those years for a peaceful life, or strength great enough to protect everything."

"I believe you feel the same way, Lamaline."

He did not know much about the suffering of the Sarkaz. Everything he knew came from the book Saria had brought him. Aside from knowing that they were highly susceptible to Oripathy, most of his knowledge—including that of the Royal Courts—came from his dreams.

Of course, the friends he had met in the wilderness occasionally spoke to him about the past, but most of it was just grumbling and complaints.

To truly empathize with the Sarkaz... he could not do that.

If he had not suffered the same pain, how could he possibly claim to understand it in any real sense?

That would be an insult to them as well.

And as if she had seen through Gerald's thoughts, Lamaline's smile behind her veil became especially gentle. "Theresa was indeed right."

"I don't think I've met her more than a few times."

This was already the third time Gerald had heard that name. The history book that mentioned Kazdel seemed not to have recorded anything related to her at all. Most of it concerned trivial matters from much earlier times. He did not know whether that period had been deliberately concealed or whether some other factor had interfered.

He set the ring in his palm down by the table. "If you can see through someone after only a few meetings, I would rather attribute that ability to some sort of mind-reading. You should spend more time with me before reaching a conclusion."

Lamaline did not mind the implication in Gerald's words. "Naturally. What other possibility could there be?"

Before Gerald could figure out the information hidden in those words, she rose from her seat. "Come, Gerald."

"Everything in River Valley is nature's gift to the Banshees. I hope I may have the honor of personally introducing all of it to you."

The waves had yet to spill over the young riverbed.

Mist spread out from the forest. It was no longer morning, yet the sun had not reached its peak, still waiting beyond the mountains and concealing its form. Dew still fell from the leaves and branches, landing on Pegasus's ears and bringing him a touch of springtime coolness and dampness.

What a mood, what a day.

Pegasus had always been a race that loved nature. Perhaps his ancestors had once run through similar forests, drinking from the springs flowing through the woods as the wind gently brushed their hair and made their steps toward the future lighter.

Just as Gerald was doing now, at some unknown point, he had gone from walking beside Lamaline to walking ahead of her.

The sudden shift in their roles as host and guest left the Greater Banshee somewhat puzzled.

But that puzzlement quickly turned into yet another surprise—who knew how many times she had been surprised today.

When the towering trees overhead that blocked out the sky were left behind, the dwelling place of the Banshees appeared before them. Beneath an endless expanse of azure, water and sky blended together as though they had reached the edge of a dream. Waterfalls cascaded down the towering cliffs like countless streams of flowing crystal, intertwining as they produced a soft, lingering murmur.

"How did you..."

Lamaline could not finish her sentence. She clearly saw that the Incantations meant to confuse the senses had settled upon Gerald, yet they had not affected his sense of direction in the slightest.

This should have been a basic lesson for every Banshee.

Back in Kazdel, they had loved using such little tricks to test the learning progress of young Banshees. They would fill the corridors outside the dining hall and dormitories with Incantations that activated the moment someone barged in carelessly. If anyone had forgotten those lessons entirely, then there would be no dinner for her that night.

"Those Incantations? I deliberately walked into them, since you were with me." Gerald glanced at the still-bewildered Lamaline as he carefully savored the sensory confusion from moments ago. "I... Honestly, this felt stranger than any hallucination. Even eating poisonous mushrooms would not cause symptoms like this."

The disorder was easy to distinguish, because at the same time, two identical sounds were urging him onward.

One was the sound of the wind. The other... was also the sound of the wind, but somehow different?

He could not really explain it.

In this situation, the best choice was instead to relax his body completely and focus only on his Originium Arts. The wind would naturally lead him to where he belonged.

Just like now. After leaving the forest behind, his senses gradually returned to normal.

"The way Incantations affect people differs from ordinary spells." After remaining silent for a while, Lamaline spoke with difficulty. "I am not certain. Even I cannot understand it for the moment. Once today is over, I will search the archives for the reason this happened."

"It's fine."

Gerald smoothed down the fur on his tail, which had puffed up with a poof from the sensory confusion. "We'll have time to figure it out."

Crossing the flowing waters of River Valley and slowly following the slope beside the waterfall, the first thing they saw was a patch that clashed sharply with the surrounding greenery, covered in dense black.

It was Thorns.

As Gerald and Lamaline drew closer, an aura entirely unlike life quickly clung to the air around them.

Even so, the Banshees seemed not to mind arranging this plant, which symbolized suffering, into the shape of a cross and placing it at the center of River Valley.

Gerald was not particularly interested in such symbolism. Although he could see that the Banshees all wore ornaments resembling Thorns, and combined it with Lamaline's earlier stories about pain and Elegies, all he could think of were various tribal groups devoted to animist beliefs.

But this was Terra. This was the Sarkaz. This was the Royal Courts.

Even when conducting experiments, people still believed that following a standard incense-offering ritual could increase the success rate. Let alone Terra, where mysterious powers truly existed.

"When a Banshee child is born, it is welcomed with swaddling clothes made from Thorns."

Lamaline gently placed a hand on the Thorns before her. Her soft palm was swiftly pierced by the spikes, and blood fell beside her feet. It seemed as if faint wails could be heard from within it.

"To offer their blessings, our people grasp the spikes of the Thorns and smear their blood together to welcome the future of the race."

"...Ha."

This was indeed difficult to comment on. The alarm belonging to his medical student instincts was already blaring in his head.

No comment. No comment. They had their own traditions, and Banshees were powerful Sarkaz. Maybe this was how natural selection worked among them?

Fortunately, Lamaline seemed to realize the difference between their beliefs as well. She quickly withdrew her hand from the Thorns and smiled at Gerald. "Let us go to the next place."

And just as they continued walking forward.

Unnoticed, the blood left on Lamaline's hand began to float. As if drawn by something, it drifted toward the invisible cloth on Gerald's right shoulder.

Then it vanished without a trace.

"Illness is uncommon among Banshees, but if one encounters something while separated from the group, such as fragments of Originium, then a place for isolation and treatment becomes necessary."

Lamaline led Gerald to a corner of River Valley. It was a wooden house beside the waterfall, downstream from the river, with a sign above its door written in the Sarkaz language.

Gerald suddenly felt he could learn the written language of the Sarkaz in his dreams, if he had enough time.

"If a Banshee contracts Oripathy, it will be a devastating disaster for her."

She touched the Thorns beside her hair and her horned wings, her voice carrying some heaviness. "The Sarkaz are already more susceptible to Oripathy, yet there is nothing we can do about it."

"In the past, Banshees infected with Oripathy would be expelled from their homes. Because of our traditions involving Thorns and blood, we could not allow newborns to be endangered."

Lamaline sighed. "But at least while I remain the Banshee Queen, I do not wish for my people to be driven out for this reason."

"...Uh."

Gerald opened his mouth.

"You need not worry about my feelings, Gerald."

When Lamaline saw the expression of the person beside her, the emotions in her heart deepened further. "I know this is indeed an irresponsible act, especially as a Greater Banshee—"

"No, what I mean is..." Gerald interrupted Lamaline's explanation and voiced his thoughts. "Oripathy, whose medical name is Multiple Originium Infection Syndrome, is a condition caused by active Originium combining with normal cells."

"Let me explain it in an easier way to understand."

"Exchanging blood can cause infection very easily. It can make people ill, sometimes with infectious diseases that affect them for life. The greatest danger is that it cannot be traced afterward, which makes it an extremely troublesome situation."

"But Oripathy differs from ordinary infectious diseases. For example, like this."

A gust of wind swept over Gerald's palm, and blood immediately welled out. He looked at the blood dripping to the ground and spread his fingers.

"Put down one finger every minute."

"After five minutes." He raised his head, wiped his hand, and the wound quickly healed. "The active Originium originally in the blood will become inactive, and it will no longer be infectious. So even though this is indeed a terrible practice... we can prevent problems through certain methods."

Faced with Lamaline, whose body had gone rigid as she momentarily did not know what to say, Gerald silently rubbed his tired eyes.

"You really need a doctor who knows what he's doing, don't you?"

Anyway, Let's Fight First

Their stroll did not last long. Neither he nor Lamaline was the kind of person who would be left breathless after walking only a short distance.

Rather, the ones exhausted were the group of young Banshees chirping and gossiping as they followed behind them.

After Lamaline lowered them from the air, they clearly had not reflected on their behavior. Before long, their desire to sneak closer and observe reignited, and they hid themselves in the bushes behind the pair, convinced they were being clever.

"Hey, Nastya, do we... cough, cough... do we have any way to catch up?"

One young Banshee truly felt that her feet could not take even one more step. Flying through the air had already been uncomfortable enough, and now she had to walk such a long mountain path. With the exhaustion piling up, tomorrow's training would probably be ruined.

Beside her stood another Banshee whose face was full of indifference. The two of them had always maintained some distance from the Banshees' main group.

The Bone Pen in Nastya's hand rotated gently, swiftly constructing two crude cups made from branches and leaves in midair. She filled them with water and handed them out to the panting Banshees.