Do I Fight Kal'tsit? Seriously?

The Remaining Ones Were No Cicadas, Only Orioles

Mansfield, two days later.

"Well, well, what a rare sight, Anthony. It's truly an honor to escort such an important figure today."

Hearing the voice, Anthony gradually withdrew his gaze from his surroundings and looked at the speaker beside him. The one chattering nonstop was the prison guard who had led the assassins before getting clubbed from behind. Even after taking a beating, that noisy manner of his hadn't changed at all.

He didn't respond. He'd encountered plenty of this kind of mockery before, and it wasn't the priority right now.

From C Section to the elevator shaft, judging by his stride and build, it was roughly eight hundred meters.

He had no idea how Gerald had heard movement from eight hundred meters away from inside his room.

As a prison constructed decades ago around an artificial mountain, its vertical structure was generally quite complicated. Getting from C Section, where they were held, to the infirmary required covering quite a long distance. Starting from C Section's central tower alone, the elevator ride down took a full three minutes.

Whenever Mansfield drew close to Columbia, even Gerald couldn't move freely. The entire elevator shaft and C Section would be locked down tight until the mobile section moved away again.

Therefore, the first key to escaping prison was figuring out how to get out of C Section.

By a fortunate coincidence, Mansfield's structure offered a strange means of escape: its sinking mechanism.

Presumably in case the elevator shaft malfunctioned, the highest floor at the top of C Section's tower contained a central control room. Inside was a way to rapidly lower the entire tower, allowing people to leave C Section and head underground even if the elevator shaft failed.

As time slowly passed, the chatty guard found Anthony unwilling to speak and began idly playing with the baton in his hand. He imagined when the big tiger beside him might suddenly lash out, so he could crack him over the head with it.

After passing through layer upon layer of performative security checks, the elevator arrived underground on schedule.

Yet the moment they stepped out and the elevator doors opened, the two of them ran into another prison guard who had clearly been waiting for a long time.

"I'll take it from here, brother." The waiting guard patted the other man's shoulder. "Captain Barton seemed to be looking for you just now."

"...Huh?" The chatty guard gave him a strange look, then silently bared his teeth. "Fine, he's all yours. I've never seen anyone volunteer to go looking for work before."

What the hell.

These new guards really loved shoving their faces into that fat pig's mouth, listening to whatever he said. With that thought, the chatty guard sneered and turned back into the elevator. Before leaving, he didn't forget to call out, "Don't you worry, brother. I'll tell Barton all about how nicely you ate the shit he laid out for you."

Only after the elevator doors closed again did the new guard withdraw his cold expression from that direction and turn toward Anthony beside him.

From this angle, Anthony could even see the muscles and veins bulging along his arm.

In Mansfield, where nearly everyone was just coasting through life and waiting to die, it was hard to see a prison guard like this.

"You weren't wrong," Anthony suddenly said. "You're really terrible at hiding yourself. Coming all the way to Mansfield and still having to bottle yourself up like this... it must've been hard on you."

"Ha. A young master who's been locked up for six years still has the leisure to pick at me... tsk, tsk. Looks like you didn't learn much in prison these past six years."

The prison guard—or rather, Jeston Williams—bared his fangs in the empty corridor. "What a pity that Kuranta isn't by your side now. Ah, Anthony, tell me. How lucky must you be? You lost both your father and mother, yet somehow still found someone in prison willing to shelter you. But how long can he shelter you?"

"Like right now."

Jeston pressed his hand against Anthony's lower back. "Guess this—when you're kneeling on the floor howling, will you still have the leisure to pick at me?"

"You're a new prison guard. How many people would believe you, and how many would believe me?" Anthony licked his upper lip, restraining the urge to kill. "Why don't you guess instead? How far has our plan progressed, and how much time do you have left to stop us? Losing your temper out of shame won't make you noble, and it won't help you learn any more information."

"Let me give you some advice." Anthony spoke each word distinctly. "You'd better make your move now, because this is your best chance."

The corridor was dim.

Only a few cold-toned lights embedded in the walls barely illuminated the path ahead. The air carried a stale, damp smell, faintly mixed with the pungent scent of disinfectant, hinting at their proximity to the infirmary. Their breathing echoed through the empty passageway, unusually clear.

Jeston stared at Anthony's back, his hand still pressed to Anthony's lower back. His knuckles had gone slightly white, and his breathing seemed to quicken for an instant before he could only let out a cold snort.

He stepped beside Anthony and shoved his shoulder, his tone openly provocative. "Move. The infirmary's up ahead, Anthony. Hope your lucky charm keeps working."

Anthony stepped into the infirmary and glanced back at him. "Thanks for the escort. Next time, don't let your hand shake so badly. Maybe then you'll actually have the nerve to do something."

The guard's face darkened for a moment, but he didn't respond. With a cold snort, he turned and left, his footsteps gradually fading down the long corridor.

The infirmary door was pushed open, then slowly shut, leaving only the dim yellow light outside and the echo of receding footsteps.

"I'm here... Duma?"

Seeing the empty infirmary, Anthony instinctively assumed Duma had returned to her room. But his attention quickly fell on the note lying on the table.

It read: "Had to leave for something. Please wait a moment."

That wasn't normal. At least, he'd never seen anything like it before. Combined with what they'd discussed yesterday, an idea immediately surfaced.

He quickly took three steps as two and entered the morgue within the infirmary. The eerie atmosphere and chilly air soon made his fur stand slightly on end. Only when he saw sparks and heard noises bursting from behind the privacy screen did he realize something was wrong.

Tap, tap, tap.

Clear, sharp sounds came from where something had been hidden inside the morgue. The instant they sounded, Anthony pressed his body against the door and carefully listened for movement outside.

Fortunately, it seemed that Jeston had already left.

"What the hell are you doing—" Anthony stopped when he saw Robin and Duma behind the screen. His eyes still held a trace of disbelief. "How did you get that?"

The sight before him left him rooted to the spot—Robin and Duma were crouched by the wall. One held up an assembled pickaxe, while the other had spread out a pile of tools and cloth scavenged from somewhere, clearly meant to conceal the traces of their work.

A shallow groove had already been carved into the floor, with chunks of dirt and concrete debris scattered everywhere.

When Robin saw that it was Anthony, she looked up, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and scratched her cheek. "I collected parts from the underground factory and put it together bit by bit... I mean, I never thought the things I learned would come in handy in a place like this."

"But where are Gerald and Kafka?" Anthony asked in confusion. "Aren't they with you?"

Hearing that, the two exchanged looks and shook their heads in confusion.

"...Maybe Gerald took Kafka somewhere else to take care of something?" Duma's equally bewildered reply came in answer.

"It's a shame he didn't make a move, but that's fine too."

Gerald was currently sitting on the backrest of a chair in the surveillance room. Beside him sat Saria in a prison guard uniform... along with Kafka, whose face was full of confusion.

"You hid your Originium Arts on Anthony?" Saria narrowed her eyes. "Just like what you did to that assassin named Robin that day."

"Mm. That way, even if he did make a move, it wouldn't matter."

"Wait, wait!" Kafka hurriedly said, glancing around at her surroundings. "Why did you bring me to the surveillance room? And what's with this prison guard?"

Gerald turned to Kafka with understanding, a smile across his face. "Ah, right, introductions, Miss Kafka. This is our additional helper. You can trust her completely. I think once we get out of here, you'll be able to give the lady behind you a very satisfying explanation."

"After all, Saria, known as the director of Rhine Lab Defense Division, should have worked with the woman you mentioned, Silence, in the past."

Shadows of the Past

After leaving the surveillance room, Saria silently avoided the cameras along the way. Only after returning to a normal area did she speak. "So that's why you planned to do this."

"You want to entrust Anthony and the others to Silence?"

"Normally, I wouldn't trust someone I'd never met, but since you vouch for her, I don't think it's a bad choice."

Gerald followed easily behind Saria. Kafka, who had been called out alone and looked deeply uneasy, had already fled back to A and B Sections. Only the two of them set off to return after watching the prison recordings.

"Anthony needs to understand that part of his past," he continued. "And the issues surrounding me involve some internal conflicts in Kazimierz. It'd be best if they couldn't be tracked. Still, I'm rather surprised that your supposedly innocent old friend would choose to trust someone as 'clever' as Kafka."

"Everyone grows."

A trace of emotion appeared in Saria's eyes, but it quickly returned to her usual stillness. "After the prison break, they should go where Silence is now. Ifrit is there too. It's a pharmaceutical company called Rhodes Island. If you're not in a hurry to return to Kazimierz, I'd recommend going there and seeing it for yourself."

"I've heard of it. A pharmaceutical company, right? I saw their recruiters looking for people in the Great Knight Territory before." Gerald nodded. "Is there something special about it?"

"They specialize in research related to Oripathy." Saria answered this question in great detail. "They're not an ordinary pharmaceutical company. Considering that their company is located aboard a landship, their operating model is closer to Doctors Without Borders. For a comparison of their scale, look at Blacksteel's Barren Mobile Base."

"...Are you sure you're describing a pharmaceutical company, not an official military training platform?"

Gerald fell silent for once.

Thinking back on the life he'd once lived, Kazimierz had never possessed that kind of capital.

Blacksteel's Barren Mobile Base was reputed to be the largest landship owned and operated by a non-governmental organization. Even among powerful nations such as Victoria and Leithanien, only a handful possessed flagships of a comparable level.

In other words, the company's background itself flaunted one thing.

This company was rich.

Very rich.

Pharmaceutical companies could make money—there was no doubt about that. The reason other companies avoided Oripathy research was that technical barriers and research costs could consume all invested funds before any profit ever appeared.

Moreover, Oripathy wasn't welcome in some countries, and companies capable of treating it were viewed as monsters in turn—just imagine what it felt like to pile a bunch of bombs that could explode together.

Kazimierz was one example. Even nobles took the same stance: anyone with Oripathy would be expelled from their family, because Oripathy was incurable and could only be alleviated as much as possible.

Had they tried seeking out pharmaceutical companies for relief? They had.

Did it work? No.

A family's rise and fall couldn't be entrusted to someone who was about to die, nor to someone whose children would be born with Oripathy.

One could only imagine the kind of capital behind a company established specifically to study Oripathy under such circumstances.

"A fascinating idea, but I have to say, very clever."

As Gerald walked, he considered the founder's motives, and his tone carried a hint of inquiry. "The mobile section itself serves as a screening process for personnel, and there must be quite a few capable people among its employees. A landship can't operate on a few medical workers alone."

"If you want, I can write you a letter of recommendation," Saria suddenly said. "I believe they wouldn't refuse."

Hearing that, Gerald instinctively turned to look at Saria's expression. Yet he couldn't detect the slightest hint of a joke, so he could only smile. "Because my record is excellent?"

"No. I've simply been thinking about what Kazimierz means to you, and what choice you'll make afterward."

Saria stopped walking and looked directly at Gerald.

"Once everything is over, I'd hope you could come to Rhine Lab and work with me. With your abilities, you could surpass the vast majority of employees. But..." She paused, a complicated emotion flashing through her eyes. "I don't think you share the same goal as me."

Gerald didn't answer immediately. He simply watched the friend who had guided him for two months.

"Rhine Lab's internal situation is extremely complicated. It may only cause you to waste your time." Saria's tone remained as firm as ever, yet after a brief pause, there was a faint hesitation in it. "In comparison, Rhodes Island might be a more suitable choice. I believe that with your abilities, you'll definitely find your place there."

"The situation in Columbia is changing rapidly and becoming increasingly complicated. And my cooperation with Rhodes Island... may deepen further in the future."

"So what you're saying is," Gerald raised a brow, "you hope I'll be the one dealing with you then? Don't tell me you want me to infiltrate Rhodes Island's upper ranks and make the final decisions whenever you need them?"

Saria glanced at him, not answering directly. However, the speechlessness in her eyes had already revealed her attitude.

Yet her silence itself seemed like a kind of acknowledgment—an acknowledgment of another layer of meaning.

"Fine." Seeing that expression, Gerald knew there was no point asking normally. "We still have some time before returning to our rooms, right?"

"Is there something you want to do?" Saria put their earlier silence behind her. There was no need to dwell on complicated matters now; it was better to focus on what needed doing. "If you want to inspect the blind spots we saw on the surveillance footage, there's probably not enough time to check them all."

"No. Let's go to the second-floor corridor."

Gerald answered briefly. "The only place in the prison where you can see outside."

The second-floor corridor of Mansfield was the only place where one could see the sky, and one of the few places without cameras.

It lay beneath the sunlight from outside, but the wilderness around Columbia was always covered in thick yellow sand, so even the sky sometimes seemed veiled by a pale layer of yellow.

Cacti and tumbleweeds were common sights being run over here. So-called "Western" films had arisen from this very image, with people reminiscing about Columbia's past pioneers and its former glory... almost exactly like the Western films from Gerald's previous life.

But today was a rare, brilliantly clear day.

"I've heard you talk about many things." Before Saria could ask why he had brought her here, Gerald spoke. "About the child Ifrit, about Columbia."

"It doesn't seem very fair if I never talk about my own matters. It also keeps making you misunderstand."

Saria stood by the wall and narrowed her eyes slightly. A breeze passed through the corridor, carrying a dry scent of sand and dust, while her black uniform swayed softly in the wind.

Sunlight fell across her face, softening her usually stern expression by several degrees.

"I won't force you to speak," she said. "But I'd be happy to listen to your story."

Gerald leaned against the wall on the other side of the corridor. His gaze passed over Saria before settling on the deep blue sky.

"I was once a noble," he said slowly. "In Kazimierz, knight nobles who joined the national military lost their noble status. Their rights were frozen until the end of their military service, and they were employed by the Arbitration Council."

"In 1062, during the Tenth Uka War, nearly all the knights in my family died. The remaining relatives, whose blood ties were distant, gradually left the family and chose to rely on the Commercial Union in exchange for room to survive."

Gerald paused and looked up at the distant sky. Reflected sunlight sent a complicated emotion flickering through his eyes.

"When I was thirteen, my mother died. Her death devastated my father, and though he inherited the family's name, he wasn't skilled in battle. Among all knight families, he was especially passive, able to preserve the family's standing only through past glory and social connections."

"The problem before me was that, because my father wasn't recognized by Kazimierz's authorities, I had to inherit the family's title of Long Knight so the family could continue... otherwise, our title would be stripped away. That was something my father couldn't accept."

"But if I wanted to inherit that title, I faced two choices—either become a competitive knight and attach my family to Kazimierz's shadow government, the Commercial Union formed by corporations."