I Fought Kal'tsit? Seriously? Chapter 25

Skipping over the twists and turns along the way, accelerating and then slowing down, he reached the familiar elevator shaft ten seconds later.

Before noon today, he had already "borrowed" the elevator card and key to the main control room from Barton. It was hard to imagine how a key card concerning prison security had ended up in the hands of an idiot. Clearly, Randall had been far too overconfident in this regard.

A rich young master like Anthony might not have understood much about how this place operated, but Gerald, once a member of the Kazimierz military, understood what the central control room meant to a mobile landmass.

As a mobile platform powered by Originium, nearly every other facility depended on electricity. The main control room could not only cut and restore power to facilities in an emergency, but also controlled the mobile platform's braking authority. Its function was comparable to a command tower in a mobile city: it automatically detected changes in Originium concentration around the landmass and adjusted its direction accordingly.

To put it another way, it was like the autopilot system on aircraft from Gerald's previous life. During the journey, the pilot mainly monitored things while the system automatically adjusted the flight path according to real-time wind speed and weather data.

Catastrophes, meanwhile, were like malfunctions and accidents encountered mid-flight, requiring manual operation to alter the vehicle's condition.

Therefore, if they didn't want the connection between the mobile platform and the city severed during the prison break, sending them plummeting from dozens or even hundreds of meters above the wilderness, they had to seize control of the main control room before anyone else.

Gerald didn't hesitate. He pried open the elevator doors with both hands, quickly assessed the shaft, then leaped forward and firmly caught a support point on the inner wall. He used the momentum to hurl himself upward, lightly stepping off each foothold as he went. In an instant, he shot upward like an arrow.

Repeating the process, he climbed far faster than taking the elevator. After all, in the original plan, they would have had to climb the elevator shaft like this to reach the central control room after the power went out.

When Gerald reached the top, a square hatch appeared before him. He inserted the key, and the door quickly opened.

A gust of wind mixed with thick dust rushed at him, carrying a coarse, dry smell.

He frowned and crossed the distance to the central control room in a few quick strides.

...Nothing.

Everything else was there, including the methods mentioned in the blueprints for lowering the tower and cutting the power.

But the one thing that should have been most important, the thing that absolutely should have been here, was nowhere to be found.

The employees responsible for monitoring the mobile platform's operations, and—

The core system responsible for adjusting the mobile platform's route.

Meanwhile, in the infirmary, Duma quietly placed everything she had accumulated over the years on her person.

One of the upper pockets of her clothes held a water lily seed, while another contained several candies Gerald had handed out on his birthday.

She hadn't eaten them. Instead, she had carefully placed that first birthday gift shared by a friend into a specimen bag as a keepsake.

Anthony had taught her how to write letters. He had once suggested that finding a pen pal would be a good choice, allowing her to learn about the outside world and everything in it.

She had sent many letters to Columbia's pen pal association, but due to Mansfield's unusual conditions, replies often took a very long time to arrive, making communication extremely difficult.

Yet the very first reply she had received still rested in the right pocket of her clothes.

Several letters her father had left for her were tucked into the lining. The elegant handwriting made it difficult to imagine that it had come from a prison doctor.

Her father had often mentioned this while he was alive. After all, he was the only medical practitioner in the prison. Whether it was prescriptions or letters, he could write them however he pleased, and that only highlighted his individuality.

The books she had once read were neatly arranged on the shelves. It was a pity she couldn't take them with her, but the thought that she would be able to see even more books from now on eased much of that sadness.

This was her world.

There had once been only one other person in this world besides her. Then, gradually, only she remained. But later, several more people had appeared.

Life, learning, growing up, death.

Politeness, patience, maturity, self-restraint.

Toughness, conviction, composure, determination.

She had grown.

It was time for her to take a step forward.

As the lights in the infirmary flickered, emergency backup lighting came on. At the same time, the door was smashed open along with her train of thought.

"Ah, good afternoon, Miss Duma. I hope our uninvited arrival won't cause too much trouble for you... and your companions."

A slow, unhurried voice sounded alongside the crash of the door hitting the floor.

A man in a prison guard uniform, Jeston Williams, strode in with a group of inmates. He had reached Mansfield's infirmary ahead of everyone else.

"...How did you know about our plan?"

The moment she saw the man, Duma instinctively grabbed the staff beside her, regaining a little sense of security.

"Are you seriously asking that? Even I have to say, your movements were far too blatant. It was as though you had no intention of hiding anything at all."

Jeston slowly paced forward. Yet after just one step, Duma raised her staff and aimed it at him.

He helplessly lifted both hands. "All right, all right. What can I say, Doctor? You don't actually think your Arts can do anything to me—"

The indigo light didn't even wait for Jeston to finish speaking. The Originium Arts from her staff flashed past his scalp in an instant, and only his reflexive reaction had saved him.

When he turned around, two of the inmates he had brought had taken the sudden attack head-on and collapsed to the floor, instantly falling asleep.

On the other side, Duma was gradually shaking off her initial awkwardness. In the blink of an eye, several more flashes of light streaked through the room, and the inmates Jeston had brought were utterly wiped out—as perhaps the first sentence taught at Victoria Guard Academy had put it.

Only an idiot would see a staff in their opponent's hand and still foolishly charge forward with a sword raised.

Of course, that statement came with a condition.

The difference in strength between the two sides couldn't be too great, and neither side could be at the absolute top level.

Jeston didn't meet the latter condition, but the former clearly applied here.

Another Arts attack came from Duma, but this time he was no longer unprepared—metal plates abruptly grew beneath his skin, spreading until they covered his entire arm. The newly formed iron shielded him like a buckler, deflecting the incoming Arts.

"I told you." Jeston took several breaths before nervously delivering the rest of his line. "Your Arts are useless against me."

"..."

Duma fell silent for a moment. The current situation wasn't suitable for forcing things further. The right choice was to stall until Anthony and the others arrived.

So she spoke. "You're the one who wants to kill Anthony?"

"Oh, very clever, Miss Duma. I agree, buying time is a good strategy."

Jeston nodded with clear appreciation. "Unfortunately, I don't believe Anthony would hide anything about me from you. Although this is a gamble with some risk, I have always had a firm grasp on his behavior."

"After all, he should know very well that if he truly chose to report me, who could guarantee that I wouldn't take unexpected measures against his friends?"

"Just like now."

Jeston rapidly closed in on Duma. The metal plate on his hand formed into the shape of a blade, and just as he reached her—

He heard the whisper of the wind.

The wind that had remained around Duma all this time transformed into agile ropes at that moment, instantly wrapping around Jeston's body.

He had plenty of time to react, and Jeston naturally spread iron elements over as much of his body as possible. After all, who knew whether this was another form of the other party's Originium Arts?

But it was ultimately futile.

Wind slipped into every tiniest gap before tearing everything apart like blades. Even Saria's Enamel couldn't withstand such a sudden internal collapse.

Thus, after only a second, the metal on Jeston's body disintegrated into dust in the air.

What awaited him next was a point-blank spell from a caster, delivered without restraint.

And a full-force downward strike from a staff made of D32 Steel.

When the three hurriedly reached the infirmary entrance, the open door made their hearts clench.

Anthony rushed into the infirmary at incredible speed, his steps even kicking up dust from the floor. His gaze swept swiftly across the room before finally stopping at the far end—

Duma, panting as she clutched her staff, and Jeston, hanging in the air in a bizarre position with his head lolling about.

Kafka and Robin, who had hurried in behind him, were left speechless by the sight before them.

It wasn't until Saria, bringing up the rear, arrived and lightly tapped their backs that the two snapped out of it and hurried to Duma's side.

"Duma!" Kafka stepped over the inmates sprawled all over the floor and reached the doctor, who was still catching her breath. "Are you all right? That Jeston guy didn't hurt you, did he?!"

"I... I'm fine." Duma shook her head. "It's just... his head is really tough. I hit him several times, but he still wouldn't pass out. And the metal plates under his skin were really strange. My Originium Arts didn't do much to him, and since just now, he's been acting completely crazy."

The moment she finished speaking, Jeston, hanging in the air, caught sight of Saria from the corner of his eye and suddenly became agitated. Slurring his words, he said:

"Head of the Rhine Lab Defense Division, Sa-Saria!"

"I... I've always had a tiny doubt about whether you're really stronger than me—"

Bang.

As she passed by, Saria casually punched Jeston unconscious. She then calmly explained to Duma, "Those are Rhine Lab composite metal implants. Unless an Originium Art has received specialized training, its effectiveness will be reduced against them. But defeating these people by yourself is already more than enough to prove how outstanding you are."

"Oh... okay."

Duma was still dazed by the sudden turn of events. Although Gerald had warned them beforehand that others would come to help with the prison break, this was the first time she had actually met them.

Meanwhile, Kafka's thoughts quickly began turning. Along with Robin, she stared curiously at Saria. "So this Jeston guy is actually from Rhine Lab?"

"No. He doesn't belong to Rhine Lab. He probably found a way to get the implants through Columbia's black market and eventually became what he is now."

Though Saria actually knew him.

His was one of the few résumés that had reached her hands. After only reading its contents once, she had been able to conclude that he was the sort of person content with the status quo, with no perseverance.

But losing to a doctor who had never even been exposed to the outside world, even with Gerald's Originium Arts helping, was enough to make her too ashamed to mention their past—it was utterly humiliating.

The topic was quickly dropped.

"Leave through the excavated underground passage as soon as possible." Saria glanced toward the morgue and told the group, "Once you reach the rendezvous area, someone will be there to receive you. You'll reach a safe place soon enough. The faster you move, the better. The guards have already begun taking action."

The others responded with nods, along with a single sentence from Duma:

"Um..."

Saria turned her gaze toward her, making Duma tremble instinctively. For a moment, she nearly forgot everything she wanted to say.

Once the adrenaline and worry in her heart faded, the tension she normally felt rose up again and seized the organs she used to speak, as it always did.

But today marked a new life worth celebrating.

The person hanging in the air had told her that her life hadn't begun changing only when she stepped out of this prison—her life had changed long ago.

"Please pass a message to Gerald."

Duma spoke slowly, but firmly.

"I'll wait for everyone to come back, and then we'll go see the moment that water lily blooms together."

Bayonets Don't Need Hesitation

"—That's what she said."

Saria silently glanced at Pegasus beside her and chose to ignore the pride constantly radiating from him, along with the expression on his face that clearly said, Well?

As she continued onward, she couldn't help but reflect on the first half of her life.

It seemed she had never really influenced the friends around her in such visible ways, making them better.

Kristen was still wholly devoted to pursuing truth, indifferent to the masses; there was nothing but misunderstanding and conflict between Silence and her, and she had never even tried to resolve it; Ifrit... it seemed she had truly never done anything for that child. Perhaps she didn't even qualify as a role model.

Ferdinand's actions in private were steadily escalating; Parvis had also done something extremely excessive during the Flame Demon Incident; Muelsyse had recently been up to some strange nonsense; and last time, upon seeing her, Nastya had suddenly crossed a tunnel boring machine off the procurement list, saying that Saria alone could replace its function—

No, why had this turned into complaining?

"Wake up, Saria." Gerald looked at the distracted Saria with bafflement and lightly patted her shoulder. "It's rare to see you lose focus in a situation like this."

"...I was only recalling the past."

She quickly regained her composure and focused on the matter before them. "You said earlier that the main control room didn't have the core system responsible for adjusting the route?"

"Yes." Gerald quickly returned to a serious state as well. "There are two possibilities. Either the main control room originally had that system, but it was later moved elsewhere; or there is an independent area somewhere on Mansfield's outer layer specifically responsible for monitoring."

"If it's the latter, we have little way to deal with it, because even my wind can't detect that place."

"But if it's the former, the most likely possibility is that it's hidden in the concealed area of the power level we're about to enter."

At that moment, both of them shared the same question.

Why?

Using the aircraft example again, the cockpit had the best view and could respond most quickly to any crisis that might arise.

The same applied to the main control room. For a mobile platform that even Catastrophe Messengers couldn't catch up to on horseback, ensuring at all times that no Catastrophes appeared in the surrounding sky was a rule that had to be followed. Therefore, whenever it connected with another mobile city, relevant personnel would inspect and maintain it.

And if the core system had been placed underground, then the main control room above ground might merely be a façade meant to pass inspections.