Did I Fight Kal'tsit? Seriously?

The wind swept up sand and dust, but even they instinctively avoided the two figures walking into the distance. One gust even betrayed its own kind, blowing in the opposite direction to guide them onward.

"Can you find the way out?"

Saria had originally intended to use Enamel to block some of the dust in the wilderness, but she quickly realized that doing so was meaningless beside Gerald.

"It's a basic skill, Saria. If I couldn't find my bearings in Columbia's wilderness, then I certainly couldn't tell where an attack was coming from on a battlefield. That's one of my jobs."

Gerald had changed into a fresh set of clothes. The temperature difference between day and night in the wilderness was immense, so he had specifically taken several extra garments from the dryer and stuffed them into the backpack on his back. As for a casting medium, he had casually borrowed one from Barton's office—its quality was indeed excellent, but there was no sign it had ever been used. It had probably been bought just for show.

"Although I've never been here, judging by the terrain, the surrounding rock formations, and the fact that there aren't any... recognizable landmarks."

He looked around. "We should be on the eastern side of Columbia's badlands, in the Gaspar Wasteland. We're pretty lucky. If we were any farther south, we'd be in the Toxic Gas Marsh."

"This place is about one or two hundred kilometers from Ticarondo." Gerald estimated the distance in his head. "We can get there after walking for a day and a night. Or we can find somewhere nearby to camp, and once I've recovered my strength, I can try carrying you and run there in half a... no, one... few hours, maybe."

Saria's gaze fell upon him, and for some reason, an inexplicable chill quietly crept over her.

"Why hesitate?" she said evenly. "You can say it directly. I won't get angry."

"Which explanation do you want?" Gerald tugged his backpack higher. "I can give you a detailed, well-supported one, or a reasonable one you might not accept."

"The former first." Saria silently quickened her pace.

"The former is, like I said before, my Originium Arts are currently in an 'exhausted' state. I can only use a casting medium for some simple Arts." Gerald launched into a lengthy explanation. "Given that, I obviously can't put my full sprinting speed into the equation, so I hesitated three times. First was my own speed, second was my speed while carrying you, and third was the speed after accounting for needing to rest every so often."

"And the latter?"

"You're too heavy, especially your tail."

The instant the words left his mouth, Saria's tail, concealed beneath her coat and swaying in the wind, shot toward Gerald at high speed. It wrapped around his tail and yanked hard.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop." Gerald hurriedly pulled his tail free. "A Kuranta's tail is for balance. We rely on this thing when we run. Are you trying to kill me? Didn't you say you wouldn't get angry?"

"Is that so? Perhaps my tail simply became unhappy after hearing what you said. I did not deliberately control it."

That was a lie.

Saria maintained the same pace as Gerald with an unchanged expression, but the hooked tail behind her kept taking attacking stances and launching surprise assaults at him. Gerald almost wanted to tell his own tail that there was no need to defeat an invincible opponent.

Still, this was good.

Gerald had initially thought that after what had happened earlier, Saria would fall into a low mood, perhaps even become unwilling to speak to him for a while... but fortunately, everything seemed normal.

That final "thank you" had actually shown that Saria had understood what he meant long ago.

Emotions needed an outlet. Even for someone strong enough to continuously process their own feelings, their mental state would keep worsening throughout the process.

Their interactions over the past two months had also convinced him that Saria truly had very few friends she could confide in over the past several years. If only there had been one person before whom she could let down her guard and shed her armor, it would at least have softened that stubborn air about her—the kind that refused to turn back until she hit a wall—and eased some of the burden she carried.

Just like the fleeting longing in Saria's eyes when he had broken through Enamel for the first time.

No normal person deliberately chose to suffer in order to shoulder responsibility—most of the time, they had no choice. Only a small number of people actively chose to bear more.

After leaving prison, the movements that had once been constrained now came naturally. Like the way she so obviously displayed her emotions now—this version of Saria was something he had never been able to imagine before.

...But putting that aside, why did his tail have to become the sacrifice used to improve her mood?

"My mistake, my mistake, dear big sis." Gerald quickly sidestepped, moving his tail beyond her attack range. "Not heavy, not heavy at all. Compared to those Adaklis with huge tails, yours is definitely much better. Last time, I had to throw a drunk Adaklis into a cell, and its tail nearly slapped my face swollen."

"..."

Even Saria found it difficult to deal with such utterly tactless remarks. She had no doubt that he was doing it on purpose. "You may experience it for yourself. Then you can compare the difference through actual sensation."

"No, you can tell just by looking, can't you?" Gerald shrugged. "Wouldn't such a big tail be inconvenient when sleeping? And your horns, too. If you slept on your side, wouldn't they pierce straight through the pillow?"

"The spines on my tail can retract."

Saria quickened her pace slightly and moved ahead of Gerald. Then the Thorny Dragon-like spines instantly withdrew, like armor reverting from a transformed state. "This way, at least they won't stab me. As for the horns on my head, many cities sell protective hoods specially designed for them, or specially designed mattresses."

"Do all Vouivre go through this?" Gerald could not help asking.

"Just as your ears and tail shed fur, if you have to face this problem from birth and seek a solution, then after several decades, it will no longer be a problem for you—because you will have already tried every solution possible."

Saria unusually ended with a sigh.

She had never told anyone these things. She was not proactive in social settings, and no one would ask her endless questions about her tail.

Still, after venting all the displeasure in her heart through her tail, Saria was unexpectedly relaxed and cheerful.

Like the cloudless sky stretching above them, with bright sunlight pouring down, yet carrying only gentleness and warmth.

"That's convenient. I happen to have a question I've been wondering about."

Gerald suddenly said, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looked into the distance. "Why would someone who can clearly take the iron bucket off their head choose to keep wearing it all the time, even while sleeping?"

"I don't quite understand—"

Saria seemed to realize something. Her gaze followed Gerald's toward the horizon.

...Across this desolate wilderness, unexpectedly, she truly saw signs of a person.

Someone wearing a strange iron bucket helmet.

Where Are My Valuables Hidden?

As they drew closer, they were able to see the precise surroundings of the distant figure.

The first thing they saw was a rather spacious cargo truck. The windproof tarp over it had long since become ragged from years of wind and rain, with loose threads dangling from its corners. The entire vehicle showed no sign of maintenance. Perhaps because of its owner's casual nature, its exterior looked rough and dilapidated, as though it might fall apart at any moment.

At first glance, it looked more like an old, abandoned cargo truck that the wilderness itself had cast aside.

But clearly, everything in the wilderness had its reasons. If someone drove through the wilderness in a vehicle decorated with pink fluffy rabbits, then that person was either a madman even the wilderness dared not provoke, or an idiot foolish beyond measure. By comparison, a battered cargo truck too unremarkable to attract attention was undoubtedly a smart and safe choice.

Beside the truck, a burly figure wearing an iron helmet sat leisurely on a spare tire. A simple tent had been pitched nearby, and freshly boiled tea sat on a small wooden table.

Perhaps he had not expected anyone to come here. For a moment, he seemed distracted, and even as Gerald and Saria approached, he still failed to notice their presence.

Until Gerald spoke.

"Look at our 'Mr. Goodenough.'" He said, "You came all the way from beneath Trimounts to the eastern wastelands. Surely you're not here waiting for an old friend you haven't seen in years?"

"Ah, good morning, good afternoon, and good evening, my friend."

Only then did the stranger—Goodenough, or rather, Kannott—finally react. He replied in a deep, raspy voice, "To be precise, three years have passed since we first met near the wastelands of Kazimierz."

Saria keenly caught the meaning behind that time frame and chose to stand quietly at the side, silently listening to their conversation.

"If you hadn't been away from Trimounts back then, I probably would have gone to see you before I went to prison."

Gerald raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight, then deliberately stood a little closer to Saria. "The sword in my hand and my clothes could probably fetch a good price."

"Oh, yes, I sometimes regret that as well. It would have been nice if we had met before you went to Mansfield."

Only then did the iron-helmed figure turn his gaze toward Saria. "Ha, the founder of Rhine Lab? I imagine your experiences in prison must have been quite remarkable, my friend."

"Enough. Are you inviting us in to sit, or are you going to keep waiting for that 'friend' who probably isn't coming?" Gerald glanced around. "The wind can't hear any movement. I think they probably can't find you."

"I suppose so. Poor child. I hope he was merely delayed by something."

Kannott nodded his heavy helmet up and down, turning toward Saria. "Come. The place is a little cramped, but I hope this distinguished lady will forgive me. Some merchandise is not cheap, after all, so I have to make room for it inside the truck—watch your step when passing through."

The interior of the cargo truck was not so much spacious as every inch of its space had been used to the utmost. The goods inside had not been carefully wrapped in oil paper and stored in designated places.

Instead, they had been casually arranged everywhere like exhibits.

The first thing Saria saw upon entering was a puzzle depicting the Iberian Grand Cathedral of the past. The splendor of its golden age and its white towers complemented each other, making it an obvious masterpiece even to an amateur. Yet this work of art was now hanging crookedly on the wall, and she could even see a layer of dust on it.

Something was wrong.

"Strange, right? You can't just find these things anywhere." Gerald quietly leaned close to Saria and whispered, "It's normal. The first time I met him, even though I was nearly dead at the time, this was the only thing I could think about afterward. It was definitely suspicious."

He instinctively avoided a prop box that nearly tripped him. There were also music boxes, keys, sheet music, and an empty jewelry box, its contents probably having been taken by Kannott. Then he gently pulled Saria a little closer to his side, helping her avoid a strange mask hanging from the ceiling behind her.

As Gerald dodged everything around them, he said, "My advice is not to dwell on it. If you're interested, you can buy these things with Refined Originium Ingots—provided you're a customer he approves of."

"You are one of them?"

Saria carefully tucked her tail close to her body, lest it damage the items scattered everywhere.

After thinking for a moment, Gerald said softly,

"How should I put it? I merely listened to some of his views and talked with him. Though I know there is probably something more troublesome hidden behind those ideas than mere theory."

"But understanding and respect are themselves the basis of friendship." He continued, "Especially in the wilderness. So I don't mind making a friend, and he doesn't mind selling an extra item to a friend."

Once they had passed through the space filled with collectibles, they finally found somewhere they could sit. Gerald was also able to put a little distance between himself and Saria, so there would not constantly be unnecessary physical contact.

The strange man wearing the iron helmet walked to the deepest part of the truck, to a wooden chair reserved for his use. He leaned back against the chair and fixed his gaze on Gerald.

After a long while, he placed both forearms on the table, folded his hands together, fell silent for a moment, and said, "Earlier, I saw a mobile platform flying through the wilderness. My friend, what you two did was truly frightening. Columbia's officials must have been scared to death."

"Fortunately, it didn't hit your truck. Now, I can only hope that when that thing loses control, it doesn't run into anyone on the road."

Gerald found a place to sit and silently sighed. "I won't ask why you're here, Kannott. As you can see, the two people before you have accidentally ended up stranded in the wilderness, and we desperately need someone to give us a ride and bring us some hope of survival."

Perhaps it was merely his imagination, but as he said that, a muffled sound suddenly came from within the iron helmet. Hopefully, that had not been Kannott choking.

Then, naturally, Kannott rubbed his fingers together. "Of course. I would not refuse a friend's request, so long as there is a small guide fee."

"However, we cannot leave until tomorrow at the earliest," he quickly added. "Although the other party's lateness troubles me somewhat, merchants must always be patient."

"Someone from Embroidered Hammer?" Gerald asked with interest.

"Not this time. They are a... rather unique friend." His gaze passed through the iron helmet and landed on the people before him. "Sometimes, selling an item requires waiting for a hundred years. From the day one man's grandfather dies until his grandson grows up, the item's value only then rises steadily."

"Fine, I won't think about what the riddle in your words means. In short, we have to stay here for the night."

Gerald shrugged and looked at Saria beside him. "Do you have anything urgent to handle? If we go through the nearby messenger stations, we can at least walk a little less."

"It is a feasible plan." Saria nodded in agreement. "Although we cannot be certain whether we will encounter search parties coming to arrest us, we can pass Ticarondo and head directly to Trimounts. Things will go much more smoothly from there. I can also help you find a way to reach Kazimierz."

Having reached a decision, Gerald nodded and turned back to Kannott. "Then—"

"There is only one sleeping bag. You may use the firewood. No lodging inside the vehicle. One Fowlbeast is included for dinner."

Before Gerald could react, Kannott had already calculated everything and deliberately placed the bill before Saria.

"With the guide fee included, one Refined Originium Ingot. Thank you for your patronage."

You're Too Weak, Saria

Although Kannott did not permit them to stay inside the truck, the roof was a good option. There was enough space for a sleeping bag, and they would not have to lie on the sand and dust below.

A wind wall could firmly block out all outside intrusions. At the very least, they did not need to worry about wind or rain, making the night in the wilderness somewhat more bearable.

Desolation was only relative to humans. Lush life still grew here. Even if it was only inconspicuous little animals or plants adapted to harsh conditions, they silently continued their own lives in this wilderness—and thus occasionally filled the stomachs of passersby.

Smack.

A Fowlbeast swept through the sky and crashed without warning into an invisible wall of air. It rolled about in panic, then fell down in a daze. Before it could fully recover, it was picked up by an outstretched hand.

Gerald lightly flicked the small knife in his hand, swiftly and precisely slicing across the Fowlbeast's throat.

Bleed it, pluck it, gut it.

He set aside the seasonings borrowed from Kannott, sorted the wild vegetables and mushrooms they had gathered along the way, then blanched the meat and vegetables. The nearest forest was right beside them, and since they had split up, the round trip and gathering had taken only about half an hour.

Considering that someone probably had absolutely no experience living in the wilderness, Gerald had sent her off to chop some firewood for the night. After all, the amount Kannott carried on his truck was nowhere near enough.

"...So why did you bring the whole logs over?"

"I was concerned that there might not be enough firewood at night, given that I have not had practical exposure to the relevant knowledge."

Saria dropped several trees she had carried on her shoulder onto the ground with a thud. "As a precaution, a permanent solution is always the better choice. Furthermore, the remaining wood can be used to attempt building traps and fences nearby, to prevent other wandering animals from attacking us at night."

She brushed wood chips and leaves off herself, then swept her gaze around the area. "Where is Mr. Kannott?"

"In the truck. He won't be eating with us. I still haven't seen him take that helmet off."

Gerald's hands did not stop moving because of the Vouivre's violence. He casually wiped the blood from his hands with a piece of cloth. "You don't eat organs, right?"

"I can try."

Saria replied briefly, her attention currently focused on the pile of wood before her.

Her experience with burning firewood was limited to memories of parties held by the various Rhine Lab department heads.

There had been a fireplace in that house. Its carefully designed structure made the fire burn brightly and warmly. As long as a few short logs were thrown in and the airflow was kept open, they could simply leave it alone and let it burn.