I Fought Kal'tsit? Seriously?

The wind lifted the woman's hood, revealing jade-green eyes and lynx ears to Gerald.

But beyond that, there was nothing else.

As the dust settled, the flesh on his cheeks began to peel away. Each breath carried only the traces of gunpowder smoke and dust. His skin cracked inch by inch like parched earth, fragments slowly breaking loose and falling silently to the ground under gravity.

Though his body was gradually collapsing, the longsword representing his family remained firmly clenched in his hand, standing proud and unwavering.

His hollow eye sockets could reflect nothing. They could only fall to the ground and turn to dust.

Just like his body.

The Feline general's longsword hit the ground and bounced away, landing beside the young man's sword.

Nearby, Mon2tr let out a pained howl. The crystals on its body fell like chaff, and in the end, unable to support itself any longer, it collapsed to the ground, howling.

Behind it, the green Feline general silently swallowed the blood rising in her throat. After wiping away the blood on her head, she slowly walked over to the two swords.

She picked up the sword that did not belong to her. Her fingertips brushed over the smooth, flowing grain of the blade, and the crest engraved on its hilt pierced her memory.

This was a sword she had seen before.

Just like the Originium Arts used by that young man who had died so valiantly, it should not—and could not—have appeared here.

The doubts in her mind became increasingly tangled, but the person who could answer her questions could no longer speak. She could only shake her head, sheathe her own sword, and continue advancing.

Gerald suddenly opened his eyes.

His vision was swallowed by cold, hard darkness. It felt as though a lump of burning sand had clogged his throat, and the sensation of his brain forcibly suppressing the emotions burning in his chest was not pleasant—at least, he felt a long-forgotten urge to vomit.

He lowered his head and looked at his hands. They were covered in calluses and scars, but still perfectly intact.

"Fuck."

He closed his eyes and muttered to himself.

"Gaul, destroyed a hundred years ago. The three-nation alliance of Victoria and Leithanien. The Steam Knight. Kazdel..."

"...What kind of nonsense is this? It'd be stranger if it wasn't a dream."

Urgently Need a Copy of Terra: A Journey

A new day, a new beginning.

Although the wounds on his body still ached faintly, Anthony felt that he had gained quite a lot over the past few days.

In the vast Mansfield Prison, he rarely had anyone he could communicate and chat with. Duma was one of them, but he could not always see her whenever he wanted. When she was treating the injured, he naturally could not disturb her casually.

Gerald was the second.

His arrival had also stirred up some of Anthony's memories of the past. Though the man's mouth was never merciful, his skills and knowledge were far beyond what an ordinary prisoner should possess, and Anthony found him very easy to talk to.

Someone he could speak with freely. Someone skilled enough for him to vent the anger in his heart upon, yet who could still mock him in a sarcastic tone: "You should eat more, big guy. Otherwise, you'll exhaust yourself to death before I even make a move."

That sort of mockery could not even stir Anthony's emotions. He simply regarded it as one of a friend's odd habits.

After all, in a place like this, concern and tolerance from others were excessively luxurious things. The same went for that guidance in combat—he was certain there was no cheaper tuition in the world than a box of candy.

Especially since the other man had definitely once been a knight.

However, today, he did not see Gerald.

"Come on, Anthony. You have an hour of reading time today."

After once again helping the guards put on a show of suppressing the riots in A and B Sections, Anthony silently withdrew his searching gaze.

Gerald would sometimes come to A and B Sections to watch everyone gang up on one another, but he was clearly not here now.

So he silently followed behind the shiny, greasy fat man and headed for the underground library.

Once they reached the corridors where the prisoners could no longer see them, the guard in sunglasses, chewing on a cigar, immediately broke into an uncontrollable grin. "Well, well. Who beat our Anthony into this state? That's really something rare."

Ordinary guards usually would not choose to provoke Anthony so openly.

Except for Guard Barton.

As the warden Randall's second-in-command, his penguin-like waddling gait displayed an undisguised laziness. Judging from his bulging belly alone, anyone could tell just how comfortably and indulgently he lived in this prison, where even flies counted as delicacies.

Anthony merely gave Barton beside him a flat glance, without even the intention of answering. If the old Anthony needed politeness to restrain his anger, then the current Anthony had no need to maintain that superficial courtesy toward someone provoking him.

Seeing his mockery fall flat, Barton's expression immediately darkened.

"Ah, Anthony, my friend. You ought to learn from Mr. Gerald in this regard, or at least keep up your old manners. At least back then, you didn't look like a beast."

"I think I'll take your advice into consideration, Barton."

Anthony suddenly wanted to bare his teeth and show Barton the savage face the man had spoken of. Seeing him frightened out of his wits would surely be interesting.

The thought circled through his mind before gradually sinking away.

After spending time around certain people, even his personality had changed somewhat. Perhaps that was a good change.

"Hmph."

Barton snorted and planted his bloated legs on the floor of the first underground level.

Not many people usually came to the library on this level. However, ever since someone had proposed bringing in some comic books, the guards had become much more interested in coming here.

Though the space was not particularly large, the high ceiling and heavy wooden doors gave it a certain grandeur. Beyond the door was a book area formed by several large shelves. The shelves around the room were made of dark-brown old elm, and although the carvings on their edges had been worn blurry by time, they still hinted at their former refinement. They were probably secondhand goods bought from some market.

At one of the tables in the reading area, the silver-haired young man was flipping through a book.

A pile of books like a small mountain had already accumulated beside him. There was no telling when he had started reading.

"Ah, Gerald." In stark contrast to the way he treated Anthony, Barton immediately put on a fawning smile upon seeing Gerald. "My brother, you can't imagine how much I've earned these past few days."

Barton stepped closer, unable to hide the smugness in his voice. "It's all thanks to you! That project is practically a money tree! I put in ten thousand a month ago, and hey, when I looked again, there was an extra hundred thousand in my account! Tenfold! Tenfold! I've never seen returns this fast in my life!"

Gerald lifted his gaze from the history book before him and looked calmly at Barton. "Ah, the project I mentioned before has started operating?"

"Yeah." Barton pulled over a stool and sat down, completely ignoring Anthony behind him. "Kazimierz's Knight Competition is only half a year away. By then, we'll be raking it in. Maybe Randall and I can even order a few from Blue Cardwood and have them delivered to the prison for a taste."

"There'll be further developments over there."

The young man did not sound particularly interested when he said this. Even as Barton sprayed saliva in excitement, Gerald still wore a bored expression. "Trust me. You'll hear even better news next time."

Having had his purpose seen through, Barton merely chuckled twice. Since he had obtained the information, there was no reason to linger any longer.

"Fine, then. If you want something to eat later, I'll have one of the new guards bring you a portion. I won't disturb you while you read, brother."

As the door closed, Anthony, who had been silent at the side, gave Gerald a curious look.

"Don't look at me like that, as if you've only just found out what kind of person I am."

Without even raising his head, Gerald continued casually flipping through the book in his hands, seemingly with no intention of carefully reading its contents.

Anthony deliberately chose a seat far from where Barton had just sat. He held the book he had left half-finished yesterday. "I didn't know you were leaving."

The young man gave a derisive laugh, though the pace at which he flipped through the book slowed. "Based on those few sentences? Who knows whether I really recommended something good to Barton?"

"That was a signal, wasn't it?" Anthony continued on his own, his eyes fixed on Gerald. "The Knight Competition before last in Kazimierz happened just before I entered prison, so I remember it vividly... I once planned a paper on the virtual economy surrounding the Knight Competition. It wouldn't be difficult to make money from it."

"But for an outsider to keep making money until the end, then withdraw the money inside... that would be nothing more than a fantasy."

Gerald looked up at his friend in prison, only then noticing the rare hint of loneliness on Anthony's face. "I didn't know you were such a chatterbox."

"Perhaps. Maybe I simply hadn't considered that possibility before. All of this feels rather sudden to me."

Anthony quickly composed himself. "In other words, the time I have left to learn is only these last six months, or else—"

Anthony did not say the rest, but the resolute look in his eyes completed the thought for him.

"If you can go two days without food or water in the wilderness and run as fast as a mobile city, then I think you can come with me. If you can't, then sorry, but I don't want to become some big guy's emergency rations."

Gerald decisively rejected the co-op invitation Anthony had sent him.

Mobile cities could use their legs to escape the Originium storms that heralded Catastrophes. As ordinary people who had never been Catastrophe Messengers, the two of them either had to run faster than the storm or wait to die in the wilderness, unless they prayed that some wanderers roaming the wilds would give them a ride.

"Enough. Nothing's decided yet." Gerald took an iron box from the pocket on his chest, shook out a piece of candy, and said, "Don't you want to ask why I suddenly started reading history books? It all began with a dream I had yesterday—"

Anthony sighed and chose to quietly play dead.

After all, the chatterbox label had only been forcibly pinned on him by the other man, while Gerald's chatterbox tendencies were absolutely genuine and could flare up at any time.

Just like now.

"You're saying you saw something that happened a hundred years ago yesterday?"

Unexpectedly, after hearing Gerald's story, Anthony actually frowned and set his book aside, seeming to truly immerse himself in the battlefield Gerald had described.

"The fall of Gaul happened nearly seventy years ago. If something like this truly happened in history, it should have been a century ago. As for whether a place called Kazdel really existed... I think I've only heard of it from some Sarkaz."

"Heh. Maybe it's the Sarkaz's promised land? A people forced to wander forever longing for a place that could accept them. A classic narrative trope." Gerald glanced at the mountain of books piled beside him. "Forget it. I never expected to find any answers in the books here. But if I learned something beyond my knowledge in a dream, then either I subconsciously knew something about it, or the dream itself wasn't normal."

Hearing that, Anthony instead became curious about one point in the description. "What was the person who killed you like? If her status in the military was higher than even the legendary Steam Knight, then perhaps she was one of Gaul's Imperial Guard?"

"Very beautiful. She reminded me of that Viviana Drost who became famous recently, especially the color of her eyes... Say, do you really believe what happened in my dream?"

Gerald narrowed his eyes at Anthony, who was listening to the story with rapt attention. "Why do I get the feeling you believe this wasn't just an ordinary dream more than I do?"

Anthony fell silent at that and carefully considered his answer.

After about half a minute, he finally looked up and spoke seriously to Gerald.

"If you had only broadly described a few general scenes, I would have considered it merely your memories of the battlefield and a stress reaction."

"But if you can describe every detail of the dream so precisely, from the patterns on the Steam Knight's armor to the sensation of a sword piercing your body—"

"I would advise you to take it more seriously."

Reading, Then Meeting the Rhine Fist Emperor

When the lunch bell rang throughout the library, Anthony's hour of reading time came to an end.

He had no intention of breaking the prison's rules, so Gerald could only wish him a safe journey.

Unlike Anthony, Gerald did not need external rules to restrain his heart. He also had no one to avenge and no burning anger in his chest, so after "bribing" Barton, he had no need to care whether he followed the prison's rules.

Yet after watching Anthony leave, Gerald could not stop recalling the words the other man had left behind.

Could someone really come tell him that his dead mother had actually been descended from Nightmare, and that he himself was a Pegasus-Nightmare hybrid? Was this dream just his bloodline playing tricks on him?

Enough. He had thought enough nonsense for now. It was not as though he would not live to see tonight. By then, the truth would reveal itself.

He sighed, placed the history book back into the small mountain of books, stood up, gathered an entire stack in his arms, and returned them to their respective shelves.

For Gerald, whose first twenty-five years of life had been spent on Earth and whose latter twenty-five had been spent on Terra, the knowledge that could be considered useful was mostly little tricks for daily life.

Things like [Wrap a drink bottle in a wet paper towel and put it in the refrigerator, and it will cool rapidly in just ten minutes] were completely meaningless in Terra, where everyone was practically superhuman... Well, from a daily-life perspective, they were still somewhat useful.

But after all, he had been born in a country that revered martial strength, and his family elders represented the pinnacle of such strength.

Innate talent alone was not enough. If he had not relied on accumulated knowledge to save time during the theoretical stage and devote himself to relentless practice, his head would probably have been cut off long ago while charging into battle.

From that perspective, the "little life tips" stored in his mind were probably useful only when he wanted to boast in front of others.

After returning the books to the shelves, Gerald picked up the medical theory text he had not finished earlier. He also pulled out his pen and notes from a crack in the corner.

If there was one major setback for a medical student arriving in Terra, he would award that distinction to the racial characteristics that had been created for reasons unknown.

They made the knowledge he had learned in his previous life only partially useful even when it could be applied.

Unfamiliar knowledge would occasionally leap out and ambush him while treating patients. The ear structures of Kuranta and Felines, along with their endlessly lively tails, gave him the painful feeling of studying both veterinary medicine and clinical medicine at once.

Fortunately, when he had needed practice, he had tested his skills on comrades at the battlefield. Every patient who passed through his hands had wept with gratitude for his excellent treatment methods. After all that experience, he felt he could be considered a renowned physician.

Knock, knock.

There came a knock at the library door. Then it opened, and a tall female prison guard walked in.

She stood with a straight posture, carrying a tray of steaming food in her right hand. On it were meatballs and a burger covered in sauce, a rather unappetizing slice of pizza, and as the main dish, Siracusan-style pappardelle mixed with creamy cheese sauce—the highest standard available in prison. Even Barton would praise it.

Perhaps because he had been making a fortune these past few days and Anthony had gotten beaten up, Barton had been in an exceptionally good mood. Even the food given to the guards had become much more lavish.

"Your lunch." Her words were brief. Her orange eyes were obscured by the brim of her guard cap and loose strands of hair, faintly visible beneath them.

"Thanks. You're new? First time working as a prison guard?" Gerald deliberately moved the books and notes in his hands farther away. Painful memories made him fear any possibility of steaming soups getting near books. "Getting used to it?"