I Fought Kal'tsit? Seriously?

The good news was that they didn't need to "borrow" someone else's vehicle to reach their destination.

A day and night had passed since they left Ticarondo. As the situation continued to develop and everyone passed the buck, his portrait had probably been hung on bulletin boards everywhere by now.

For Gerald himself, this wasn't much of a problem. But if Saria was traveling with him, things would become far more troublesome.

If some rumor spread that "[Rhine Lab's founder and a notorious felon hijacked a car someone had worked hard to buy on loan, then fled]"...

Never mind the damage to their reputations—decades from now, someone in Blue Cardwood might take a script like that into some director's office, add some deliberately selective research, and produce a smear film.

That was entirely possible. At least, it was in Kazimierz.

Therefore, Gerald now had a highly sophisticated mechanical helmet hanging from his waist. Combined with uniforms and boots scavenged from Kannott, it could completely conceal his eyes and silver hair.

Compared to a fugitive drifter, his current outfit made him look more like an employee dispatched by some tech company. The Vouivre beside him was dressed much the same.

"When we pass the inspection later, do we need to get out of the car first?" Saria asked as she worked on his hair.

She knew a little about the unspoken rules in cities, but she knew absolutely nothing about the ways of the wilderness.

Still, the important parts were interconnected.

"Probably. But we'll most likely just need to hide when the time comes." Gerald answered casually. "They'll selectively look the other way for people who pay up. Kannott won't even let us into the cargo compartment. Do you think he'd let those people see what's inside the vehicle?"

"..." Saria fell silent for a moment. "The people assigned to guard a place like this probably got their jobs through private connections. Some of them may not be able to keep their hands to themselves. Getting discovered is only a matter of time."

"You noticed it too? He doesn't look like a careless person. At least, before this, I'd never seen him drive around carrying this much stuff."

Taking out a bottle no one else could see from his pocket, Gerald turned the relic over in his hand. "So most likely, he knows the guards there, and knows them very well."

Though he was answering Saria's question, Gerald's thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.

Dreammist Essence.

Gerald's current understanding of relics was still limited to that piece of cloth, though he would probably never know what that thing actually was.

But according to Lamaline and Kannott, whether it was the necklace or this bottle, both were relics closely tied to Banshees... Rather than being practical, they seemed more like items of symbolic significance.

Was that really the case?

"He does seem like someone who often comes out into the wilderness." Saria focused on trimming the excess strands from the Pegasus's hair. This look would at least keep others from recognizing him at first glance. "Besides, he works with Rusthammer. While I only judge whether someone is right or wrong based on facts, most people would avoid someone like that."

"Exactly... shit."

Gerald cursed and hurriedly raised a hand to his nose.

"What is it?" Saria's hands abruptly stopped. Her brows furrowed slightly as she circled in front of Gerald and studied him carefully.

The Pegasus lowered his head, trying to act as if nothing had happened, but that couldn't hide the bright red trail slipping from his nose. He unconsciously wiped it with the back of his hand, only making the bloodstain more glaring as it streaked down his cheek.

"You're bleeding." Saria's tone remained calm. Her gaze swept over his complexion as she rapidly analyzed the situation. "Did you overuse your Originium Arts?"

Before she even finished speaking, she had already grabbed his shoulder and forcefully pressed him back down.

"Don't move." Her tone allowed no refusal. With her other hand, she skillfully pulled out a clean cloth and handed it to him. "Cover your nose. Don't tilt your head back too far. Breathe slowly."

"Are you really going to treat me like a child... Forget it. I can't argue with you."

Despite saying that, Gerald took the cloth and carefully held it near his nose to wipe away the blood.

He had only been curious for a moment, and ended up pouring a little too much into his palm... For some reason, whoever designed this bottle hadn't used an ordinary dropper design. The moment he unscrewed the cap, the liquid inside spilled out and splashed onto his hand.

Kannott hadn't been wrong at all. Just a single drop of this stuff could spark the most ingenious inspiration, though that inspiration manifested as a kind of cerebral overload. If Leithanien's artists knew about his extravagance, they would probably want to kill him right now.

"It's fine. Not a big problem."

Gerald took a deep breath to steady himself. Without caring that Saria was still cutting his hair, he prepared to stand. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me—"

Yet with nothing more than that motion of lifting his head, the world before his eyes suddenly shattered into fragments.

His consciousness plunged into an abyss, drowned by bizarre hallucinations. The boundary between reality and illusion completely collapsed. Chaotic images flooded his mind, battering his senses until he could barely tell where he was.

The chaos lasted for a while before finally beginning to subside. The scenery before him finally stopped moving.

—And the shadow of the Lord of Banshees loomed over him.

The tall figure stole every gaze beneath the sunlight. Lamaline tilted her head lightly, her ruby-like eyes fixed on him, as though she were observing the surroundings—or perhaps simply staring blankly at the person before her.

His senses were sharper than ever. Every movement of the wind, every refraction of light, was so clear it felt almost tangible.

The power of Originium Arts within him surged rapidly. Desire swelled like a tide, as if his body instinctively craved release.

He wanted to fight.

Right now, he wanted to find that general called Theresia and have a good, honest fight with him.

He could tell at a glance from that man's stance—it was the poise and steadiness honed only through countless battlefields. And the way he held his sword was exceedingly simple, yet immensely oppressive... Gerald could hear the crisp metallic clash of blades, smell the gunpowder permeating the air, feel the boiling of blood as battle reached its fiercest pitch... Lamaline would work too. He still hadn't cracked the Incantation in the garden; he needed to find another chance to discuss it with her and fight her again... If nothing else, that Feline general would do. It had been far too long since he'd practiced swordsmanship...

Wait.

No.

This wasn't normal.

He shook his head, trying to cast the chaos from his mind. The burning sensation in his chest was like a surging tide, invading every opening and battering his thoughts. Restless energy roiled through his limbs, making it hard for him to focus.

He drew a deep breath and tried to steady it, attempting to use this brief moment of calm to suppress the discomfort within him.

When the rhythm of his heartbeat finally returned to normal, he slowly opened his eyes, his vision gradually focusing.

However, when his gaze fell on the Vouivre beside him, Gerald's expression froze again.

...All right, now he could be sure he was hallucinating.

"What is it, Ger?"

A gentle voice sounded beside his ear, achingly familiar. "Did you go challenge your Uncle Młynar again? I heard you've improved quickly lately. You're almost evenly matched with him in swordsmanship now."

The white-haired Pegasus held a steaming cup of tea, occupying the place where Saria had been, quietly watching him.

Gerald silently looked at the humanoid figure before him, then turned away. His body floated in the air with the wind, swaying for a while before settling back onto the roof of the vehicle.

He closed his eyes as exhaustion inevitably washed over him.

"Sorry, Saria. I think something's wrong," he said.

After a brief pause, he quietly added:

"Just look after me for a while."

At the same time, the person in the driver's seat silently extended an ink-black tentacle from his body.

The tentacle deftly slithered to the car window and gave it a light push, sealing it shut and cutting off that sickeningly sweet, suffocating scent.

Kannott sighed and slowed the vehicle a little, giving the Pegasus on the roof time to prepare.

"Dreammist Essence... I don't know whether to call you lucky or unlucky, friend." The voice from within the iron helmet muttered to itself. "Sarkaz sorcery involving souls. The way it inspires people is nothing more than releasing the part of the soul that yearns. If it were truly harmful, those people in Leithanien wouldn't have talked about it for so long."

"But at this dosage... can you really still tell dreams from reality?"

Father and Son

Having two different dreams in one day was a rare and novel experience for Gerald.

Yet this dream seemed far too false. Everything within it looked like fragments from his memories crudely stitched together, without the slightest sense of flow or reality... If the dream involving the Banshee were compared to the one before him, anyone could easily distinguish the difference.

Because the scene in this dream was simply too familiar to him.

It was familiar to the point where every detail felt deliberate, as if everything had been dismantled, processed, and pieced back together into an illusion that was both familiar and strange. That familiarity instead brought an indescribable discomfort, like being trapped in a clumsy play and watching his memories traced stroke by stroke, only for them to lose the soul they should have had.

In those vivid dreams, the Lord of Banshees would show either displeasure or happiness because of his smallest movement. Souls couldn't be predicted. Every action and every sudden thought intertwined amid countless complex factors to form a unique path. Yet the house before him left only the impression of an empty shell.

Only the person sitting before him gave him a different feeling.

He couldn't explain exactly what it was.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

The white-haired Pegasus leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees in a casual manner.

Seeing his son remain silent, he raised a hand and ruffled Gerald's hair. The silver strands fell over his face, reflecting a soft sheen in the sunlight through the window.

Gerald looked up at the languid figure seated in the chair, feeling as though an age had passed.

Heh. His body had gone back to ten years ago.

His deadbeat father looked no different from Gerald's memories, still thin and frail, nothing like someone born into a knightly family. He wasn't sickly, exactly—it was simply that exercise had always been an enormous burden for him.

On top of that, he had lacked real combat experience from a young age. Though he had read plenty of books and possessed a solid grasp of tactical theory, without strength to support it, it was all merely empty talk on paper.

"Saria," Gerald suddenly said. "If possible, put my body in the space behind the truck. And don't mind what I say next."

"Who are you talking to, child?" The white-haired Pegasus turned his head back and forth, trying to find the person his son was speaking to.

After searching for a long while without finding anyone, he put on a worried expression. "Son, you haven't gone mad, have you? This... I think I'm definitely a little more interesting than the imaginary friends in your head, right?"

"Just in case I accidentally say something that could cause a misunderstanding."

Gerald sighed. The sensation of being unable to fully control his body in a dream felt strange. Though all the techniques were in his mind, the difference in reach and strength was like a chasm, constantly making him feel awkward. "I'll go see Młynar next door first. I'll be back later."

"Don't keep bothering the man's uncle, either." The white-haired Pegasus showed a somewhat helpless smile. "He only got back recently, and you drag him into sparring every day. How's he supposed to get a moment to breathe? Why don't you go play with Margaret and the others? Doesn't Maria like clinging to you too?"

Gerald stood quietly where he was, watching him speak. After a moment, he shook his head. "Maybe next time. I've already played with Maria these past few days. That girl is really good at tossing games. There aren't many kids her age who can match her. Next time, she can try throwing a shield."

His tone was calm and gentle, as though he were stating something utterly ordinary.

After finishing, he unhurriedly turned and headed outside.

"Are you forcing yourself again?"

The white-haired Pegasus leaned forward slightly, concern flashing through his eyes.

He braced an elbow against his knee and leaned forward, staring at the son about to leave. His voice rose a little.

"Why would you think that?"

Gerald slowed to a stop and asked softly.

"Because you look tired. Very tired. Even after I became head of the family, I was never as tired as you." Seeing that his words had finally had some effect, the white-haired Pegasus propped up his chin and smiled. "Ever since your mother left, you've always acted very mature. I'm far inferior to you. But even back then, I never saw you this tired."

"..."

Tired?

That description suited Saria or Lamaline better. As for him... Whether it was the two years in prison or these recent dreams, both had given him ample time to recover. Why would he be tired?

If every action he took received immediate positive feedback, and he could even gain relics like this... then what did this kind of "tiredness" amount to for those who didn't even have the chance to defy fate?

He wasn't qualified to say such things.

"Please, child." The white-haired Pegasus's smile remained as gentle as ever. "You don't need any qualifications to complain a little. I always worry about whether you're too tired. That's a father's instinct."

"You're reading my mind?"

"Do I need to read your mind? I raised you. Wouldn't I know what you're like?"

As he spoke, the white-haired Pegasus raised a hand and rubbed his temple. "My fault. If only I'd gotten you to live a more decadent life with me earlier—ah, but you're such a restless kid. You've been that way since childhood. Not only are you cold on the outside and warm on the inside, but you aren't interested in any girls either. Completely unlike me."

"Someone in the family has to hold things together." Gerald lowered his eyes. "Besides, I just prefer the battlefield. Staying in the family doesn't give me a way to fight strong opponents."

"You like it, my ass." The white-haired Pegasus gave a cold laugh. "If I actually believed that, then you're my father and I'll be your son."

"You think you've got me figured out again."

"Then tell me. You don't want money, status, or power. The path to becoming stronger might get you killed, and you really have died before. You nearly died on the Ursus wasteland."

A shadow suddenly touched his gentle features, and his voice fell with it. "What are you after, child? Just a chance to climb to the top, so you can control your own fate? Or are you simply loyal to Kazimierz? Or do you really just like fighting so much that death means nothing to you?"

"...So you aren't going to keep acting?"

Gerald's steps, which had been carrying him away, finally stopped completely.

He stood still, swept his gaze around the room, then pulled over a chair and sat down. "At least at this age, I'm still a long way from going to Ursus."

"No more acting." The white-haired Pegasus tilted his head at him, then smiled and brushed at his cuff. "You already knew this was a false dream, and I don't want you trapped in a dream forever. There's no point in continuing the act. We might as well lay our cards on the table and have an honest talk between father and son."

Gerald raised his eyes slightly, his gaze carrying a trace of scrutiny. "If you're laying your cards on the table like this, then what are you after?"

"I'm after the fact that you're my son. I want to talk to you more while we're still in this dream." The white-haired Pegasus folded his hands before his knees and looked at him seriously. "I'm after the feeling that you're too tired, that you can't even find somewhere to go—when everything is over, where will you go? Are you still going to stay in Kazimierz?"

Gerald shook his head, his tone as resolute as ever. "I only know that I won't abandon my plan. Even if you tell me all this, it won't change anything."

"Like my advice has ever worked." The other man shrugged. Then his eyes suddenly lit up. "Hey, how about trying a blind date? Maybe having a child will change your mind? You look as good as I do. There must still be quite a few people who like you now, right?"