I Fought Kal'tsit? Seriously?

The father in his memories had indeed been like this.

He had always been mild-mannered and gentle, yet sometimes incredibly annoying. His thoughts were absurdly erratic, and at times he even behaved like a child. When it came to many political matters, he was frighteningly slow on the uptake.

Gerald's mouth twitched. He forcibly swallowed the rebuttal he had prepared and answered flatly, "There is."

"Huh?" The white-haired Pegasus seemed somewhat surprised by the answer and blinked. Then his expression became increasingly animated. His previously lazy posture immediately straightened, his face breaking into an eager smile, his eyes even narrowing slightly. "Ah, exactly! You've finally reached that age."

He lightly patted his knee, his gaze full of anticipation. "So, which one do you like? Do Margaret and Maria still like you? Though Maria seemed a little too young back then. If she still likes you after she grows up, I think you could consider it. That child called me big brother when we first met. She really is adorable."

"It's someone else."

"Huh?!"

He sprang to his feet, paced around for several steps, planted his hands on his hips, and even raised his head to stare solemnly at the ceiling, as though rapidly calculating something in his heart.

A moment later, he stared intently at Gerald, but then his expression gradually softened.

"It's a pity I can't see what she looks like." He sat back down as if all his strength had suddenly drained away. After thinking for a moment, he spoke again. "...Is she prettier than your mother?"

"That's hard to say. They're evenly matched."

"How old is she?"

"Older than you and me combined."

"One of the long-lived races?"

"Mm."

"Can you beat her?"

"Most likely not. If I risked my life, I could try, but I wouldn't do that now."

After hearing his child's explanation, the white-haired Pegasus fell into an unusual silence. After a long while, he said, "I think it'd be a shame to give up on the others too. How about you try being a little more loving?"

"Is that something a father should say?" Gerald finally could not help laughing, helplessness in his voice. "Besides, the remaining few have long since had nothing to do with me. I haven't run into anyone from the Nearl family in two years."

"Why can't a father say it? I just want you to be happy. Why should I care about anyone else?" he replied with a baffled expression. "If you think it can make you happy, then even if you turn the natural order upside down and do something utterly rebellious, I'll support you."

"...Even if I returned to Kazimierz and slaughtered everyone without discrimination?" Gerald paused before finally asking.

The white-haired Pegasus tilted his head. "Would that make you happy? Could your heart bear it?"

"Maybe." Gerald nodded.

"Then it's everyone in Kazimierz's fault. Kill them." Without the slightest hesitation, the white-haired Pegasus came to his conclusion. "I believe in you, as long as you grant me one request."

"...What is it?"

Gerald's smile faded slightly. As if sensing something, he looked around.

An indescribable sense of unreality filled the air. The walls were like a melting canvas; details began to peel away, colors gradually faded, revealing blankness beneath.

Those things that had once been vividly lifelike now resembled flowers reflected in a mirror—within reach, yet shattering the instant his gaze touched them.

His desire had been fulfilled.

When someone could already distinguish dreams from reality, the only thing that could truly affect them was what lay in their heart.

So the Pegasus turned his gaze back to the person before him.

"Don't let me become your burden," his father said softly. "For a father, that hurts more than being killed."

Gerald fell silent.

Before the dream ended, he asked one final question.

"Can I... really do that?"

Yet the white-haired Pegasus said nothing. He only smiled and waved at Gerald.

When the dream completely collapsed, the power contained within the fragrance finally returned to the Pegasus's soul.

Along with it came the final words from that voice.

"Just make sure you don't catch a cold. Have a safe journey, Gerald."

The Messenger Miss, When Did You Get Here?

Elsewhere.

A tentacle slowly swayed out from beneath Kannott's robe and scratched the iron helmet on his head.

A long line had already formed at the inspection checkpoint of the Messenger Station. Under normal circumstances, aside from the occasional scattered convoy passing through the wilderness or lone travelers setting out on the road, only Rusthammer members scattered throughout the region could be seen. Such crowded scenes were rare.

However, for Columbia, whose origins lay in frontier development, the wilderness had never been merely synonymous with desolation.

Across this vast land, every unmarked area might contain immense value: untapped resources, rare ruins, even clues left behind by civilizations long gone. Even dangerous regions filled with Originium crystal clusters might conceal coveted treasures and secrets.

The large-scale excavations conducted by certain companies in Sargon were the best example. After thousands of years of changes in mountains and rivers, who could guarantee that the land beneath their feet did not hide the legendary Shah's Treasure?

And in Columbia, where drones and aircraft were costly, the cheapest and most direct resource was undoubtedly manpower.

Thus, the sight of frontier teams returning from expeditions had become a common scene here.

The explorers in protective suits dragged their exhausted steps through the line, their equipment covered in scratches from wind and sand. The badges on their shoulders told of their origins: corporate personnel, frontier guilds, even special teams connected to the authorities.

Kannott lowered his head and glanced at the crowd before him, his gaze passing over the convoy waiting at the front for inspection. A squad of badge-wearing soldiers stood beside them, maintaining order and inspecting the returning frontier explorers one by one. The infected, meanwhile, would be isolated in dedicated facilities. The outlines of makeshift quarantine sites could vaguely be seen beyond the station's perimeter.

By coincidence, frontier explorers and Catastrophe messengers, professions both considered the most likely to contract Oripathy, had now become subjects of isolation at the station that was supposed to serve them.

Kannott slowly withdrew his tentacle from the steering wheel, pushed open the door, and stepped out of the vehicle with steady strides.

His hulking build and heavy iron helmet immediately drew the attention of the frontier explorers waiting nearby.

A dust-covered, raggedly dressed explorer was the first to call out, "Brother, got a light?"

Kannott's movements paused slightly. His iron helmet glinted dimly under the sunlight, silently reflecting the somewhat bedraggled state of those explorers. He turned his head and slowly directed his gaze toward them. The faint aura leaking from beneath the helmet made people feel an unconscious pressure.

"A light?" Kannott fell silent for a moment before his deep voice finally emerged from within the helmet.

The explorer scratched his head and grinned.

"Yeah, brother, don't be so serious. I just want to light a cigarette." He pointed to the paper roll between his fingers. "The wind's strong, and my crappy lighter broke."

Kannott did not answer immediately. Instead, he extended the arm hidden beneath his robe and took out a box of matches.

Awkwardly, he pulled one out with his gloved fingers, struck it against the phosphorus strip on the side, lit the flame, and held it to the wavering cigarette. "Use this."

The group of frontier explorers froze. They clearly had not expected Kannott to pull out a box of matches, and the atmosphere suddenly became a little awkward and curious.

"Heh... brother, you really are... really old-fashioned." The explorer laughed awkwardly, leaned toward the flame held by the tentacle, and carefully lit his cigarette. When sparks flared at the tip, a smile returned to his dark face. "Oh, thanks! Matches really do work!"

"They have always worked, friend. Always."

Kannott's tone was difficult to read. After giving a nod, he passed the group and headed toward the back of the truck.

The discussion behind him about his behavior continued. Even though their voices were lowered as much as possible, he could still vaguely make out comments like, "From Victoria? Doesn't look like a frontier explorer," and, "Probably for emergencies. Maybe an adventurer? Anyway, you don't see that often in Columbia."

Yet his steps did not stop. He continued toward the rear of the truck.

Just then, a sudden explosion erupted from the direction of the station.

Turning to look, he saw that the security checkpoint had already descended into chaos. Something seemed to have appeared inside the station.

About ten minutes later, a pitch-black shadow shot violently out through the smoke with someone in tow, cutting a sharp arc through the air.

Moments later, they swiftly plunged into the dense convoy ahead. Crowded vehicles, chaotic figures, and flashing metal reflecting sunlight layered over one another, concealing the shadow's trail.

Before long, they vanished completely into the flood of vehicles, as though they had never existed at all, leaving only the shouts of the checkpoint soldiers echoing through the air.

Fifteen minutes before the explosion.

Angelina, a Siracusa-born Rhodes Island operator, was currently sprinting at full speed with a large-tailed Lupo slung over her shoulder.

As a messenger, Angelina rarely chose to stay in one place for long. She had many packages and letters to deliver. From Yan in the far east of Terra to Sargon in the west, the instant she set out on a journey, it meant taking a road with no turning back.

Therefore, she carefully planned every delivery route so that people's feelings could reach their intended recipients sooner.

This journey was somewhat different.

Traveling to Rhodes Island offices across the land and retrieving monitoring ring data from operators who had not returned to the landship for a long time—this was the first time she had truly received an official commission from Rhodes Island. Although she had already accepted many requests from Rhodes Island operators in an unofficial capacity, this was her first formal one.

And as a messenger, Angelina possessed an overwhelming advantage compared to other messengers.

She could actually fly.

By her own understanding, the key was making her body go "whoosh" and become lighter than air. Then she could smoothly float into the sky and fly toward distant places.

Officially speaking, what she could affect was gravity. Though the scale was not high, it was more than sufficient for delivering letters and checking body weight.

And this Originium Art could also be applied to others, such as the large-tailed Lupo miss currently slung over her shoulder.

"Angelina... slower... no, faster!!" Provence, a Catastrophe messenger, suppressed the urge to vomit rising in her chest as she kept urging Angelina to speed up. "We need to get to the Messenger Station for geological analysis right away! The soil temperature is far too abnormal!!"

"I know! But this is already the fastest I can go! I'll try harder!"

Angelina gritted her teeth and forcibly pushed her Originium Arts to the limit.

Her feet darted through the rugged rock walls as though flying, gravel scattering beneath every step. The howling wind exploded in her ears, carrying grains of sand that scraped across her cheeks.

At her side, Provence tightly gripped Angelina's arm with one hand while clutching the compass and map against her chest with the other. As she struggled to maintain her balance, she guided Angelina's direction.

The scenery along the way changed rapidly. The once sprawling wilderness gradually shrank into a thin line along the horizon. Shrubs and desert plants streaked past their vision before being cast behind them in an instant. The rock walls became ever steeper, while distant mountains intertwined with storm clouds, shadows spreading across the earth like twisted monsters.

"The compass direction... wait, Angelina, it's that way!" Provence raised her hand and pointed ahead, her voice unusually shrill from the tension in her muscles.

Angelina immediately fixed her gaze on where the compass pointed.

A perilous cliff line appeared clearly before her, cutting straight toward the end of the wasteland as if cleaved by blade and axe.

Her pupils contracted slightly, and her body slowed.

"...Whatever."

Angelina muttered through gritted teeth. Her tail whipped violently in the wind, her ears stood tall, and she tightened her grip on the staff in her hand.

Provence almost instinctively asked, "What are you trying to do? Angelina, wai—"

Clearly, someone had no intention of giving her the chance to finish.

The rock walls of the Gaspar Wasteland held the finest scenery of the wilderness, and they were also the fastest route through this region. As long as you followed Columbia's navigation to the cliff and leaped off, you would gain death while pointing out a route that could save future travelers half an hour.

Of course, sometimes you did not have to die.

At least, Angelina would not.

The gravity field around them began to change. Their bodies were lifted in a powerful sensation of weightlessness, then swept over the cliff's edge along an unimaginable trajectory.

Provence gripped Angelina's shoulders tightly. Her tail stood rigid in the air, her ears trembling slightly, while Angelina's body gradually began to shake from Power Loss.

The full-speed sprint had nearly drained all her strength, and she could not possibly remain in the air for as long as she usually could. But merely jumping from a cliff and floating through the air for a stretch was not difficult for the messenger miss now.

The problem was that she had not considered something at all during the trip here.

This Messenger Station had actually been built not far from the cliff—so when she flew some distance with Provence, they were already directly above it.

The Messenger Station below gradually came into view, dense buildings, bustling crowds, and parked vehicles filling their sight. The soldiers in the watchtowers were the first to notice the two falling from the sky and warily raised their binoculars.

A moment later, alarms suddenly blared.

"...We're done for. They spotted us." Angelina muttered softly. Looking at the soldiers who had begun moving and raising their weapons, she said nothing else.

She slightly adjusted the gravity field, allowing the two of them to approach the ground at a faster speed.

Just as they neared the station plaza, before they could even steady themselves, a series of clicks rang out around them. The sound of powered crossbows being drawn instantly echoed in their ears.

More than a dozen soldiers quickly surrounded them, their sights coldly aimed in their direction.

"Stop! Don't move!"

A fully armed Columbia soldier stepped out from the crowd. Columbia's national emblem gleamed on his shoulder beneath the sunlight. From his appearance, he seemed to be the commander of the group.

"Your actions have violated station regulations. Bypassing the checkpoint is a serious infraction." The commander's tone was icy, his eyes remaining vigilant. "State your identities and purpose, or we will detain you immediately."

"Wait! I'm a Catastrophe messenger, and she's a messenger."

Provence immediately raised both hands and nodded toward Angelina, who was panting in front of her. Her voice was thick with labored breathing, yet it retained its usual gentleness. "We observed abnormal weather patterns on the road and need to conduct a geological inspection immediately. This could very likely be a sudden Catastrophe."

The commander's gaze lingered on the Originium fragments on Angelina's body for several seconds, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. "We need to inspect both of your identification documents as Catastrophe messengers."

Both of them noticed the movement at once.

Bad memories surged to the surface. Provence nodded lightly, carefully opened the bag on her back, took out a stack of well-protected documents, and handed them toward a soldier approaching them.