Did I Fight Kal'tsit? Seriously?

The three reconnaissance drones that took off from the top of the tower tried to capture his image, only to suddenly disintegrate the moment they entered the Pegasus's field of vision—the gears and bearings seemed to be wrapped in countless invisible threads, then tightened in an instant. Precision components blossomed in midair, forming beautiful metal flowers that fell one after another.

The crossbow bolts fired from below began slowing twenty meters away from him, then came to a complete stop at ten meters. Fine, crack-like scratches gradually spread across their surfaces. The trails extending from the attackers' hands changed from straight lines into perfect parabolas, no longer able to resist their own gravity as they fell to the ground.

When he reached the highest level of the tower—he finally raised the seemingly useless crossbow in his hand and lightly smashed it against the glass before him.

The instant the glass curtain wall shattered, Gerald caught an unfamiliar scent.

Someone was disrupting the wind's path.

The moment the Pegasus's feet touched the ground, heat gathered before him. The cannon fired at point-blank range, churning together with a skyful of shattered glass as it tore through the air laden with tremendous energy—

Yet it inflicted no harm on the person it should have struck.

Gerald merely stepped slightly to the side and evaded the blast. Tilting his head, he looked with interest at the Columbia military power armor standing in the middle of the watchtower, using its hovering system to face him in full readiness.

Not bad.

This looked like something Nastya could take apart and study.

"Hachoo."

The Banshee, who had been writing with a Bone Pen, was jolted from her thoughts by a sneeze. She frowned and looked around the research environment... It didn't look like there was any pollen around.

If there really were particles in the air that shouldn't have been there, then she needed to find the employee responsible for cleaning and give them a verbal warning.

Her gaze returned to the object before her.

A miniature city model, floating steadily in midair before her.

Ran All That Way, Only to Find There Was No Need to Run

When the roar echoed through the entire Messenger Station, Angelina and Provence were still sneaking toward the station's perimeter under Saria's lead.

The patrolling soldiers were still lingering ahead. Because of the two women's earlier escape, the station entrance had become so congested that not even water could pass through. Increased inspections had packed people and vehicles densely throughout the area.

The good news was that this gave them excellent cover for their infiltration. Quite a few people were also pushing forward to see what exactly had gone wrong.

But when the wall on the station's southern side was smashed open, some experienced pioneers immediately returned to the vehicles they had arrived in, already prepared to leave at once.

The words "Rusthammer" spread from mouth to mouth, wave after wave, from the breach at the very front toward the rear.

The scene instantly descended into a sea of chaos. Camel bells and roaring engines wove together into a disorderly symphony around the station.

A pioneer captain who had once borrowed a light from Kannott was using his body to shield his cargo crates. He knocked down a petty thief trying to take advantage of the chaos and steal from others, then roared at the vehicles ahead to turn around.

Nearby, a Sargon man was rapidly fastening the goods onto a pack beast's saddle. The burn scar on his left cheek gleamed with sweat, but his hands never stopped moving.

A Liberi who was utterly out of the loop scratched the feathers on his head. Just as he was about to ask the person beside him what was happening, he was tossed onto the roof of a vehicle along with the cargo. The moment the driver floored the accelerator, wind rushed into the poor Liberi's mouth. Before he could even cry out, he was dragged away into the distance.

"Wait, Rusthammer?"

Angelina dodged someone who had just been squeezing forward alongside her. They were now moving against the crowd flooding backward, all while watching out for trampling and other unnecessary incidents—her Originium Arts were always extremely useful at times like this.

For Angelina, she hadn't been out of Siracusa for very long, and most of her activities had been east of Victoria. Rusthammer's reputation hadn't been nearly this exaggerated there, but as a messenger, she naturally understood the weight carried by that name. "But that explosion by the wall just now—"

"It was him." Saria replied briefly. Her gaze quickly landed on a fence beside the station, and her pace accelerated. "Perhaps it was somewhat aggressive, but it was indeed the most efficient method."

Upon hearing that, Provence hurried forward a few steps. After a brief rest, the speed she could burst forth with wasn't much slower than Saria's.

She quickly caught up to Saria and said anxiously, "This Messenger Station has a lot of heavy firepower. The forces in the wilderness are practically on the same level as those responsible for a mobile city's defenses, especially here on Columbia's border. We need to help him."

"..." Saria, who was speeding along, didn't know how to respond. She could only convey her current feelings through silence. "...He probably doesn't need help."

Hearing that, Provence froze for a moment before realizing what she had just said. Her face grew slightly hot.

She remembered Rhodes Island's physical assessments.

The results of Rhodes Island's physical assessments were like the grades discussed in class during middle school. For employees who simply wanted a job, they were nothing more than data.

But in truth, there was a sizable group within Rhodes Island that specifically used them to compare operators' combat strength. They recorded certain operators' performances in notebooks, supported their favorites, and secretly rooted for them. And for Provence, who considered herself deeply attached to and identified with Rhodes Island... she had actually taken part once.

Although a certain Doctor had once said, "The strength of individuals varies from person to person, so linear rankings have no meaning," she still couldn't resist voting for Rhodes Island's little bunny in charge.

Because the girl was young, watching her grow up gave Provence the joy of raising someone.

Admiring strength was human instinct. Even someone as cold and impartial as Saria, this decisive and formidable woman, remained immensely popular at Rhodes Island and even had her own fan club—but even so, no one would have believed she could accomplish the feat that man had just performed.

She had watched him fly over with her own eyes.

Back to the point.

As one of the few groups of three charging against the crowd, they weren't actually receiving much attention. Angelina even used her staff's anti-gravity mode to help some people carry their luggage along the way, earning thanks and worried looks.

Messengers had long since earned a reputation across the wilderness. Seeing what they were doing, almost everyone assumed they were heading into the station to help those inside.

But these two women, who didn't look especially capable in a fight, shouldn't be throwing their lives away like this, even if a formidable helmeted figure was leading them.

However, those warnings gradually faded away.

Because the seemingly delicate little fox lady had now raised her staff and effortlessly lifted the formidable figure in front along with the big-tailed Lupo behind her, sending all three of them into the sky.

The crowd nodded in understanding. So she was the hidden powerhouse.

"Whoa." Angelina glanced at the bustling crowd below, cold sweat instantly running down her back. "Although Dr. Kal'tsit said my abilities would be useful on the battlefield, I think this is the first time I've really felt it. This kind of scene... instinctively makes you feel like you're above everyone else. It's scary."

"I don't feel that way at all, Ange." Tears welled in the Lupo woman's eyes. "Could you please warn me before using anti-gravity mode next time? I just find it terrifying."

The view from the sky was still excellent, but the feeling of being lifted by the wind was different from resisting gravity. The two couldn't be compared. Provence still clutched Angelina's arm tightly in terror, while Saria's thoughts drifted for a moment before snapping back to the current situation.

"The soldiers' attention has all been drawn over there. Only a few remain near the main entrance to handle the evacuation." The wind scattered the Vouivre's voice, making it indistinct. This was a sensation she hadn't experienced in the past few days. "We'll enter the station directly. Operator Provence, can you tell where the Catastrophe messenger's area is?"

"There should be a Laterano International Courier flag hanging outside the building. I can recognize it."

Provence looked toward the soldiers directing the evacuation at the main entrance. They clearly wouldn't notice the three of them entering from the air along the side of the station. Though the cameras were still faithfully carrying out their duties, there was no time to waste.

But an accident soon occurred.

"Stop. We need to land."

Saria's words came a second slower than her actions. She caught a crossbow bolt fired from afar out of thin air, her instincts honed through long-term close combat displayed to the fullest.

Seeing the soldiers in the distance who had spotted them, she immediately let go of Angelina's hand. Amid the girl's instinctive scream, the Vouivre fell straight down with gravity without any protection, forcefully absorbing the gravitational potential energy without using Calcification, then pounced directly at the soldier the instant she landed.

But the soldier didn't hesitate at all. He vaulted through a window into the building and quickly vanished from sight.

The Vouivre stopped, frowning at the bolt in her hand.

"Sari—no, are you alright?" Angelina quickly descended with Provence. She instinctively wanted to call the other woman by name, but promptly remembered Saria's deliberate warning during the operation and stopped herself in time. "Was that soldier... someone who didn't have time to leave?"

"Doesn't look like it. That person didn't seem to intend to move with the other soldiers."

Saria clenched the bolt in her hand, searching nearby for the International Courier flag. "You mentioned a [soldier] who helped you earlier. There's a possibility that person is the attacker."

"Huh? Ah... I hope not." Angelina seemed somewhat downcast. As a messenger, she had grown accustomed to other people's poor attitudes toward the Infected, but she could still count the times she'd been attacked on one hand. "If it's true, why would that person do this...? He helped us before."

The current situation left her confused.

Saria said no more, merely holding the bolt out before the two women. "This was the arrow from before."

The teary-eyed little fox leaned in for a look. She didn't understand much, but Provence recognized the problem at once. "—There's no arrowhead? Just wood, and at that speed... It was only a warning?"

"I'm afraid so." The Vouivre put away the bolt. "Since we can't figure out the motive, let's proceed according to our original objective."

Just as Gerald had done before. As long as they identified their target, every motive and clue would reveal itself.

Bang!

On the other side, the instant the armor cracked apart, Gerald smelled that unpleasant machine oil scent—more accurately, it was the smell of military-grade lithium grease mixed with coolant. This gap in Gerald's knowledge meant something entirely different in the mind of the commander before him.

The moment they smelled that familiar scent, the first thing Columbia soldiers should do was prepare to die.

No matter where one was in Columbia, without money, every necessity of life became difficult to obtain. That was the essence of this country: money and the value a person could provide meant everything.

At this distant border, soldiers were given excellent weapons and equipment. In return, the only value they needed to provide was preventing this transit station from being burned down and smashed apart by those brain-fried lunatics.

So without reinforcements, damage to the power armor already meant that everything was over.

Yet this commander still remained calm. He even had enough strength left to keep himself standing upright.

"You aren't one of Rusthammer's people, are you?" His muffled voice came from within the power armor. "They wouldn't play cat and mouse with me."

Gerald said nothing, simply shattering the power armor's outer shell once again.

With a simple activation of the Originium circuits within, the crossbow bolt in his hand could punch through the power armor's carefully designed external defenses with heavy kinetic force. After that, he only needed to dismantle his opponent like a crab and completely disarm him.

The Pegasus pulled aside the chest plate directly in front of him, exposing the trembling energy core within.

He couldn't understand its settings or wiring. This thing was a little too complicated for him. If Saria were here, he could probably ask her what was going on.

"You don't like talking? Fine. No matter what you intend to do, it's useless."

The commander tried to trigger the armor's self-destruct system, but Gerald had already anticipated that. With a few light strikes, he broke the man's limbs and fingers, continuing to dismantle the power armor as though peeling apart crab legs.

Gerald felt that instead of increasing power armor output and maximum performance, the Columbians should be considering how to deal with the effects of Originium Arts.

Just as his Originium Arts had initially been partially dispersed by the Steam Knight's inherent countermeasures, these soldiers appeared not to have experienced the baptism of real war. Otherwise, they wouldn't have gotten their priorities wrong.

Of course, it was also possible that his Originium Arts had risen to another level.

Cold weapons were already lethal when used directly, but the strong imbued them with Originium Arts to enhance their striking power—the landships of Terra's nations could only reach modern warfare standards through the augmentation of various casters. With his current Originium Arts, using a crossbow was actually a more practical option for clearing out lesser threats than using a sword.

But thinking about it carefully, if he had to face more than a hundred suits of power armor at once, and Columbia's industrialization had indeed reached the productivity required to manufacture that many, then he really wouldn't be able to solve the problem. He could only find an opportunity to kill the people inside the armor one by one.

...Terra hadn't reached the point of remotely controlling power armor with AI yet, right?... Probably not.

"Evacuate the crowd. I only need what's here."

Though he held no expectations of an answer, Gerald still disguised his voice and said, "You can report to your superiors that Rusthammer did all of this, and that you protected the other people at the station. You won't be held accountable that way. The consequence of refusing is simple: your subordinates will die here for no reason."

"...Ha!" Enduring the agonizing pain from his limbs, the commander let out a cold laugh. "Who sent you? Blacksteel, or Raythean Industries? Whoever it was, they shouldn't have hired someone who doesn't understand Columbia's rules."

"Then forget it."

Gerald had no interest in listening to nonsense or offering a second chance. Besides, he couldn't make much sense of this power armor's hovering system. This commander also looked like a soldier with an exceptionally stubborn mouth, and Gerald naturally knew what such people were like.

So Gerald dragged the power armor to the window he had entered through.

Most people in the building had already evacuated. There might still be soldiers coming to reinforce the place in the corridors, so he walked to the window and looked down.

Good. The ground was wide open.

Just as he was about to cushion the ground below with a layer of wind and throw the power armor straight down, a blazing red cloud suddenly exploded in the sky.

That dazzling red struck like an alarm bell. Anyone who looked up would instantly understand.

—A disaster was approaching.

A special signal flare belonging to Columbia's Catastrophe messengers appeared over the Messenger Station.

"Wait, why?"

Gerald vaguely heard the man inside the power armor suddenly struggle as though he'd gone mad. He muttered under his breath, his voice filled with confusion and shock. "This is impossible... There's no way this could happen..."

Elsewhere, at the same time.

The three women standing in the messenger transfer room all looked toward the cloud that had exploded nearby, falling silent together.

Until Angelina weakly asked,

"What... is going on?"

A Clichéd Story

The cloud bursting across the dome was like someone scooping up thick soup with an iron ladle and flinging it into the air—anyone who saw such a sight would instinctively move away from its center.

The distinctive spiral pattern of the military signal flare spread through the clouds. Its red smoke trail, mixed with phosphorescent agents, practically plastered the severity of the situation across everyone's faces.

For the three women who had come to resolve the issue, there was good news and bad news.

The good news was that they no longer needed to find a flare gun to warn the people in the station. The Catastrophe messengers here apparently knew a Catastrophe was about to arrive. All they had to do next was help everyone else evacuate to complete their mission.

They had initially assumed the Catastrophe messengers at the station hadn't acted because they didn't understand the exact situation. Combined with that commander's attitude earlier, all kinds of conspiracy theories had briefly passed through their minds.

This answer gave the two messenger ladies some comfort. At least everyone could now take shelter from the Catastrophe.

And the bad news was... they were inside the messenger transfer point right now.

They hadn't seen the signal flare launched from here. Instead, it seemed more like it had been fired from somewhere near where they had just landed?