I Fought Kal'tsit? Seriously?

The wind brushed past her like an invisible palm, carrying a familiar scent that made her look up instinctively.

A figure streaking past at high speed entered her field of vision.

The Pegasus had returned after all.

"Well done, Miss Messenger." Gerald's voice rang out through the wind. He was still wearing the clothes of a Rusthammer soldier, though there was no longer any need to conceal his identity. "Without your help, lifting people and their houses into the air would've been rather difficult... Leave the rest to me."

The instant his words fell, the wind erupted completely, sweeping across the ground ahead like raging waves. It lifted the fallen pioneers together with the vines and sped toward the safe zone beyond the Catastrophe's boundary.

Yet that was far from all.

A vast shadow fell across Angelina's face, and she instinctively raised her head to look at the sky. By all rights, they had already left the signal flare's coverage, and an earthquake-induced Catastrophe shouldn't have caused a storm, unless—

Unless that wasn't a cloud formation.

Only then did Angelina realize what the man who had kept his face covered from beginning to end had just done.

Her staff slipped from her mouth and was swept up by the wind before landing beside her. Angelina could only stare blankly at the sight in the sky.

Behind Gerald, an entire convoy had been swept into the air by the wind.

The pioneers who had fled in panic after Rusthammer's attack and gone the wrong way were now huddled inside freight trucks, watching the ground grow farther and farther away as the vehicles flew faster through the air.

The Pegasus's wind carried every survivor away, sending them somewhere farther and safer as the Catastrophe arrived.

May 11th, in the wilderness outside Columbia.

Because of Catastrophes, the borders where mobile cities met were extremely difficult to define. Wanderers who ventured into the wilderness usually traveled alone, so over time, few people truly cared whether anyone intended to cross territory measured by national borders. After all, mobile cities themselves were the greatest trial for stowaways.

But such standards didn't apply to ships, or companies built upon them.

Whether it was paperwork or the relevant inspection procedures, whenever they entered a special shipping lane, navigators had to consider the possibility of intruding into another nation's territory with every calibration. Even with border checkpoints, Catastrophes meant evacuation and reconstruction always had to be considered. Thus, in most cases, ships needed to travel along designated routes between nations to avoid such situations.

Among them, however, there was indeed a perfect route capable of crossing the entire land—depart from below Lungmen and head west, bypass Ursus, Leithanien, and Victoria, and one could reach the south of Kazimierz, near the border with Kjerag.

At this moment, a pharmaceutical company's ship was steadily advancing toward the other side of the land along that route.

For the person in charge of this ship, its CEO, and the employee privately voted number one by Rhodes Island staff, Amiya, some of the recent events had actually brought her a little comfort.

Several major incidents had ended around February. Following their planned route, they had traveled from Lungmen to Bolívar, then left Bolívar for the vicinity of Columbia to recover data and establish a brief station.

There had been few disputes, and they had barely encountered any Catastrophes along the way. Everything had gone smoothly.

This was one of the rare journeys where they hadn't become involved in another country's disputes and had acted purely to save people... Though they didn't always encounter pleasant things along the way, most Rhodes Island employees were in good spirits. That was a good sign.

Recently, the field operators seemed to have developed a strong interest in role-playing games, especially when playing with the children. The atmosphere was exceptionally relaxed and cheerful. Sometimes, people even invited Amiya to join them.

At the suggestion, a faint longing had stirred deep within her heart. After all, beyond her heavy workload, being able to set aside the pressure for a while and enjoy a moment of fun with everyone was certainly appealing. Yet she had far too many duties on her shoulders, and the matters requiring her attention piled up like mountains every day, leaving her almost no time for herself.

In the end, she still declined the invitations. As she watched those operators lead some of the younger operators into laughter and excitement, a faint regret inevitably rose in her heart.

Still, before long, Rhodes Island planned to head to Siesta around summer to comfort the staff and attend to some elite operators' psychological issues... By then, even she should be able to rest for a little while, right?

Thinking of that, her steps grew lighter. Her rabbit ears and the documents in her hands bobbed up and down as she skipped toward Dr. Kal'tsit's office.

After all, she was still only a fourteen-year-old girl.

While Rhodes Island was traveling normally, only the navigators and some employees on the power deck needed to remain constantly focused. So today was practically a day off for Amiya, and she could go help Dr. Kal'tsit with some work.

Her steps were light, and she smiled as she greeted every operator she passed. Everyone returned the little CEO's greetings with respect and smiles—they had all seen this child standing before the operators. That inspired far more respect than any mere title.

"Morning, Amiya!" A certain unscrupulous merchant riding a round stool raced down the hallway and greeted the little rabbit. Then she whooshed past Amiya and drifted around the corner.

"Good morning, Miss Closure!" Amiya nodded and greeted the Bloodfiend speeding through the corridor, offering a kind reminder from afar. "Please don't go so fast in the hallways—otherwise you'll run into someone—"

Before she could finish, a violent crash sounded from around the corner ahead, followed by the somewhat guilty dry laugh of a certain Bloodfiend.

...At least now she knew that Miss Closure, who often came up with good ideas, sometimes didn't listen to her at all.

As the person in charge of the engineering department, Closure was responsible for every kind of damage throughout the ship. Since she hadn't hit anyone, Amiya could only sigh lightly and make a mental note that the round-stool racing had begun again. She would give a verbal reprimand later... And while she was at it, she also needed to ask Kal'tsit whether they could clear out a space in the training room for contestants to practice.

"Good morning, Amiya."

The next person she passed was a Banshee in elite operator attire... Though that might be somewhat misleading, because aside from certain traits associated with Banshees, this operator had almost nothing else in common with that race, including his current gender.

The instant Amiya turned around, the feathered ears atop his head shifted slightly, exposing his somewhat weary eyes beneath the corridor lights.

"Ah, Mr. Logos!" A delighted smile appeared on the little rabbit's face. "Welcome back from your assignment. You've worked hard."

The Banshee nodded. The corner of his eye swept over the corner Closure had just sped around, and he said calmly, "Yes, everything proceeded very smoothly. Thanks to the thorough battle plan, and to your and the Doctor's command, Amiya."

Amiya was about to respond when she noticed Logos's gaze instinctively shift behind her. Following his eyes, she immediately remembered what had just happened, and her smile gained a touch of helplessness.

"You need to explain this beforehand this time, Mr. Logos." She sighed softly, her tone carrying a serious but helpless reminder. "Last time, when the elite operators held a round-stool racing competition, the 'modifications' made to the training grounds were already excessive. This time, you need to make a reservation in advance. Otherwise, the operators training tomorrow morning will probably have headaches again..."

"...Until the runner-up challenges me again, participating in the competition has no meaning. For matters related to this event, you should ask Miss Closure instead."

Logos shook his head lightly. His expression darkened somewhat, and a trace of bitterness flowed from him into Amiya's consciousness.

She could sense the Banshee's emotions at that moment—through the authority of the Sarkaz King.

"Ah! But Mr. Logos, you'll have a long vacation to rest aboard Rhodes Island this time, won't you?" Amiya quickly realized that she shouldn't bring up the matter any further and hurriedly changed the subject. "You've been constantly on missions and dealing with threats before this. When we go to Siesta next time, will you come with us too, Mr. Logos?"

"Perhaps."

The Banshee gave an ambiguous answer, his emotions becoming somewhat complicated.

Over the past two years, he had rarely had time to rest. Whether it was dealing with Sarkaz-related matters or communicating between Kazdel and River Valley, both had left him physically and mentally exhausted... Not to mention what had happened in Chernobog four months ago.

He truly needed a vacation to sort through some of his thoughts.

Their meeting had merely been coincidental. After a brief exchange, they each continued in their original direction.

Before long, Amiya arrived at Dr. Kal'tsit's office.

She knocked softly, then pushed the door open as usual.

Just like always, Kal'tsit sat behind her desk. Beside her were an information integration board and a vacuum temperature-controlled storage container, allowing her to take what she needed and head straight out to treat patients whenever necessary. Most of the furnishings and designs had been optimized for efficiency, and even the bed was extremely plain... Yet anyone could tell that the bed showed little sign of use, more than enough to reveal what kind of workaholic the room's owner was.

The green lynx had spread out a document sent from Columbia on her desk. She hadn't even touched her coffee, simply burying herself in writing annotations and notes.

Only when Amiya entered did she barely raise her head and rub her brow. "Thank you, Amiya. You can leave the documents on the desk."

"Hehe, okay." Amiya gently placed the stack in her hands on the desk and moved closer to Kal'tsit. "Dr. Kal'tsit, Rhodes Island will be stopping near Trimounts for supplies soon. There are a few matters I'm still uncertain about, and I wanted to ask for your and the Doctor's opinions."

Kal'tsit nodded. "Is this about the Rhine Lab-affiliated operators, or the unusual Catastrophe that recently occurred in the Columbian wilderness?"

"You mean..." Amiya blinked. Though she handled a great deal of information, she clearly hadn't thoroughly reviewed this part of the files yet. "The Catastrophe near the Ticarondo border, similar to the one Operator Fang and the others encountered last time? The kind that manifests as an earthquake? The Doctor was surprised when she saw it too."

"It isn't an issue with the type of Catastrophe." Kal'tsit's voice was as calm as ever, though a trace of exhaustion faintly showed in her tone. She raised a hand to support her forehead and continued, "It's simply that figures suspected to be Operators Angelina and Provence appeared during the incident. There is a possibility they were drawn into Columbia's military and political affairs."

She rubbed her brow again. Clearly, that was far from the only thing exhausting her. "We'll consider that after reaching Trimounts. The priority now is how Rhodes Island should handle this letter."

"A letter?"

Amiya's gaze shifted from the documents to an inconspicuous envelope—one marked with traces that resembled entwined thorns, carrying an aura very familiar to Amiya.

It was the aura of a Banshee, identical to the feeling the Operator Logos she had just met gave her.

"It concerns the former master of the Death Knell Court, who wishes to visit Rhodes Island in the future."

Kal'tsit spoke each word distinctly.

Meanwhile, in Trimounts.

"How should I put this... Your home is rather unusual, Saria."

Gerald had changed into another outfit with a hood and casually walked into a certain Vouivre's home without hesitation, shoes and all. He looked over most of the interior furnishings with great interest.

Though many areas were designed in an extremely minimalist style, there were indeed quite a few intriguing details, such as several plants on the windowsill that were practically dying of thirst.

They clearly looked as though they had once been carefully tended, but had only been watered twice recently. Yet that wasn't the key point. The key was that these plants were utterly out of place with the rest of the room. It was like someone who often traveled keeping several potted flowers and tending to them regularly. That in itself contradicted the traits Saria displayed and the time she spent acting outside.

Considering they had been watered recently—

"You can rest assured. When I returned, I checked the house's condition. Very few people know I own an underground property, so the information is difficult to leak."

From a room in the corner, Saria emerged after swiftly changing clothes. Some items originally used for disguise had already been tossed aside, ready to be destroyed later.

"Understood. By the way, should I have picked up a set of clothes before coming? Do you have anything that fits me? Can I take a shower now?"

No alarms went off in Gerald's mind. What Saria said was most likely true.

Thinking about it, it was clearly impossible for a workaholic to return home often. Though someone determined enough to investigate might still find traces, as for a private residence underground...

All that could be said was that while Saria placed great emphasis on order, she truly wasn't so rigid when it came to matters unrelated to science and security.

Saria silently shook her head. Though her build resembled that of some adult men, she still couldn't compare to a Kuranta warrior who had fought in the wilderness. "You can use the bathroom and make do with the bathrobe inside for now. I'll go out and find somewhere that does private tailoring. Going to an ordinary store risks exposing our whereabouts."

"You're not washing up?"

"If it's only washing my hands and face, and dealing with body odor, I have some experience." There was a touch of irritation in the Vouivre's usually decisive manner. "We'll discuss it later. I'll bring you some clothes. Use anything in the house as you please."

Click.

The door opened and then closed. Saria had indeed left quickly.

Fine. He'd originally wanted to ask what he could and couldn't touch... but now it seemed there wasn't much difference.

The instant Gerald locked the bathroom door behind him, a faint mechanical engagement sounded from the metal doorframe.

Steam filled the air. The temperature in the bathroom gradually rose as hot water flowed, and hazy white mist clung to the walls, covering them in a dim, damp sheen.

Gerald slowly exhaled and turned the valve, letting hot water pour down from above, sliding over his shoulders and washing away the exhaustion buried deep in his muscles.

Over the past three years, this was the first time he had experienced comfort on this level.

The warm stream washed over his skin, cleansing away the dust brought by battle and the wilderness while allowing his taut nerves to relax slightly.

He raised a hand and wiped his face. Wet silver-white hair slipped through his fingers, sticking to his neck and shoulders.

The Catastrophe, those two Rhodes Island operators, Kannott... Though many things had happened, what followed had mostly been traditional stories. Someone had earned admiration, someone had quietly vanished into the shadows, and someone had found the part they desired amid the ruins of a destroyed civilization.

The Vulpo woman's actions had left a deep impression on him. Though she wasn't yet skilled with her abilities, the Originium Arts that allowed her to fly through the air like him had earned much of his favor. Besides, she had been brave enough.

Before reaching Trimounts, they had parted ways with Gerald and Saria. One had to continue her mission as a Catastrophe messenger—fortunately, according to her, she had recovered her identification during the final evacuation. The other had to continue Rhodes Island's mission and collect patient monitoring rings.

After circling around and trekking through mountains and rivers for several days, they had ultimately still arrived in Trimounts.

Remembering how quickly Saria had just left, he couldn't help letting out a quiet scoff.

Fleeing so obviously didn't resemble her usual style at all.

But that also meant he temporarily didn't need to consider whether his words and actions would make her uncomfortable—at least before he figured out the boundaries himself, Saria had already drawn them clearly for him.

For the scenes in his dreams, that was undoubtedly a good thing.

He pressed his forehead against the bathroom's cool wall, feeling the warm water wash over the back of his neck. A moment later, he finally sighed softly, closed his eyes, and let his chaotic thoughts slide away with the water, sinking into silence.

Until a drop of water fell from the faucet above the washbasin.

Drip—

A droplet slowly fell from the faucet above the washbasin. It struck the cold ceramic surface, creating a ripple almost too faint to notice. Yet unlike an ordinary drop of water, it didn't slide across the counter and disperse. Instead, it remained strangely in place, minute ripples appearing across its surface.

Then came a second drop, then a third. They gathered one after another, merging and writhing together, quietly moving their "bodies" in a straight line across the ceramic surface.

Steam drifted gently through the air and touched the mirror, condensing into a fine layer of mist over the smooth glass. After a brief pause, the heating device behind the mirror silently activated. The temperature rose slightly, quickly evaporating the mist and revealing the hazy reflection beneath.

The reflection soon vanished from where it stood, as if severed from thin air. Water stains disappeared along the floor without a trace, while Gerald turned off the recessed valve in the bathroom.

He walked out naked, and his body was indeed much cleaner than before—this place felt more like the River Valley from his dreams. There was a clean room, somewhere to wash the grime from his body, no cameras watching him, and no one urging him to leave.

Back in Mansfield and the wilderness, even taking a hot shower and scrubbing the mud from his body had been a luxury.

Unfortunately, that luxury was quickly shattered by an uninvited visitor who had come from afar.

Gerald pulled over a dry towel and lowered his head to rub his wet silver-white hair, using the towel's absorbency to wipe away every remaining droplet. Only after confirming that water no longer dripped from his hair did he casually toss the towel onto the rack beside him. The cloth over his shoulder still flowed with blood that had not fully dried. Even after being burned by Originium Arts several times, it still radiated the breath of life.

Then, the bathrobe on the rack caught his attention.

He frowned and picked it up. Its size had clearly been prepared for Saria's build. It was far too tight on him, unable even to fully cover his waist. In the end, he gave up and tossed the bathrobe aside, simply tying the towel around his waist as a cover.

His bare feet stepped lightly onto the floor. Gerald slowly walked out of the bathroom and pushed open the door. A familiar breeze flowed in, but it carried no unusual scent.