Did I Fight Kal'tsit? Seriously?

"Saria."

Upon hearing that name, the Vouivre slowly closed her eyes.

She didn't like phrasing that put the subject first... It made the fire in her chest burn even hotter, made it even harder for her mind to think calmly.

"I'm your partner," Gerald said. "Not hers. I know what you're worried about, but I promise, I don't have the intentions you think I do—"

Before he could finish, Saria's body reacted first.

She suddenly stepped forward, planted both hands on Gerald's shoulders, and forced him viciously back into the sofa with absolute strength.

The Pegasus was pinned firmly against the back of the couch. Before he could even raise his hands, Saria had completely restrained him in an almost coercive posture.

The air froze subtly for several seconds.

Gerald lowered his head to look at her hands, then raised his gaze to meet the Vouivre's amber eyes, burning with emotion.

The longing and freedom that had once flashed through her in prison now blossomed and bore abundant fruit.

Perhaps it had always been her nature. Vouivre had always been like this.

For Vouivre, madness driven by instinct had accompanied nearly their entire racial history. Violence, savagery... It had taken countless years to emerge from that chaotic darkness.

Behind the collapse of logic lay the collapse of reason itself.

Saria's breathing grew slightly hurried, her throat tightening as though she were trying to find a sufficiently reasonable excuse. Yet in the end, she only pressed harder on his shoulders and repeated in an unquestionable tone, "You. Are. Not. Going."

The tail behind her was taut like a steel whip ready to strike. The spikes that had stood erect gradually withdrew in silence, sliding back along the scales and returning to a supple shape. But the next second, that tail abruptly coiled around Gerald's thigh like a precise chain.

At least at this moment, the Vouivre looked as though she were hunting a Pegasus far stronger than herself.

Gerald, meanwhile, only found it a little funny. He wasn't the same as he had been in prison, after all. This level of restraint could be dealt with by the slightest effort... Hm?

The motion to gather wind abruptly came to a halt. A wave of weakness rose from within his body, making him choke out several coughs and splatter flecks of blood onto the clothes over his chest. The retching sensation from his stomach made a mouthful of blood spill from his lips and slowly trail down.

...Damn. He'd forgotten the result of trying to get himself killed earlier.

It was all Muelsyse's fault.

The Vouivre's reason had already fallen off a cliff. Her amber eyes had become slitted pupils, her breath falling across the Pegasus's face as she stared curiously at the blood spilling from his mouth. Her fingertips slowly slid along his jaw, and her long, powerful hand forcefully seized his chin, making him tilt his head back slightly.

Then she opened her mouth.

Fangs peeked out from between her lips, her white teeth gleaming dangerously, as though the slightest force could tear through flesh.

Then the tip of her tongue emerged and swept across the trail of blood.

Vouivre liked to begin their tasting with blood. The more precious the prey, the more it was worth taking from. They liked the disordered appearance of prey after it had been torn apart, but before that, they chose to take every part they wanted—without leaving a single bit behind.

Whether it was the blood slowly flowing outside or the blood not yet swallowed inside, it was all the same.

The feeding did not last long.

The sweet, metallic scent of blood spread between her lips and teeth, warm liquid sliding over her tongue and down her throat.

The next step should have been tearing through flesh, going deeper, completely filling the hunger rising from the depths of her bloodline.

Yet in the end, she merely left a light bite mark on Gerald's neck.

Because Gerald spoke.

"Saria, blood contains high concentrations of iron and protein. Excessive intake may lead to iron poisoning, increased kidney strain, and the risk of pathogen transmission. That's from page seventy-eight of Introduction to Human Physiology and Pathology."

"Please don't keep drinking my blood."

It had to be said, the effect was quite good.

Those few brief words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head, instantly dragging Saria's instinct-driven consciousness back into reality. The restless undercurrent deep in her eyes froze abruptly, her impulse forcibly snuffed out, as if some invisible hand had violently pulled her away from the abyss she was about to fall into.

The part of Saria that was a doctor, a protector, took control in that instant. It tore instinct off her body and threw it into the abyss behind her.

And the moment her consciousness returned from the darkness, her reason slowly climbed back from the edge of that abyss. When she regained control of her body, all she could feel was the bloody taste filling her mouth and the sweetness deeply etched into her mind.

The rusty taste spread across her tongue. Saria's breath caught slightly, her pupils slowly returning from their slitted shape as amber light returned to her eyes.

She stared blankly at Gerald, so close before her. Those chaotic thoughts from moments ago shattered like broken glass the instant her mind cleared.

Saria abruptly straightened up, the tail around Gerald's leg rapidly loosening and recoiling as if shocked by electricity. Her fingertips trembled, then slowly covered her lips, as though she wanted to wipe away that pungent scent.

Then, instinctively, she licked her lips.

It was sweet as honey.

What It Feels Like to Be Locked Away Twice in One Day

"Good morning~~ Open the door for me, Saria~"

Morning sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, while the air still retained the chill of the night. Then the doorbell rang alongside an energetic voice, lightly and naturally breaking the room's silence.

Ding-dong—

Outside the door, Muelsyse stood with her usual smile. Her soft hair glimmered with specks of light in the morning sun. She had changed into a casual light-colored jacket today and had clearly dressed up for the occasion, though her expression still carried the same relaxed ease as always.

Yesterday, she had thoroughly looked into what had happened at Mansfield.

After Anthony had been rescued, Ferdinand might not be able to settle down, but at least he could put on enough of an attitude to keep them from getting too involved. Her Ecology Division naturally had no need to meddle in that messy struggle for power anymore. As for how he dealt with things in private or planned his counterattack, that had nothing to do with her. Saria would definitely be the one cleaning up the mess in the end anyway.

Her task was simple—so long as Rhine Lab didn't develop serious internal problems because of these conflicts during this period, that would be enough.

And now, all the little elf wanted was to eat a breakfast personally made by Saria and, while she was at it, see whether anything had happened between those two yesterday.

Hehe, she was practically dying to see their reactions!

Saria herself surely hadn't figured out her feelings yet, but how could a super little elf who had seen all sorts of things in the world fail to notice?

There weren't dozens of couples in the Ecology Division that she had successfully brought together, but there had to be at least three or four. A combination of trust, natural compatibility, a solid foundation of ordinary friendship, plus a hint of unprecedented freshness—this was practically the perfect recipe. More than enough to give that Vouivre, who had seen so little of the world, an overwhelming shock.

Yet Muelsyse waited for a long time, and the people inside showed no sign of opening the door.

She tilted her head, her brows knitting almost imperceptibly as she reached out once more and gently pressed the doorbell—

Ding-dong~

...No response.

She blinked, and the smile on her face faded slightly.

"Huh?"

Something was wrong.

By all rights, Saria's habit of waking early wouldn't have changed. Even if she had been busy late the day before, her body clock wouldn't get so messed up that she couldn't hear a doorbell. Besides, she had promised to make breakfast for her today. As for Gerald, based on the little elf's painful experience over the past day, that guy's ability to control wind was absurdly strong. There was no way this sound hadn't reached his ears.

So... neither of them wanted to open the door?

Muelsyse took a small step back, crossed her arms over her chest, and thoughtfully swept her gaze over the tightly shut door. Her smile became subtly strange.

"Oh my? Oh my? Don't tell me... I casually made a joke last night, and you two have already made some real progress?"

Her muttering was quickly interrupted by the sudden sound of the door opening.

Just as Muelsyse was about to let Manifold fall away from her body, her intent fully taking shape as she prepared to seep into the house and open the door herself, the front door was suddenly flung open.

A familiar figure stood in the doorway, blocking the corridor's white light.

Saria stood there, pale and unbelievably exhausted. Her eyes lacked their usual calm, carrying the dimness of someone who had not slept all night.

Her hands hung at her sides. Skin that had been perfectly fine last night was now wrapped in layers of bandages, the white fabric soaked with red-brown stains in varying shades. She had clearly suffered violent impacts and tearing not long ago. Some blood that had not fully dried was stuck between her fingers, making those hands especially horrifying to look at.

"Come in."

Her voice was hoarse and heavy, as though the lingering oppression of the night had clutched her throat.

Muelsyse blinked and instantly dropped all of her joking attitude.

Her water duplicate quickly dispersed. The next second, she was standing before the door, stepping into the room without hesitation.

Everything in the living room looked normal. The furniture was neatly arranged, there was no strange scent in the air, no traces of fighting, no damaged items—from the surface, everything looked exactly as familiar as she remembered.

Muelsyse's gaze fell on Saria's hands, then swiftly swept over her complexion. Countless guesses rose in her mind until the most likely answer surfaced from her memories, turning into a certain question. "...Did you go downstairs to box last night?"

Saria didn't deny it. She simply gave a soft "Mm," then walked toward the sofa in the living room. Her fingers trembled slightly, as though her freshly bandaged wounds had been pulled, but she said nothing and merely continued into the room.

The little elf swallowed.

This joke had gone completely too far.

Just to enjoy some homemade cooking and get a close-up look at her friend's gossip, she had even specially come over in her real body... Now the question was whether she could leave this place alive.

"Good morning."

That voice didn't come from Saria, but from another direction—

"Your breakfast, Muelsyse."

Accompanied by a faint buttery scent, Gerald emerged from the kitchen wearing a slightly oversized apron, carrying a plate of fried eggs and bacon soufflé.

Compared to Saria's haggard appearance, he wasn't doing much better. The shadows beneath his eyes and unnatural exhaustion gave away his actual condition. More importantly, the bite mark by his neck and the torn marks on his lips didn't seem to have been hidden at all. They were simply exposed right before Muelsyse's eyes.

...No, Saria was this exhausted because she went boxing last night. What the hell happened to you?

The little elf fell silent for a while, her gaze repeatedly lingering on the bite mark and the torn wounds. With trembling hands, she accepted the plate the Pegasus offered her.

Better eat her last meal first.

Elsewhere, time returned to last night.

Before going to sleep, Gerald gently closed the door and selectively ignored the sounds of punching coming from underground.

The sound of fists striking a sandbag echoed over and over through the cramped space, carrying long-suppressed anger and unease. Every blow seemed determined to smash the surging emotions within into the boxing gloves, grinding down even the restless instinct in the depths of her bloodline.

It was good that she hadn't chosen to use him as a tool to satisfy her desires, unlike a certain Banshee lord. But Saria in her current state really didn't look like someone who would be able to let it go anytime soon.

On the other hand, he was also rather shaken.

If it had only been emotional shock, he would have gladly gone to speak with Lamaline and confided his confusion to that Banshee lord. But not this time. He didn't dare imagine what sort of situation he would face if he honestly told her the truth under these circumstances.

But what truly shook him was that he had genuinely never expected himself to have absolutely no way of competing with her in terms of strength.

It had been even more extreme than when they had sparred while he wore shackles—back then, he couldn't use his full strength or Originium Arts, but he had been confident that even without wind, he could subdue that Vouivre through technique.

Yet just now, once Saria had completely fallen into that state, he hadn't even been able to do something as basic as "find an opening."

Without using wind, he hadn't even possessed the ability to properly fight back... Though he had been far too relaxed from beginning to end. If he stubbornly insisted, Next time, as long as I'm fully prepared, I'll be able to turn things around, that wouldn't be entirely unreasonable.

But it still gave him an enormous sense of crisis.

So much so that he now desperately wanted to fight someone, improve himself, and release the pressure in his heart.

Thus, Gerald took the piece of jewelry from his chest.

The gemstone Lamaline had given him at the beginning—according to her, it was a "Kiss."

The relics the dream had given him all possessed strange functions.

The cloth attached to him allowed him to directly touch the essence of Originium, no longer needing to rely on any medium to guide the release of Originium Arts. And as time passed, this method of casting had in turn affected his control over traditional Arts.

When he returned to a casting system that "required a medium," he was surprised to find that even while using one, his Arts had become far more effortless. It was as though the medium itself was no longer a limitation, but merely a tool he could use at will—almost a transparent extension of himself.

There was even less need to mention Dreammist Essence. It allowed him to directly come into contact with his father's soul, discuss things that had happened in the past, and there was still a large bottle left for him to use. Beyond that, its more important function seemed to involve improving his perception of Originium-related objects—he had more or less realized that when the Catastrophes occurred.

Originium, Originium.

Logically, this Kiss should share something in common with the other two relics. Yet strangely, after all this time, the jewelry had given him no response whatsoever. The one-fifth portion of color on it had not expanded at all.

But Muelsyse's unusual abilities today had given him some ideas for testing it... Hopefully, what he was about to do wouldn't blow this house up like the prison.

Gerald slightly raised a finger. A strand of wind invisible to the naked eye slowly brushed from his fingertip, carrying a gentle, ethereal touch as it softly curled around the jewelry in his palm.

Then he imagined the feeling from when Muelsyse's water duplicate had dispersed, that connection to the origin of [water].

The duplicate was made of water. That vessel carrying Muelsyse's memories and emotions was an extension of her will, seemingly unable to exist independently from the original body... But put another way, the fact that water could serve as her will represented Muelsyse's essence as water.

So he could be this strand of wind, and the wind could be him.

The two had always been one and the same, born together from the same source, never differing in any way.

Thus, when the wind became his will and wrapped around the jewelry, he seemed to hear a faint, indistinct hum, like the whisper of wind blowing through a River Valley.

Then—

Cough.