The moment the two of them left the lounge, Kal'tsit spoke impatiently:
"Don't lay a hand on her, Gerald."
"Lay a hand on her?" Gerald shifted his gaze away from Mon3tr and met the plea in Kal'tsit's eyes head-on. His tone turned subtle. "Great-grandma, even when fighting you, I at least nurse your body back to health first. How old is that child biologically? I'm not so desperate that I'd go that far, am I?"
"Your hypocritical lies disgust me." Kal'tsit was clearly full of resentment over this, practically hissing. "Or perhaps your understanding of past memories has gone wrong. I am certain that out of the more than three thousand times we fought, I was still not fully recovered at least a thousand times."
Huh.
At an average of once a day, they would have had to fight for at least eight years. And judging by his habits and Kal'tsit's current condition, he had more likely fought her once every three or four days.
Looking at it that way, the fact that he had not grown sick of it in the dream could only mean that Kal'tsit had been gradually improving too.
Interesting. It seemed his approach had indeed been correct.
"Roar!" Mon3tr in his arms let out an excited howl instead—Kal'tsit might not have recovered much, but it could fight however it pleased.
"Enough, no need to talk about such trivialities. I won't lay a hand on Amiya." Gerald shook his head. "Even as the heir to the Demon King, her power is far too immature right now. If all her abilities come solely from inheritance, there is no meaning in challenging her."
"An unexpected statement." Kal'tsit frowned, clearly not quite believing him.
"Children need time to grow." Pegasus gave only a simple reply, his gaze drifting away.