I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

"Think about it carefully, who would specifically come to Area C to blow up a wall? Assuming someone can benefit from something that is meaningless in itself, then that person doesn't necessarily want to gain anything from blowing up the wall itself."

"It's also possible that they want Anthony or me to leave our original cells so they can take further action. Right?"

Upon hearing this, Patton paused for a moment, then began to consider the feasibility of this idea.

But soon, he sneered, outwardly appearing unmoved by the tactic, but anyone with a discerning eye could see that he was trying to provoke something: "Don't treat me like a fool, Gerald. I know you and Anthony have a good relationship."

Gerald didn't give him a chance to let his mind wander: "Ah, think more about the objective facts, Patton."

“You’ll find that if it were just a simple wall blown up, Randolph would at most get angry, tell people to find out where the problem was, arrange some aftermath, and that would be the end of it.”

He leaned leisurely against the wall and smiled:

“But if someone really wants to play this kind of high-profile cat-and-mouse game in prison, then Mansfield will have to conduct a large-scale search every now and then in the next few months. At that time, the person in charge of the operation can't be anyone else but you, the one Randolph trusts the most.”

Gerald, seeing Barton's unpredictable expression, knew his words had worked.

"My advice is that, in order to avoid working overtime, you can think about other possibilities."

"For example, someone has to clean up this mess. If you were to ask someone to clean up this mess or rebuild the walls, who would you ask?"

Saria seems to have recently turned her attention to the prison's structure. The search seems to have stalled, so let's take this opportunity to help her muddle through.

"If I were you, I would look for clues among the new construction workers who arrived at the prison and the prisoners in sections A and B."

……

"You mean, starting last night, a piece of cloth suddenly appeared on your body that you can't tear no matter what you do, and it can even unleash Originium Arts?"

Saria was sent by Barton to take roll call and patrol in areas A and B early this morning. And thanks to Barton's deliberate concealment, she hasn't yet received any news about area C.

Just as she was about to ask Gerald about the specifics of what had happened at noon, he instead recounted everything that had happened that morning—excluding the dream portion.

She glanced silently at her bare upper body covered in exaggerated scars, a rare look of worry and self-reproach in her eyes: "I...I'm so sorry, I haven't noticed these past few days."

"Notice anything?"

Gerald had even considered that the other person would make fun of his scars, but when he saw the expression on the other person's face... why did it look like he was looking at someone who didn't have much time left?

"Hallucinations, and pathological changes."

Saria's reply was brief.

“I will explain to Ms. Duma in the medical room that if you can feel the fabric wrapped around your body, it could be a lesion in your nervous system that needs to be treated immediately.”

Before Gerald could explain anything, Seria grabbed his arm and leaned in to examine his symptoms.

Even in this prison, she still exuded a faint, pleasant fragrance. It might have been from a natural-scented shampoo, but Gerald's rational mind rejected that possibility. The industrial smell, in his view, was impossible to mask. And setting that possibility aside, there seemed to be only one other explanation.

He calmly cut away the part of his mind that belonged to desire. This Vayvan seemed to have never understood what distance was, even though it should have been the other party's duty as a medical worker that shaped this situation.

But he wasn't sick; he became like this simply because the new memento he received was acting out his character.

It's no wonder that Saria misunderstood. After all, anyone would suspect that their friend had a mental problem if they suddenly stripped naked from the waist up while explaining the situation, then started pulling at the air and muttering seriously, "I can't tear it no matter how I pull it."

Come to think of it, if one day someone like Saria starts to take this situation for granted, then he'll probably have to accompany her to a mental hospital to check on her.

"The conversation and emotions are normal, so mental illness can be ruled out for now. There is no high fever, so meningitis is unlikely. Sleep duration and mental state are stable, so that's not the problem."

“Now, we need to take X-rays of your brain immediately. If it's temporal lobe epilepsy, then the problem has reached a very serious stage. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you must answer them honestly—”

Gerald gently freed his arm from Saria's grasp and sighed helplessly.

"No need. The fourth book you brought me, 'Fundamentals of Neurology and Psychopathology,' states on page 68 that if there were a lesion in the temporal lobe, I would already be suffering from severe déjà vu, strange smells or tastes, or even loss of perception, instead of simply seeing some hallucinations."

"Moreover, my reflexes, logical thinking, and language skills are all within the normal range. Seria, you are a doctor, you should understand this."

He tried his best to keep his speech slow and even, but when he saw Saria's expression, he knew that nothing he said would make a difference.

So he used a more direct method.

"Come on, attack me with your enamel."

“Don’t be impulsive, Gerald.” Seria shook her head, her usually calm gaze finally showing a change. “These tests won’t hurt you, you know that.”

"I also know that when patients are disobedient, doctors can use violence and coercion to make them obey, including but not limited to knocking them unconscious with their bare hands."

"This sentence was not written in the book I gave you."

“Of course not.” Gerald sighed silently. “The author of this sentence is War. You must not have read his book.”

“It’s a terrible joke.” Saria forced herself to relax and took a deep breath. “But there’s no denying that it can be useful in certain situations.”

The enamel gathered at an extremely fast speed; in the blink of an eye, Saria's fist appeared in front of Gerald.

Snapped.

Under Seria's astonished gaze, Gerald, for the first time in his life, did not make any dodging or parrying movements, but simply watched as the fist almost smashed into his chin.

Then he gently raised his hand and grasped Saria's wrist.

In an instant, she felt as if countless loaches were sliding around inside the enamel on her arm, or as if countless fine needles were gently poking her skin, leaving no mark before being poked again.

So over and over again.

Then, the enamel adhering to her arm melted like snow.

The grayish-white enamel possessed unparalleled hardness and strength, but it was equally unable to withstand internal disintegration. In just a moment, it fell from her arm, then reformed itself in the air with the movement of the wind, transforming into a short sword that landed in Gerald's hand.

Saria instinctively took a step back, trying to create a safe distance. Gerald instinctively took a step forward, driving her into a corner.

Her back pressed against the cold wall, and his left hand held a short sword to her neck.

"Now."

"It's my turn to cheat, Saria."

Chapter Fourteen: Who Has PTSD? Me?

It's really hard to describe the expression on Saria's face right now.

When Gerald held the dagger to her neck, the emotion in her eyes was neither defeat nor relief, nor any of those other extremely complex feelings. Rather... it was quite straightforward.

Gerald was very familiar with that look in his eyes.

Every time his sword clashed with General Felin's, he would use all four ears to catch the sound of the wind and discern the direction from which the monster was attacking, while his eyes remained fixed on the trajectory of the blade.

In the instant of flashing swords, the sun high in the sky would cast its rays upon the earth, and the mirror-like blade would reflect his figure—the figure of General Felin.

He couldn't remember what it looked like, nor could he summarize it. After all, there were too many things to review, and it would be a waste of time to focus his memory on such insignificant details.

But when he saw Saria's eyes, he suddenly felt that he could now describe exactly what his expression had been like back then.

The image reflected by the sword blade in the dream was almost identical to the words spoken in Saria's eyes at this moment—

free.

Free and unrestrained, without any taboos.

However, that desire was fleeting, quickly concealed in her eyes. A familiar calm returned to her face, as if that moment had never existed.

It's just like the sky that can only be seen when passing through the second-floor corridor in this prison.

……

"Surprisingly... it can actually ignore the interference of the suppressor."

Saria slightly moved her fingers, and the enamel short sword in Gerald's hand turned into a speck of dust, instantly dissipating into the air.

Her gaze fell on the Originium Arts suppressor on Gerald's arm, and after repeatedly confirming that it was glowing green, she nodded solemnly to him:

"I misjudged you, I'm sorry, Gerald."

"Seeing is not necessarily believing, and theory is ultimately just theory—I think I will remember this lesson."

She paused for a moment, then, after organizing her thoughts, said, "But getting back to the point, your body seems to have undergone some changes that are not normal. I can't be sure whether this is good or bad in the confinement environment of Mansfield."

Her gaze shifted slightly, as if she were considering a reasonable answer. "For example, another possibility that would allow you to use Originium Arts is infection from Originium crystals in the prison. But there is obviously no environment here where you could inhale or come into contact with active Originium dust and blood."

“If there were a sufficiently standardized environment, this prison would have become unusable long ago. It’s impossible that only you would experience this abnormality.”

"unless……"

However, at that moment, Gerald raised his hand, signaling Saria to stop for the time being.

Saria looked at him in confusion: "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No, I just have a question."

Gerald's expression gradually became subtle. He silently found a chair, sat down, leaned back, and looked at Vaiva in front of him.

The surrounding bookshelves stood silently like huge black shadows, observing the confrontation beside them.

A wisp of stale, dusty air hung in the air, and a thick curtain of silence enveloped the entire space, making the ticking of a distant clock all the more distinct.

“I can’t understand one of your answers.” His tone carried an unsettling calm: “It seems to me that you’ve forgotten a possibility a doctor shouldn’t overlook.”

Gerald stood up, walked slowly to the bookshelf, and deftly pulled out a heavy book, casually placing it on the table.

The dull thud of the books hitting the desk sounded to Saria like a heavy hammer hitting the ground, making the surrounding air seem to tremble.

"Chapters 47, 55, and 63 of 'Trauma, Ninth Edition' are all about documentation and treatment guidelines for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Do you want me to recite them to you?"

His speech quickened, and his tone revealed an aggressiveness:

"It sounds rather concerning that one of the world's top doctors didn't consider the possibility of post-traumatic stress disorder in soldiers who survived the war."

"Or do you think that bringing this up will worsen my mental state?"

Saria stood quietly in place, her gaze fixed on a point on the ground.

Her fingers clenched slightly, then quickly relaxed, revealing a faint whiteness at the fingertips.

Those who know her well might know that this is a typical behavior she displays when she feels she is in the wrong.

In such situations, regardless of whether she has a reason to explain the other person's questions, she will simply remain silent.

The issue is.

Gerald had no idea why Saria was suddenly acting like a coward.

He thought that asking such a direct question would get an equally direct answer from the other side, but now it seems that Saria is the one who is suspected of having PTSD.

A question mark appeared above his head. He desperately rubbed his hair and said frantically:

"I'm not criticizing you, I just want to ask!"

"What makes you think I have PTSD? I don't have it at all!!"

……

?

"No, what are you [?]?" Gerald could feel the deep confusion and bewilderment in Saria's eyes, which made him even more confused: "Am I someone who trembles and cries in a corner when I see Originium Arts?"

“Just based on this one sentence, I think you should be given a completely new test paper.” Saria sighed, which was rare for her. “The manifestations of post-traumatic stress disorder are far more than this.”

"The day after I met you, you were in your room with a pieced-together sword, and you spun yourself around in the air in a 360-degree arc. Not only that, you kept sparring with the air while holding the sword, as if there was an imaginary figure in your field of vision."

Gerald remained silent.

It seems that this happened, during the second time he was sent home by that General Felin—he was racking his brains trying to figure out how to deal with the other party's sword moves.

But this should only be considered a nostalgia for the battlefield?

“When I entered the room, you started provoking me, trying to make me attack you,” Saria continued.

Gerald was drenched in sweat.

Although he couldn't match General Felin's speed, Saria's enamel-plated fist was one of the few things in this prison that could threaten his life; it was enough to fill him up as a meal replacement.

Being too excited is understandable, but looking at it from the other person's perspective, it seems understandable as well.

"In the end, when I wanted to stop you from going on, you started attacking yourself," Saria concluded. "I don't know of any other reason besides PTSD that could make you do this."

Gerald covered his face with his hands.

That's enough, he understands completely, there's no need to continue.

Having spent so much time in prison, he can do whatever he wants when he's with guys like Anthony. But the only person who could do something like that in front of civilized people without being avoided is probably this guy.

You still need to be mindful of your behavior once you're outside.

"Therefore, I had to temporarily suppress your actions. But judging from the current situation, my thinking at the time was far from the actual situation."

"Patients with similar backgrounds to yours have a 95% chance of having PTSD."