I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

The most famous of these is a fountain pen that can automatically correct typos through its magical powers and never bleeds ink when writing.

Therefore, the existence of sirens has been a source of inspiration for authors in many other countries. They often imagined that a sirens would fall madly in love with them and give them such pens as gifts—until those fantastical words were burned to dust by the solitary sirens with their words of magic, along with the people.

Since then, any creative works about this race have disappeared.

At this moment, Gerald's attention was not on the room's decor.

First, the cloth on his arm remained with him in the dream.

Secondly, there is more than one breath around this room.

There's no need to pick up the ring on the table; a simple wave of the hand is enough to make the front door of the room open, the lock clicking crisply, and the handle slowly turning in the breeze.

The door, which was about to open slowly, was suddenly slammed open by a powerful impact, crashing against the wall with a dull thud. A series of shadowy figures staggered in afterward.

The banshees stumbled into the room in a flustered manner, each clutching a strange object: some shaped like bone pens inlaid with shimmering stone shards, others like long-handled staffs. Their movements were frivolous and hurried, as if they were afraid of being caught red-handed.

"Hey, don't bump into me—!" A banshee was pushed by her companion and fell to the ground.

A sharp cry of pain immediately echoed in the room, sounding particularly jarring.

The object in her hand fell to the ground with a few sharp sounds—then she launched a spell straight at Gerald, almost touching his face.

However, Gerald's sword was faster. The fragile spells that attacked him were incomparable to the spells he had seen on the battlefield. He could even cut them in two instantly without understanding their structure.

The wind in the room would prevent his sword from finishing its cut first.

Before the succubi could react, a sudden gust of wind dragged them into the air, their veils and skirts getting tangled together in mid-air.

"Impressive, is this how the banshees treat their guests?"

With a gentle wave of the silver-white sword, the windows and doors in the room opened simultaneously, letting countless gusts of wind rush into the room and activating all the prepared incantations at once.

The patterns on the wall transformed into creeping vines that emerged from the wood, instantly becoming living creatures that hurtled towards Gerald with tremendous force; the rough ceramic jars on the cabinet top, under the influence of the incantation, cracked their glazes, instantly activating the herbs and spices inside, which then filled the room with a poisonous mist.

The flames on the candlestick suddenly burst forth, and the words instantly broke free of their restraints, transforming into fiery serpents that lunged at him. At the same time, the fragments of the bottle floated up as if under control, each piece with a sharp edge, shooting toward Gerald at incredible speed.

Left-falling stroke, right-falling stroke.

The vines were no match for General Felin's longsword; a slight deflection of the sword would cause them to collide with the fiery serpents that were also attacking Gerald.

The entanglement between the two was a clash of spells. The banshee who created the fire snake trap was clearly less skilled than the one who set up the vine trap. The snakes slithered through the air, but were repeatedly annihilated in the void by the vines that were drawn to them, eventually turning into a few faint sparks that drifted away.

He had no interest in dealing with the poison gas and the flying debris.

The offspring of the wind are not afraid of flying arrows, nor are they afraid of poison gas used for sneak attacks.

The fragments were easily deflected by the invisible air currents in the air, and the poison gas was instantly condensed into a ball before it even got close.

Once the incoming fragments lose their supporting force, the merciful wind will reassemble them, returning the sphere of poison back into the bottle.

In less than half a minute, all the offensive spells belonging to this room were destroyed.

"Should I interpret all of this as hostility from all the banshees?"

Gerald looked around the room, his gaze settling into tranquility as the chaos gradually subsided.

He looked up at the banshees suspended in mid-air by the wind: "Or should I consider these your...personal interests?"

The tidy room should have been blown away and scattered by the wind, but the incantation representing "fixation" seemed to still be exerting some last bit of its power.

Even after being thoroughly washed by the strong winds, most of the items in the room remained in their original positions; only the part containing the offensive spells was completely destroyed.

He sighed.

Perhaps in the future, I won't be able to fight General Felin from beginning to end like I dreamed at the beginning.

He needs to find an opportunity to explore the mechanisms within the dream, and then see if he can use these mechanisms to fix the time of awakening at the moment before he fights a certain powerful figure.

But before that——

"Or should I take these tricks as a test from the Slug Queen's court?"

"Lamaren Ducanfaris, Queen of the Banshee Court."

Facing the light outside the door, he spoke without hesitation the name that had been told to him by the other person on the battlefield of Kazdel in his dream.

"The playful antics of these young children are hardly a test for a strong person like you."

"only."

A graceful figure slowly stepped into the room from outside, her face half-veiled. Her eyes, which held a hint of a smile, peeked out from behind the veil, like a tranquil crescent moon.

"For the children who have never been separated from their groups, how to make the scene they witnessed today and the admiration in their hearts fade away with time... this must be a problem that has troubled the great sirens for a long time."

As if to teach these banshees a lesson, Ramalyn lightly tapped the bone pen in her hand, and incantations flowed from the tip, instantly dispersing the raging winds above the room, which then coalesced into an extremely long shackle. It bound them tightly, suspending them from the ceiling like a string of bells swaying in the wind.

“So this has become my responsibility.” Gerald was at his wits’ end with such an unpretentious and powerful figure: “So, surely someone like you, the ruler of the royal court, wouldn’t make some unreasonable demands?”

"Lamaren."

"What do you mean?" Gerald sheathed his sword and calmly met the gaze that the Banshee Queen was giving him.

"Just as I would like to call you Gerald, you can call me Ramalen."

"The unrecorded hero, friend of the Sarkaz."

Lamarle responded with a smile.

Chapter Twenty: Horses Can Be Carnivorous Too

"I understand, Lamaren."

Gerald paused, unable to discern for a moment whether this was a feigned attitude or genuine, heartfelt friendliness.

"Then, may I change my clothes and clean myself up first?"

He didn't dwell on the issue. Unlike the initial battlefield, it was best to have some time to adjust: "As you can see, it would be extremely impolite to continue speaking to you in this disheveled state."

"Hehe." The banshee seemed to see through his wariness and covered her mouth with a laugh. "The war in Kazdel is over, and the suffering outside will not affect the valley. Here you don't need to worry about hostility, Gerald. The banshees adore the heroes who saved the Sarkaz in their time of crisis."

She walked gently to Gerald's side and tucked a stray strand of silver hair behind his ear: "Look at those children, beating their chests and stamping their feet, wishing they could kill me with a curse. You can tell how much of a disgrace it is for them to lose face in front of you. I believe that if you want, no banshee would refuse to bathe with you... including me, of course."

Tsk.

It's that feeling of having the power to speak again.

Gerald wasn't so much losing interest in desire; if they could have a relationship based on mutual trust, he would act without hesitation... But one was someone he had only met twice, a banshee queen whose age was unknown, and a target he couldn't even defeat.

He hadn't forgotten whose dream this was, and who could have a second chance.

To Ramalen's undisguised shock, Gerald grabbed the soft hand that was resting on his shoulder.

The curse on the Banshee Queen instantly covered her entire body, but was forcibly suppressed the moment it lit up, like a supernova that failed to explode.

The curse vanished with her will, but Gerald's hand movements did not.

When that body landed in his arms, he realized that the other person's size was actually about the same as his.

Ramalyn's veil fell naturally, hovering before his eyes, less than an inch away. Their gazes slowly rose and met unexpectedly, as if time itself had stopped in the entire room.

His breath, almost cloyingly sweet, wafted through the veil. He deliberately avoided her somewhat confused gaze, lowered his head slowly, and whispered in her ear:

“I am honored, madam.”

All the succubi in the room fell silent.

The banshees, who were originally hanging from the ceiling in embarrassing poses, have now all entered a dazed state.

Fuck (Kazdel profanity version)!!!

Punishing the sisters is one thing, since they were indeed the ones who spied first. But how dare you, the Queen of the Royal Court, an old woman who's lived for decades, sneak off first?! And then you just let yourself be pulled down so easily… Even though that person is indeed very powerful, you're one of the Six Heroes of Sarkaz!! You're far more powerful than him!

Shameless!! What a shameless old woman!!

……

Leaving aside how the young succubi's mental state collapsed, Lamaren now felt as if her face had been scalded by boiling water.

She'd already experienced being born out of the crowd, but what could she do when her very first birth coincided with the siege of the Three Kingdoms?!

Wiping away the blood that covered her body was painful enough, let alone bearing the responsibility of her race, shouldering the burden of the entire banshee race as the representative of the most talented of her generation. This also meant cooperating with races with whom she had a very bad relationship to resist the invasion from outside Kazdel.

She survived this catastrophe-level difficulty, and the banshee was proud of her. Everyone in the entire tribe showed her the utmost respect.

She had witnessed the carrion army shatter the enemy's formation, and seen the death traps jointly constructed by the lich and Theresia cause countless casualties among the allied forces, turning them into the blood demon's favorite food. She had seen the exceptional Theresis gallop across the battlefield, and the Goliath warriors wielding their greatswords in a frenzy.

Her experience far surpasses that of most female demons in her race; she has witnessed life and death, and sang farewell songs for the deceased.

But how about finding records related to love and romance in her life experiences?

I can't find it.

She can only slowly familiarize herself with this unfamiliar emotion, trying to transform it into experience and language, and integrate it into her own life.

But before her thoughts could linger in her mind and form a conclusion, or even before her body had just gotten used to this unfamiliar embrace, the fresh scent suddenly broke free from her.

All that warmth seemed to be just a fleeting illusion. Gerald merely gave her a light hug before immediately pulling away, reverting to his usual cold demeanor: "It's a Kazimierz gesture of courtesy to greet a friend with a hug. I hope you can forgive my momentary rudeness."

"I know your time is very precious, so I won't disturb you any longer. We can discuss this further after you finish bathing."

“Of course, why not?” Ramalen took a few steps back, brushing away the rising heat from her ears. “We can continue after I take these disobedient children back to their homes. For now, I must—no, I must excuse myself…”

Perhaps sensing the grumbling from above, she viciously pointed down with the bone pen in her hand, and the long chain, binding a group of banshees, flew straight towards the door, accompanied by the wails of the young banshees, flying into the distance where they could barely be seen.

She herself flashed rapidly on her body as the incantation was recited, and then vanished from the room without a trace.

……

Even in a dream, the sensation of water falling on your body is exactly the same as in reality.

Gerald washed the sweat off his body with running water and quietly pondered the current situation.

Let's try to clarify our thoughts.

First, the mechanism of dreams is currently unknown, but there is a clear time jump between the last one and this one.

The subject within the dream, namely himself, experiences independent temporal shifts according to a certain pattern of action. From the fact that this is not his first meeting with the Banshee Queen, and from the content of her words, it can be inferred that the current situation directly stems from the event of "killing General Felin."

Question 1: Why a female demon?

The key point may lie in the [Valley] – it has no connection with Kazdel, and only the Banshee race lives there.

If you place him in the position of the group that led Sarkaz, this is a very correct choice.

First, the Sarkaz's xenophobia after the war was foreseeable, and his own behavior was not taken seriously by most people. Staying in Kazdel would only cause unnecessary conflict.

Secondly, assuming, and almost certainly, that the leaders of the Sarkaz are not fools, they cannot fully trust an outsider whose reasons are not even entirely sound, who merely helped the Sarkaz in practice based on his own will.

Therefore, in the process of rebuilding a home, it is essential to observe the process of establishing contact with this unfamiliar friend.

Just as he had previously assumed, in terms of strength, he was basically no match for either the sword-wielding Theresis or the seemingly harmless Theresia. His only reason for liking Theresis was his admiration for his swordsmanship; if he were to force himself to fight her, it would probably take three or four years to resolve the situation.

However, as leaders on the battlefield, they could not keep such an uncertain factor by their side for constant monitoring.

Considering both the environment and strength, the Banshee is undoubtedly the best choice.

Question 2: Given this fact, how can we study the mechanism of dreams so that he can hone his skills as quickly as possible?

There are two methods.

First, after experiencing a battle similar to the one just now, he can directly attack Ramalen—she will likely hold back out of consideration, allowing him to gradually become familiar with the use and breaking of spells.

But this was actually a poor choice, because he was far too unfamiliar with the use of incantations. Dealing with a few inexperienced young witches would be easy, but the Banshee Queen was another matter entirely.

This leads to the second method.

That is, to personally seek advice from Lamaren.

If the reason he was able to leave behind the relic was simply because he successfully defeated General Felin, then there are clearly many other possibilities. For example, what if he had fled midway? What if he had committed suicide after defeating General Felin?

He vaguely sensed that this dream was less like a simple battle between him and a powerful opponent, and more like a deduction by himself.

If it were him, he would choose to do this... In a sense, it would be like retracing his own path.

The next step is to test the feasibility of the idea.

Thinking of this, Gerald brushed away the words controlling the water, and the water that had been flowing continuously immediately stopped.

On his right shoulder, the black and red cloth was flowing quietly, calmly revealing a longing to its owner.

—A desire for the Sarkaz.

Chapter Twenty-One: Lamarle Ducamfaris