I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

The banshee's spell was indeed unique; even though he had just finished taking a bath, the temperature of the entire room could still subtly change according to his thoughts.

Whether he needed a touch of warmth or a wisp of coolness, the incantation would respond swiftly, adjusting the environment to the most suitable state, as if the room itself had transformed into a faithful servant, silently attending to his every need.

At this moment, Gerald finally had the opportunity to stand in front of the mirror and examine himself.

Judging from his appearance, Gerald's face could not be described as mature; in fact, he looked rather young, making it hard to believe he had spent ten years in the military. His straight, silver-white hair fell just to his shoulders, with the excess ends tied back with a simple ribbon, and the hair in front of his forehead was casually styled in a wispy manner.

His features clearly inherited his mother's genes, appearing exceptionally upright and graceful, with a generous and open profile, without any sharp angles. However, his eyes were entirely the shadow of his father's—clear golden yellow, like amber under the morning light.

His cheekbones weren't very prominent, and his brow bones were relatively flat. His skin had been meticulously polished by the relentless winds of the wilderness for a long time, rough yet with a bright white hue.

Honestly, it's undoubtedly a very appealing type of character; if placed in a knightly arena, it would probably be used as gossip material.

As for the clothes... he did get a new set, made of excellent materials and with superb sewing techniques, but he wasn't really interested in figuring out how the banshees knew his specific body measurements and managed to produce a new set of clothes in such a short time.

When he picked up the sword and ring left at the door and stepped back out of the bathroom, the entire room had changed.

The original mess returned to the scene he had initially seen, only this time the windows and doors were open, letting in some warm sunlight.

The banshee queen, who had returned, sat quietly waiting at a wooden round table.

Only after Gerald came out did she sigh as if in distress and invite him to sit down:

Would you like some breakfast?

"I want to eat it, but I'll pass."

Upon hearing the tone of the other person's voice, Gerald's brows gradually relaxed, and he found a chair to sit down: "If you had this attitude from the beginning, perhaps none of those things would have happened."

"...So, this is your true personality?" Lamaren asked after a moment of silence.

“You are the same, aren’t you?” Gerald readily accepted. “Without the young banshees, there wouldn’t be so much scheming between us. You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you. You need to understand my purpose and motives. I hope to spar with you. There are no direct interests between us, and everything is clear.”

Lamarle's gaze fell upon him through the veil, carrying a completely different tone than before: "You are very direct, Gerald. It is rare to meet someone like you in the royal court, especially among the older generation."

"Pegasus's longevity is only relative to ordinary people. We never have enough time, so we force ourselves to stand up, walk, and run from birth."

Gerald wasn't nervous at all because of the other person's scrutiny. He relaxed and leaned back on the mat: "Thanks to this, I'm usually a bit faster than others and save more time."

He could tell that in those short ten minutes or so, Ramalyn's attitude towards him had changed significantly.

Her initial gentle and approachable demeanor gradually faded, leaving behind the majesty of the Banshee Queen—even though she herself had almost destroyed that majesty just now.

It's okay, he's very understanding, he won't bring it up.

He prefers direct dialogue like this; more of it would be better.

But the other party doesn't seem to think so.

After this still immature composure is shattered once, her ordinary yet genuine side will be subtly revealed in conversations.

"That posture just now... wasn't just a disguise."

She sighed again, her stern expression fading, her voice tinged with worry:

"In the presence of the young banshees, their king must not be swayed by trivial matters, but at the same time, he must integrate into the tribe and become a role model and a reliable figure."

"We must be clear about rewards and punishments, listen to the opinions and complaints of young people, and guide the community in the right direction. But we must also always maintain a kind and approachable demeanor, so that when we criticize them, they will realize their mistakes because of the contrast in our attitude."

“Yet you’re explaining the ins and outs to an outsider like me.” Gerald gently picked up the teacup on the table and took a sip of the black tea inside. “The Queen of the Banshees wouldn’t just casually expose her weaknesses. I can’t think of any other reason besides her lowering herself to make a deal with me.”

"I do need your help."

She gently tapped the table with her slender white fingers. "The banshees could have been a force in rebuilding Kazdel... but our race is too fragile. Countless banshees have died in the war, and we can no longer bear to see them perish again and again."

Lamaren looked out the window. Over there, the chains that were still flying in the sky carried the girls through several magnificent and difficult maneuvers. Perhaps some crystalline liquid could still be seen from above.

"Do you remember how many of those children who just broke into the room were?"

“Eight? Why ask that?” Gerald replied, his tone tinged with doubt.

"Because they are the last remaining young generation of the Banshee race during the war."

Lamarle's tone was flat, yet she calmly uttered the most cruel words.

"Most of our core forces died for Kazdel, and the war left us with only a handful of men, while the high sirens of the tribe have long since lost their ability to bear children."

“Some of the lone banshees returned to guard Kazdel, and they were eventually buried there as well.”

"The only thing the surviving banshees can do is sing banshee dirges for them, hoping their souls can return to the multitude. Nothing else can stop this race from dying... until the war ends."

Gerald did not speak.

He knew what it meant.

This means that everything the Banshee Queen does, down to the smallest choice, carries the future of the entire race. No matter how calm and peaceful she may appear now, she carries a destiny on her shoulders heavy enough to crush anyone.

But Lamaren continued speaking.

“The bloodline of the banshee must continue; it is my duty, and Theresa agrees with my choice.”

"That's why we moved from Kazdel to the Valley, and that's why I promised Theresa I would invite you here specifically for this purpose."

……

Wait a moment?

No, no, no, what does inviting him here have to do with the continuation of the banshee bloodline?

He was simply reincarnated as Kuranta, and incidentally acquired some corresponding sexual characteristics. This doesn't mean he has the ability to continue the banshee's bloodline at all!

—No, wait a minute, she mentioned Theresa.

Connect this to the continuation of the Banshee and the reconstruction of Kazdel.

“In Theresia’s eyes, having me by your side is a benefit to both the Valley and the Sarkaz.”

Gerald quickly sorted out his thoughts: "So what am I in your eyes? A foreigner born in Kazimierz?"

"Or is it the bridge connecting Kazdel, the valley, and the outside world?"

After saying this, although he couldn't see Lamaren's expression hidden behind her veil, his undisguised approval was unmistakable.

"You've got the wrong person."

Gerald shook his head without hesitation, rejecting the idea outright: "I have no connection with the current Kazimierz. My only skills are war and killing."

"Without capital or connections, I can't help you."

He could indeed pretend to propose conditions to reach a deal, since it was just a dream after all.

Yeah, it's just a dream anyway, why take it so seriously?

Why didn't he just kill all the young banshees from the beginning, provoke Ramalyn's wrath, and then die time and time again at the hands of the banshee lord in front of him?

What if one day in the future I become completely stronger and can break all the curses, and then I kill her?

This is probably because it's outside the battlefield.

This might be the only way to distinguish him from the monster.

“You can do it,” Ramalyn’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Looking up, the gaze of the Banshee Queen held a certain unwavering conviction that defied common sense: "The children need a trustworthy outsider, someone they are willing to open their hearts to, to tell them stories beyond the valley and Kazdel."

"The valley needs time to heal its wounds, and the children need time to grow up and cope with the encounters after being separated from the group—both in terms of ability and spirit."

Gerald responded with silence, his gaze meeting hers as if weighing the weight of her request.

Lamaren didn't have to wait long. She straightened up, her gaze became even more determined, and her tone revealed an unwavering resolve.

“I swear to you, in the name of Ramalen Ducanfaris, Queen of the Banshee Court.”

"The Banshee Queen will grant your wishes, if you so desire."

"Anything I can do without harming the banshee race..."

Her voice echoed in the room, and at the same time, the incantation on her body lit up. A large number of words gathered like a tide into the shape of gems and gently fell from the air onto the table in front of Gerald.

……

When sincerity is laid bare before someone, time seems to stand still, and the air becomes so still that even breathing is suppressed.

Gerald stood there, silently gazing at Lamaren before him, or perhaps more accurately, at the jewel-like yet profound sincerity in her words.

He could neither ignore such a serious request nor readily agree to it.

This silence was quickly misinterpreted by Lamarle as hesitation. Her gaze lowered slightly, and a subtle, complex emotion flickered in her eyes.

“I know my previous attitude may have caused you some misunderstanding,” Ramalyn said softly, her tone revealing an undisguised gentleness and sincerity. “But I did not lie, Gerald. I believe you, and the Banshee will always be your friend.”

She slowly raised her eyes and met his gaze.

Through the veil, her red eyes shimmered like a mirror reflecting the past and the present.

“I understand that even if the war did not end because of you, and every step you took was not for us, the banshee who watched everything from the city wall will never forget that figure.”

"—That figure standing in front of thousands of troops."

"This has always been true, both then and now."

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Banshee's Kiss, But a Consumable

Gerald is now considering something else.

But it's not about whether or not to accept Ramalyn's invitation. After all, this is the best opportunity to learn from Ramalyn, bar none.

The problem is, from a rational perspective, his most reasonable course of action right now would be to test the mechanism of the dream by committing suicide, which would then determine his next actions and plans. At the very least, he could listen to the story again, though the possibility of unforeseen circumstances cannot be ruled out.

...Well, there will be plenty of opportunities to test this out. It's probably the most appropriate thing to do to agree to this condition first.

This development is indeed as he wished. Even if the dream continues to develop independently according to the current tone, the opportunity to make a request to Lamarle should not be overlooked.

“I promise you.” After a moment’s thought, Gerald met the gaze of the Banshee Queen directly. “I will do my best.”

When Lamaren heard these words, her lowered eyes trembled slightly, as if the surface of water had been gently rippled, and ripples spread across her pupils in an instant.

Behind the veil, a complex expression appeared on her face, a mixture of worry about uncertainty, relief, gratitude, and a touch of unspeakable tenderness.

She lowered her head slightly, as if to hide her emotions, but her red eyes still shone brightly through the veil.

“Thank you, Gerald,” she whispered, her voice soft and warm, as if melting the cold air in the room.

Then, Ramalyn raised her slender, jade-like fingers and brushed them across the slowly floating incantation in the air.

With a slight twitch of her fingertips, the incantation transformed into countless tiny runes, emitting a soft glow, and slowly flew toward the gem on the table, accompanied by her will.

Runes swirled around the gem, intertwining and quickly coalescing into a delicate necklace. The pendant's shape seemed to embody moonlight and starlight, gleaming with a soft, ethereal glow.

“This jewelry carries the blessing of the banshee.” Ramalen’s voice was soft and gentle, with a sacred solemnity. “For every banshee, gathering a [Kiss] will be one of the compulsory lessons in their lives.”

"In times of war when diplomacy has become meaningless, this lesson has been replaced with more aggressive incantations."

She slowly reached out, lifted the necklace, then took a step closer and carefully hung it around Gerald's neck.

Her fingertips paused slightly when they touched his skin before slowly withdrawing.

Gerald looked down at the pendant of the necklace, which swayed slightly and reflected a hazy light in the shadows.

Lamaren took a small step back, carefully examining how the necklace looked on him, just like an artist admiring a newly completed work.

She suddenly leaned forward slightly, tiptoed, and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. Through the veil, her red eyes fell on his face, as if confirming something.

After a brief pause, she moved even closer, her forehead almost touching Gerald's.

Then she slightly raised her head and gently placed a kiss on his forehead.

……

The destructive power of this gift was no less than that of General Felin's swordsmanship, but perhaps far surpassed it.

After all, General Felin's sword was never prone to mishaps; it always appeared methodical and precise, yet it embodied the pinnacle of skill. But the kiss that fell from the person before him lacked any semblance of skill, yet it was incredibly agile: it was a strike and release as fast as light, leaving even a Pegasus no chance to react.

Her movements were extremely light, like a feather gliding by, the touch of her kiss and veil against his skin accompanied by a faint fragrance.

Even though the other person had already retreated several steps, the fragrance still lingered around him for a long time.

"As the first 'kiss' that I made myself, it's not bad, is it?"

Looking up, the Queen of the Banshees' smile seemed different from before.

That smile was devoid of any kindness, tolerance, or gentleness; it contained only the joy of triumph and the mischievous pleasure of successfully playing a prank, seemingly unconcerned about how audacious its actions were.

—If only her elfin ears hadn't turned bright red from the gesture.