I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

This might sound impolite, but Mansfield's previous prison doctor and caregiver clearly failed to teach her how to make her life fulfilling. Otherwise, she wouldn't be living right next to the morgue.

But this very girl, whom everyone avoided, truly brought Anthony salvation.

Seeing that the other party did not continue to speak, Gerald had no interest in provoking him any further, and proceeded to treat Anthony's wounds according to the normal procedure.

Wear gloves and a mask, disinfect and protect yourself, sew up, and apply a bandage.

To be honest, Gerald's bandaging skills were indeed quite good; the whole procedure was smooth and fluid.

After the treatment was completed, the cat's appearance was quite in line with Anthony's usual dignified demeanor. The exposed skin was well covered by bandages, and the bloodstains that seeped out from its movements made the big cat look even more ferocious.

After seeing that all the wounds were bandaged, Anthony finally breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at the person next to him, saying earnestly, "Thank you. I'll have to ask you to take care of me the day after tomorrow too, teacher."

"Alright, go back and digest what you've learned today." Gerald, without turning his head, tidied up the medical equipment he had taken out and put the items back in their original positions. "Think about it, if the other side were using spears, swords, or Originium Arts, would you still be able to jump around like this?"

"Swords and spears are also difficult to use effectively in confined spaces."

Anthony didn't accept the other party's explanation entirely. After thinking it over, he shook his head. "The same goes for Originium Arts. In this situation, close combat would offer a better chance. If I were facing such an enemy in an open area, I would choose to retreat."

Gerald suddenly stopped what he was doing.

"Would there be a chance for close combat in a confined space?" He looked at Anthony with a subtle gaze, and finally couldn't help but laugh. "Next time Mansfield gets close to Columbia, I'll ask them if they can bring a wooden sword that kids play with. I hope you'll still say the same thing then."

"...You're really not a War Knight?"

Seeing the other person's confident expression, Anthony couldn't suppress his doubts and asked, "Even among the players who have participated in the Knights' Games, I've never seen anyone who can do this bare-handed—"

“Knight, my foot!” Gerald replied irritably, continuing what he was doing and placing another surgical mat on the bed. “Have you ever seen a knight who spouts nonsense and gets locked up in jail? Aren’t the protagonists in chivalric novels all polite and elegant? They’re all noble gentlemen, I’m not that noble.”

Knowing he wouldn't get anything out of him, Anthony simply shook his head: "Those are chivalric romance novels from what era..."

He knew that the other party probably had some unspeakable difficulties, just like the reason he was admitted: they were both assigned to Zone C and were taken care of and valued by the prison guards. Something must have happened behind the scenes, and it must be quite significant.

Normally, they would consider their own backgrounds and wouldn't ask. But now that he's asking, it seems like he's crossed a line.

Just as Anthony continued to ponder, Gerald patted him on the shoulder and walked past him, saying, "Let's go. Remember to eat well tonight, or your body won't be able to handle it."

Seeing only Gerald's back as he watched him being turned away, Anthony tried to move to stretch his body, but the movement aggravated his wounds. After a throbbing pain, he could only sigh and follow Gerald away.

------

The sun quickly exhausted its remaining light for the day, slowly sinking below the horizon, leaving the two moons in the sky to illuminate the earth.

The closed room offered no view of the outside world; the transparent glass and barbed wire exposed all the prisoner's movements. The surveillance cameras steadfastly performed their duties, coldly and mechanically scanning the cell—the only moving entities within Gerald's field of vision.

Security in Area C is not as strict as advertised when people are asleep at night, because this area in Mansfield, where permanent prisoners are held, is actually class-based.

"A place that can imprison criminals can also protect people"—with this belief in mind, the warden of Mansfield Prison clearly did a lot of behind-the-scenes work. This included making deals with some high-society figures, sending members of their families who had committed wrongdoings and needed punishment or protection to this prison.

In order to put more money into their own pockets, one of the key rules was to unconditionally indulge these prisoners who needed "protection."

The seemingly functional security cameras are actually only used to monitor the exceptional abilities of certain prisoners. Prison guards almost never come to this level of surveillance, instead focusing their attention on serious offenders who have actually committed crimes.

Therefore, this level of Zone C can actually be regarded as the most "free" place in the prison.

Anthony is like that, and so is Gerald.

It's okay if he wants to strip naked and run around the room, or even if he wants to notify the guards to go next door and fight each other. There's even a library built specifically for Anthony in the lower levels of the prison for his use.

Therefore, naturally no one paid any attention to Gerald, who was sweating profusely in the prison cell, undergoing inhuman-level training.

Exhaustion can empty his mind, freeing him from thinking about internal conflicts and fears about the future, postponing everything that is uncertain yet unavoidable, and allowing him to prepare for whatever may happen.

Pour cold water over the brain, dry every drop of water from the ears to the tail with a towel, and put on clothes.

The empty room contained nothing but a few medical books, with only a few scattered photographs on the wall adding color.

He put on his prison uniform and, following his daily tradition, sat silently on the edge of the bed, looking at the photos pasted on the wall.

In the background, the parents' faces in this world wear radiant smiles, their arms gently encircling his body. The neighboring couple are very gentle people; their golden hair glitters in the sunlight, contrasting sharply with the silver-white of their home.

The girl about his height was the eldest daughter of the neighboring family, who often sparred with him but usually lost. Her younger sister was quite small, with a chubby face; she might become a knight as excellent as her sister in the future. The one with the always cold face was their uncle; he didn't smile much and had a cold attitude, so Gerald was always a little afraid of him.

He gently scratched his own face in the photo with his fingernail. The area was so worn that it was impossible to tell what it originally looked like, but Gerald continued to scratch it with his fingernail.

That moment was just an ordinary afternoon, but ever since then, the people in the photo have never been able to get together again.

Today is just another ordinary day in Mansfield.

But tomorrow will be the same.

He threw himself onto the cold bed, the lights on this floor going out as the clock hands moved.

As the bell, a sign of rest, rang in his ears, Gerald closed his eyes.

……

What woke him was not the daily, noisy bells of Mansfield Jail.

Instead, it was the most natural sound, the sound of the wind, which Mansfield had never heard before.

The wind brushed against his face, bringing a cold yet vibrant touch, as if some kind of freedom he had never experienced before was whispering in his ear.

Gerald suddenly opened his eyes. The smell of gunpowder, blood, and dust in the air assaulted his nostrils, making him cough involuntarily.

Only then did he finally process the feeling of unease.

He didn't even need to use his brain to think; every part of his body was emitting screams, telling him without a doubt—

It is in the center of the battlefield.

As the gaze shifts downwards, bloodstains are visible on his hands and clothes. The family's sword is now in his grasp, and the dripping blood has even soaked into the soil, leaving shocking dark streaks.

Looking around, he saw corpses piled up haphazardly, and heads with their eyes wide open, staring intently at him, were scattered at his feet. Pools of blood, like black mirrors, blurred and distorted his silver hair.

So he looked up at the cliff not far away.

The cold gleam of brass reflected a blurry glow under the sky, and the ancient Victorian legend, the true trump card—the steam knight—stood on the earth.

Behind him, countless troops stood in formation on the edge of the cliff, their battle flags fluttering in the wind.

Suddenly, a slender figure stepped out from the ranks in front of the steam knight.

She wore a hood, the dark fabric covering most of her face, revealing only her pale and clearly defined jawline.

Without the slightest hesitation, the woman leaped lightly off the cliff. A terrifying monster suddenly appeared as she landed, its twisted body as if entangled and torn apart by thorns, its limbs ending in sharp, gleaming claws.

Two pairs of dark green pupils stared intently in his direction.

The two humans and the monster stood frozen in place, facing each other, until the being hidden beneath the hood asked—

"Why help Kazdel resist the unknown Pegasus?"

Who replaced my tutorial with a mid-game boss in Chapter Two?!

resistance?

His memory didn't tell him why things had turned out this way, but Gerald understood one thing.

A smooth cut, a single stroke of the blade decapitating—the heads lying at his feet were severed by him.

He wiped out the enemy's advance force here.

The situation now clearly showed him that surrender was pointless. The troops behind these advance party would tear him to pieces, fearing they wouldn't be able to drink his blood and eat his flesh.

His scattered thoughts gradually returned, turning into a sigh from Gerald.

If he were merely a legendary steam knight, perhaps he would still have some thoughts of fighting his way out, but the mysterious figure before him was clearly no match for him. The mere scent of blood carried by the wind was enough to tell the story: only the most terrifying war machines could accumulate such a bloodthirsty aura on the battlefield.

He could only manage one or two moves at most, let alone escape from his opponent.

Other possibilities of escape are slim; the enemy has most likely already surrounded the area. Since "the previous self" never prepared to escape from the beginning, it's even less likely now.

Gerald's gaze swept over the people and horses on the cliff. They appeared to be gathered in one place, but in reality, they were subtly divided into several different groups. The gaps between the banners and the differences in their patterns revealed this.

The banner closest to the steam knight was Victoria's coat of arms, with two lions encircling a crown; a little further away was Letania's emblem, which resembled goat horns; and in the very center was a rapier and an iris.

Wait a minute, irises?

The hooded woman seemed to take Gerald's silence as a sign of resolve. She raised her sword in her left hand, the light at the tip dimming for only a moment before the gleam, guided by the strong wind, lashed towards the young man's neck, just as Gerald had done with his previous killings.

His instincts kicked in faster than his thoughts. He pushed off with his feet, his body jerked to the side, and his sword slashed out horizontally, colliding violently with the blinding light.

clang!

A deafening explosion erupted, the metallic vibrations traveling along the blade to Gerald's wrist and then to his arm, almost numbing his bones. But the opponent's sword merely twisted slightly, instantly changing its direction, nimbly stabbing towards Gerald's side like a snake.

He did not choose to retreat, knowing that he had nowhere left to retreat.

Facing this fatal second blow, he simply twisted his body in an inhuman manner, and swung his sword backhand in a horizontal slash, blocking the longsword like an iron wall.

The opponent's blade approached steadily and ruthlessly. The original thrust, aimed straight at Gerald's chest, was swiftly reversed upon contact with Gerald's edge. The blade almost grazed Gerald's blade, heading straight for his shoulder. The speed was so fast that even the air seemed to hum, the ultimate sound of metal meeting speed and power.

Gerald had no time to think. He took a sudden step forward, his right foot grinding the ground and kicking up dust and debris. He lowered his body slightly, then used his left foot to spin, rising into the air as his sword swept in an arc, slicing sharply towards his opponent's hilt.

However, his attack only managed to slash past a fleeting shadow—the opponent's movements were faster than he had anticipated.

The hooded woman deftly flicked her sword, aiming precisely at his neck with a tricky angle.

呲la.

With a slight twist of the hilt, the sword's edge shifted from defense to a slanted thrust, barely managing to block the opponent's blade. However, this block sent a shiver down his right arm, the force almost knocking the sword out of his hand.

This cannot continue.

The breathing space between high-speed melees is precious, and one shouldn't be distracted by thinking about other things during such a time... But Gerald clearly realized that no matter what he did, the outcome was already predetermined.

In terms of skill, he was far inferior. Continuing would only result in the opponent breaking his stance with the next three sword strikes to boost the morale of his troops, and then killing him by beheading him in the same way.

The monster from before hasn't joined the battle yet, and it probably doesn't use such sweeping sword techniques normally. I wonder if keeping it alive until now is a cat-and-mouse game of wits, or a show of mercy due to some other reason.

But there was no point in him continuing to struggle.

So in his next move, Gerald suddenly stopped simply blocking and instead launched a counterattack in the same tricky way.

His sword suddenly thrust forward, the trajectory of the strike sweeping towards the hooded woman's knee at an unnaturally twisted angle.

The tip of the opponent's sword sliced ​​through the oncoming sweeping attack. At an angle, it pierced him through.

Gerald's attack did not seem to work, and the hooded lady's sword pierced Gerald's side accurately.

The sensation of the blade piercing flesh made her brow furrow slightly, but she quickly regained her composure, preparing to cleave her opponent in two, ribs and all.

Just then, Gerald's free left hand forcefully grabbed the hooded lady's hand holding the sword.

Then he gripped it tightly, wedging the sword between his ribs.

"...Cough, you guessed what my Originium Arts are, right?" The pain in his body was suppressed by the surge of adrenaline. Gerald spat out the blood in his mouth and grinned at the enemy in front of him. "Pegasus Arts, Storm, Radiant... I'll assume you've seen them all."

The surrounding air suddenly became heavy.

It was as if an invisible barrier was beginning to form around Gerald, sealing off and compressing the space.

Fine cracks began to appear on the ground beneath his feet, and the dust was gathered together by an inexplicable force, clinging to the ground and no longer flying around.

On Gerald's ring finger, the ring was as blazing as the sun, its indigo light so dazzling that it was impossible to look directly at it.

"Pegasus...Pegasus, it can travel a thousand miles in just one day and night, galloping from Kazimierz to the center of the battlefield."

he muttered.

"Mon2tr!"

The sudden turn of events momentarily stunned the hooded lady, who then decisively ordered the monster, who had been watching from the sidelines, to join the battle.

The monster's roar, along with the crystalline spikes on its body, met Gerald's sword in his right hand. Metal and crystal collided, sparking intense flames. These sparks, along with the blossoming blood on his shoulder and side, became the backdrop for the ring on his ring finger.

"So most of the Pegasus you encounter will probably rely on their speed to slash at you with those insignificant strikes that you can easily parry, until they run out of energy... or, knowing they are no match, they will flee off the battlefield without looking back."

Perhaps finally realizing her mistake, the hooded woman decisively released her grip on the sword, trying to create distance between herself and the person in front of her.

“But I don’t think so. I think if it really comes to that point.”

The time had come, and Gerald's ring shone brightly.

"I will sacrifice my skin and flesh to break your tendons and bones."

And so time stood still at that moment.

The compressed air reached a critical point instantly, and the entire space collapsed.

A violent shockwave suddenly erupted in the air, as if the power of the entire world had been unleashed at that moment. The invisible barrier shattered into a violent airflow, carrying countless fragments of stone and sand in all directions. Wherever the shockwave passed, the ground was torn open, and huge cracks extended outward, spreading across the entire battlefield like a spider web.

Mon2tr's roar was swallowed by the shockwave. Its massive body was violently overturned by the gale, but it managed to stabilize itself in mid-air. Then, its limbs gripped the ground firmly, barely managing to shield the hooded lady.