I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

Chapter Thirty-Four: The rest are not cicadas, but only orioles.

Mansfield, two days later.

"Oh my, it's a rare sight indeed, Anthony. I am truly honored to be here today with such an important person as you."

Upon hearing the voice, Anthony gradually withdrew his gaze from his surroundings and looked at the person speaking. The one who was chattering incessantly was the prison guard who had led the assassins but had been beaten on the back; his chattering manner remained unchanged even after the beating.

He didn't respond; he'd encountered this kind of mockery many times before, and that wasn't his immediate priority.

Starting from area C, the distance to the elevator shaft, based on his size, is approximately 800 meters.

It's unclear how Gerald managed to hear noises from 800 meters away from his room.

As a prison built decades ago using an artificial mountain as its structure, its longitudinal layout is generally quite complex. The distance from their inmates' cell block C to the infirmary is considerable. From the central tower of block C, the elevator ride downstairs alone takes a full three minutes.

When Mansfield approaches Columbia, even Gerald will be unable to move freely; the entire elevator shaft and Zone C will be locked down until the moving plates leave again.

Therefore, the first key to escaping from prison is how to escape from Area C.

Quite coincidentally, Mansfield's structure offered a strange way to escape: a sunken structure.

Presumably to account for the possibility of elevator shaft failure, there is a control room on the top floor of the tower at the top of Zone C. Inside, there is a way to quickly lower the entire tower, so that one can leave Zone C and go underground if the elevator shaft fails.

……

Time passed slowly. Seeing that Anthony remained silent, the talkative prison guard, feeling awkward, fiddled with his baton, fantasizing about when the big tiger next to him would suddenly pounce and strike him on the head.

After passing through layers of elaborate security checks, the elevator arrived at the underground station on time.

However, just as they reached the bottom and the elevator doors opened, the two bumped into another prison guard who had been waiting for them.

“Leave the rest to me, brother.” The prison guard who had been waiting for a while patted another man on the shoulder. “Captain Barton seemed to be looking for you just now.”

“…Huh?” The talkative prison guard gave the other person a subtle look, then silently grinned: “Alright, then it’s yours. Anyway, I’ve rarely seen anyone come here voluntarily asking for work.”

What a hell.

The new prison guard just loves to lick that fat pig's lips, listening to whatever he says—thinking this, the talkative guard chuckled, turned around and went back into the elevator, not forgetting to say to the outsider before leaving: "You can rest assured, bro, I'll tell Barton how well you ate his farts."

Once the elevator doors closed again, the new prison guard's cold expression shifted from the elevator to Anthony beside him.

From this angle, you can even see the bulging muscles and veins on Anthony's arms.

In Mansfield, where almost everyone is just coasting along, it's rare to see a prison guard looking like this.

“That’s absolutely right.” Anthony suddenly said, “You really don’t know how to hide yourself. It’s a rare trip to Mansfield, and you have to keep yourself in this state—you must have had a tough time.”

"Ha, a young master who has been locked up in prison for six years still has the leisure to nitpick at me... Tsk tsk, it seems you haven't learned anything in these six years in prison."

The prison guard, or rather Jesston Williams, bared his fangs in the empty corridor: "Too bad, Kuranta isn't with you right now. Ah, Anthony, tell me, how lucky you are to have found someone to shelter you in prison after losing your father and mother. But the question is, how long will he shelter you?"

"Like now."

Jeston placed his hand on Anthony's lower back: "Guess when you're kneeling on the ground groaning, you won't have the leisure to nitpick at me?"

“You’re a new prison guard. How many people will believe you, and how many will believe me?” Anthony licked his upper lip, suppressing his murderous urge. “Why don’t you guess for yourself? What stage is our plan at now? How much time do you have to stop us? Getting angry won’t make you any more noble, nor will it let you know any more information.”

“Let me give you some advice,” Anthony said, emphasizing each word: “You’d better act now, because this is your best chance.”

The corridor was dimly lit.

Only a few cool-toned lights embedded in the walls barely illuminated the path ahead. A slightly musty, damp smell permeated the air, faintly mixed with the pungent odor of disinfectant, indicating the distance to the infirmary. Breathing echoed clearly in the empty corridor.

Jeston stared at Anthony's back, his hand still pressed against Anthony's lower back, though his knuckles were turning slightly white. His breathing seemed to quicken for a moment, and in the end, he could only let out a cold snort.

He took a step closer to Anthony, nudged him on the shoulder, and said with undisguised provocation, "Come on, the infirmary is just ahead, Anthony. Hope your lucky charms keep working."

Anthony stepped into the infirmary and glanced back at him: "Thanks for escorting me. Next time, don't let your hands shake so badly, or you might actually have the guts to do something."

The prison guard's face darkened for a moment, but he didn't respond. He snorted coldly, turned and left, his footsteps gradually fading into the long corridor.

The door to the infirmary was pushed open and then slowly closed, leaving only the dim light outside and the echo of footsteps fading into the distance.

"I've arrived... Duma?"

Upon seeing the empty infirmary, Anthony instinctively assumed that Duma had returned to her room, but his attention was quickly drawn to the note on the table.

The sign read: "I have to leave now, please wait a moment."

This was unusual; at least he had never seen anything like it before. Combining this with what they had discussed yesterday, an idea immediately came to mind.

He quickly rushed to the morgue inside the medical room, the eerie atmosphere and chilly air making his hair stand on end. It wasn't until he saw sparks and noises erupting from behind the screen that he realized something was wrong.

Thud, thud, thud.

Hidden inside the morgue were a series of rather crisp sounds. The moment the sounds appeared, Anthony immediately pressed his body against the door, listening intently to the sounds outside.

Fortunately, it seems that the guy named Jeston has already left.

"What are you doing—" Anthony's words stopped when he saw Robin and Duma behind the screen, his eyes filled with disbelief: "How did you get this thing?"

The sight that came into view made him freeze in place—Robin and Duma were squatting by the wall, one holding a pieced-together pickaxe, and the other had spread out a pile of tools and cloth that had been found somewhere on the ground, obviously to cover up the traces of their work.

A shallow mark had been dug out of the floor, with dirt fragments and concrete debris scattered all over the ground.

Upon seeing that the visitor was Anthony, Robin looked up, wiped the sweat from his brow, and scratched his face: "I pieced it together bit by bit by collecting parts from the underground factory... How should I put it, I never thought that the knowledge I learned could be put to use here."

“But what about Gerald? And Kafka?” Antony asked doubtfully. “Aren’t they with you?”

Upon hearing this, the two exchanged a glance and shook their heads in confusion.

"...Perhaps Gerald took Kafka somewhere else to work?" Duma responded with a similarly bewildered reply.

--------

"It's a pity I didn't make a move, but it's okay."

At this moment, Gerald was sitting on the back of a chair in the monitoring room, with Seria in a prison guard uniform sitting next to him... and Kafka with a completely bewildered expression.

"You hid your Originium Arts on Anthony?" Saria narrowed her eyes. "Just like you did to that assassin named Robin that day."

"Well, that way, even if we actually take action, it won't have any impact."

"Wait, wait!" Kafka exclaimed hastily, glancing around at her surroundings. "Why were I brought to the monitoring room? And what's up with this prison guard?"

Gerald turned to Kafka with a knowing smile and said, “Ah, yes, let me introduce you, Miss Kafka. This is our extra helper. You can trust her completely. I think after we get out of here, you’ll have a good explanation for the lady behind you.”

"After all, this Saria, who is known as the head of the Rhine Lab's defense department, should have worked with the lady you mentioned named Himer."

Chapter Thirty-Five: Shadows of the Past

"So, that's your reason for doing this."

After leaving the monitoring room, Saria silently avoided the surveillance cameras on the road until she returned to the normal area before speaking: "You want to entrust Anthony and the others to Himer?"

“Normally, I wouldn’t trust someone I haven’t met, but since you’ve vouched for me, I don’t think it’s a bad choice.”

Gerald followed Seria with ease. Kafka, who had been called out alone and looked uneasy, had already fled back to Sector A and B. Only the two of them returned after watching the prison's video footage.

“Anthony needs to know that part of his past,” he continued. “And the issues I have involve some internal conflicts within Casimir, so it would be best if they could stay out of reach. But considering how ‘clever’ Kafka is, I’m quite surprised that your naive old friend would choose to believe her.”

Everyone grows up.

A hint of emotion flickered in Saria's eyes, but it quickly vanished as her usual calm returned: "After the escape, they should go to where Himer is now. Ifrit is there too; it's a pharmaceutical company called Rhodes Island. If you're not in a hurry to get back to Kazimierz, I'd suggest you go and take a look for yourself."

“I’ve heard of it. It’s a pharmaceutical company. I saw their HR recruiting in the Grand Knights’ Territory.” Gerald nodded. “Any details?”

“They primarily focus on research related to Oripathy,” Saria answered in detail. “They’re not exactly an ordinary pharmaceutical company. Considering their location on a landship, their revenue model is more aligned with Doctors Without Borders. For a comparison of their scale, you can refer to Blacksteel’s Baron Mobile Base.”

"...Are you sure you're talking about a pharmaceutical company and not an official military training platform?"

Gerald was unusually silent.

Looking back on my past experiences, I realize that I never had that kind of wealth in Kazimierz.

The Blacksteel Baron Mobile Base is renowned as the largest land-based vessel owned and operated by an unofficial organization. Even among powerful nations like Victoria and Letania, only a handful possess a flagship of comparable caliber.

In other words, the company's background itself is a way of showing off.

This company is very wealthy.

Very rich.

Pharmaceutical companies are very profitable, that's undeniable. The reason other companies don't choose to research Oripathy is because of the technological barriers and the difficulties in R&D costs, which mean that the money invested can be wiped out before any returns are even realized.

In addition, Oripathy is unpopular in some countries, and companies that can cure Oripathy are seen as a menace—just imagine what it would be like to have a bunch of exploding bombs piled up together.

For example, in Kazimierz, even the nobility's attitude is that anyone with Oripathy will be expelled from the family, because Oripathy itself is incurable and can only be alleviated to the greatest extent possible.

Did they try to find a pharmaceutical company to alleviate the symptoms? Yes.

Is it useful? No.

The rise and fall of a family cannot be entrusted to a dying person, nor to someone whose child will be born with Oripathy.

It's easy to imagine the kind of capital behind a company specializing in Ore Defects research, established under these circumstances.

"It's a wonderful idea, but I must say, it's very clever."

As Gerald walked, he pondered the founder's motives, his tone carrying a hint of inquiry: "The mobile division itself serves as a personnel screening process, and there are probably quite a few capable employees among them. The land-based ship can't operate with just a few medical personnel."

“If you’d like, I can write you a letter of recommendation,” Seria suddenly said. “I’m sure they won’t refuse.”

Upon hearing this, Gerald subconsciously glanced at Saria's expression, but he couldn't detect any hint of a joke, so he could only smile and say, "Because my grades are excellent?"

"No, I've just been thinking about what Kazimierz really means to you, and what your choices will be in the future."

Seria stopped and looked straight in Gerald's direction.

“After everything is over, I hope you can come to Rhine Life and work with me. With your abilities, you are more than capable of surpassing most employees. But…” She paused, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes, “I don’t think you have the same goals as me.”

Gerald did not answer immediately, but simply gazed silently at the friend who had guided him for two months.

“Rhine Lab’s internal situation is very complex, and it might just lead you to waste your time.” Saria’s tone was as firm as ever, but after a slight pause, there was a hint of hesitation in her voice. “In comparison, Rhodes Island might be a more suitable choice. I believe that with your abilities, you will definitely be able to find your place there.”

"The situation in Colombia is changing rapidly and becoming increasingly complex. And my cooperation with Rhode Island... may deepen further in the future."

“So you mean,” Gerald raised an eyebrow, “that you want me to be your contact? You don’t want me to infiltrate Rhodes Island’s upper echelons and then make the final decisions for you when you need them, do you?”

Saria glanced at him but didn't reply directly; however, the speechlessness in her eyes betrayed her attitude.

But her silence itself seemed like a kind of tacit agreement—a tacit agreement with another layer of meaning.

"Sigh, alright then." Gerald knew there was no point in asking any further questions, seeing the other's expression. "We still have some time before we go back to our rooms, right?"

"Is there anything you want to do?" Saria put the previous silence behind her. There was no need to think about complicated situations now; it was better to focus on what needed to be done at the moment. "If we were to check the blind spots we saw in the surveillance footage now, there's a high chance we wouldn't have enough time to check everything."

"No, let's go to the second-floor corridor."

Gerald said simply, "Go to the only place in the prison where you can see the outside world."

--------

The second-floor corridor of Mansfield is the only place where you can see the sky, and it's also one of the few places without security cameras.

Here, the area is bathed in sunlight, but the wilderness surrounding Colombia is always covered by a thick layer of yellow sand, which sometimes causes the sky to be shrouded in a faint yellow hue.

Cacti and tumbleweeds are frequent visitors here, which is why so-called "Western" movies originated. People reminisce about Colombia's past pioneers and glorious years... almost exactly like the Western movies of Gerald's previous life.

But today's weather is a long-awaited sunny day.

“I’ve heard a lot from you,” Gerald said before Seria could ask why she had been invited. “It’s about Ifrit’s child, and about Columbia.”

“It doesn’t seem fair if I don’t talk about my own things, and it will always lead to misunderstandings.”

Saria stood by the wall, her eyes slightly narrowed. A gentle breeze swept through the corridor, carrying a hint of dry, sandy smell, and her black uniform swayed softly in the wind.

The sunlight fell on her face, softening her usually stern expression.

“I won’t force you to tell me,” she said, “but I’d love to hear your story.”

Gerald leaned against the other side of the corridor wall, his gaze sweeping over Saria before settling on the deep blue of the sky.

“I was once a nobleman,” he said slowly. “In Kazimierz, knights who join the national army lose their noble status, their rights are frozen until the end of their military career, and they are then employed by the Supervisory Council.”

"In 1062, during the Tenth Uka War, almost all the knights in the family were killed. Those who remained, with weak blood ties, gradually broke away from the family and chose to join the Merchant Guild in exchange for a space to survive."

Gerald paused, looked up at the distant sky, and the sunlight reflected off his eyes, revealing a complex emotion.

“When I was thirteen, my mother passed away. Her death was a great blow to my father, and he… despite inheriting the family’s reputation, was not good at fighting. Among all the knight families, he was a particularly passive one, only able to maintain the family’s status by relying on past glory and social connections.”

"The problem I face is that, since my father is not officially recognized by Kazimierz, I must inherit the family's title of 'Long Rider' to ensure the family's continuation... Otherwise, the family's title will be stripped, which is unacceptable to my father."

"But if I were to inherit this title, I would face two choices—either become a gladiator knight and have my family pledge allegiance to the shadow government of Kazimir, a business federation composed of corporations."