I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

The good news is that they don't need to "borrow" other people's transportation to reach their destination.

A day and a night had passed since he left Ticalendo, and with the situation escalating and everyone passing the buck, his portrait was likely already hanging on bulletin boards in various places.

For him personally, this wasn't a major problem. However, if Saria were to accompany him, the issue would become much more complicated.

If rumors circulate at that time, such as "the founder of Rhine Labs and a notorious criminal stole someone's hard-earned car and fled"...

Putting aside the impact on reputation, decades later, someone in BlueCity might take such a script to a director's office, add some deliberate research, and create a film that stigmatizes the director.

This is entirely possible, at least in Kazimir.

Therefore, Gerald now wears a highly sophisticated mechanical helmet on his waist, along with some uniforms and leather boots he scavenged from Kannot, which can completely conceal his eyes and silver hair.

His current attire is more like that of an employee dispatched by a tech company than a fugitive homeless person, and Vayvan on the other side is similar.

"When we go through the inspection later, do we need to get out of the car first?" Saria asked while fixing her hair.

She knew a little about the unspoken rules of the city, but she knew nothing about the ways of the wilderness.

However, the key parts are actually interconnected.

“Probably, but we’ll probably just need to hide it,” Gerald replied casually. “They’ll selectively let those who pay off the money go. Cannot even let us into the cargo hold. Do you think he’ll let those people see what’s in the car?”

“…” Saria was silent for a while, “Being able to work as a guard in a place like this must have been arranged through personal connections. Some people may not be able to control their hands, and it’s only a matter of time before they are discovered.”

"You realized that too? He doesn't seem like a careless person at all; at least I've never seen him drive with so much stuff before."

Gerald pulled a bottle out of his pocket, out of sight of others, and turned the relic over in his hands: "So, in most cases, he knew the guards there, and was quite familiar with them."

While answering Saria's question, Gerald's thoughts had already wandered elsewhere.

Dreamy Fragrance.

Gerald's current understanding of the relic is limited to that piece of cloth, though he probably will never know what it actually is.

But according to Lamaren and Kannot, both the necklace and the bottle are relics strongly associated with the banshee... more like symbolic objects than practical items.

Is it really?

“He does seem like someone who frequents the wilderness.” Saria was intently trimming the excess hairs from Pegasus’s hair, a style that would at least make him unrecognizable at first glance. “Besides, he’s also working with Rusthammer. Although I only judge a person’s right or wrong based on facts, most people would avoid someone like him.”

"That's not true... fuck."

Gerald cursed and quickly put his hand near his nose.

"What's wrong?" Saria suddenly stopped what she was doing, her brows furrowed slightly, and she walked around to Gerald's front to examine him closely.

Pegasus lowered his head, trying to appear nonchalant, but that couldn't hide the bright red mark that had slipped from his nose. He unconsciously wiped it with the back of his hand, only making the bloodstain more glaring, extending down his cheek.

"You're bleeding." Saria's tone remained calm as she scanned his face, quickly analyzing the situation. "Is it due to overuse of Originium Arts?"

Before he could finish speaking, she reached out and pressed down on his shoulder, forcefully pushing him back to sit down.

"Don't move." Her tone left no room for refusal, and with her other hand she skillfully pulled out a clean cloth and handed it to him. "Cover your nose, tilt your head back but not too high, and breathe slowly."

"Are you sure you want to treat me like a child... Fine, I can't argue with you."

Even so, Gerald took the cloth and carefully wiped the bloodstains near his nose.

He was just curious and accidentally poured a little too much into his hand... For some reason, the person who designed this bottle didn't use a typical dropper design; the liquid just overflowed the moment he unscrewed the cap, spilling onto his hand.

Cannot was absolutely right; even a single drop of this stuff could unleash the most ingenious inspiration, albeit in a way that overloaded the brain. If the artists of Letania knew about his extravagance, they'd probably be contemplating killing him right now.

"It's alright, it's not a big problem."

Gerald took a deep breath to compose himself, ignoring Saria cutting his hair, and prepared to stand up: "It's alright, don't worry about me—"

However, with just the simple action of looking up, the world before his eyes suddenly shattered.

His consciousness was overwhelmed by strange illusions as if falling into an abyss, and the boundary between reality and illusion completely collapsed. The images flooding into his mind were chaotic and intertwined, assaulting his senses and making it almost impossible for him to tell where he was.

The chaos lasted for a while before it gradually subsided, and the scenery before his eyes finally came to a stop.

—And the shadow of the Banshee Queen loomed over him.

Her tall figure, bathed in sunlight, stole all attention. Lamaren tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on him through her ruby-like eyes, as if observing her surroundings, or perhaps simply staring blankly at the person before her.

My senses were sharper than ever before; every wisp of wind and every ray of light was so clear it seemed almost tangible.

The power of Originium Arts within him was surging rapidly, and his desires were rising like a tide, as if his body was instinctively craving release.

He wanted to fight.

I just want to find that general named Therese and have a good fight with him.

He could tell at a glance from the man's posture that it was the seasoned composure honed through countless battlefields, and the way he held his sword was exceptionally simple yet incredibly imposing… He could hear the crisp metallic clang of clashing swords, smell the gunpowder in the air, and feel the boiling blood when the battle reached its climax… Ramalen was fine too; he hadn't broken the spell in the courtyard yet, so he'd have to find an opportunity to discuss another fight with her… If all else failed, General Felin would be fine too; it had been a long time since he'd practiced swordsmanship…

Wait a moment.

wrong.

This is not normal.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the chaos in his mind. A burning sensation in his chest, like a surging tide, relentlessly assaulted his thoughts, and restless energy churned throughout his body, making it difficult for him to concentrate.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my breathing and suppress the discomfort in my body with this moment of calm.

When his heartbeat finally returned to normal, he slowly opened his eyes, and his gaze gradually focused.

However, Gerald's expression froze again when his gaze fell on Vayvan beside him.

...Okay, now we can confirm that he was hallucinating.

"What's wrong, Jay?"

A gentle voice appeared in his ear, so familiar it was unbelievable: "Going to challenge your Uncle Marna again? I heard you've improved a lot lately, and you're almost on par with him in swordsmanship."

The white-haired Pegasus, holding a steaming cup of tea, took Saria's place and quietly watched him.

Gerald silently stared at the humanoid figure before turning away. His body floated in the air with the wind, swaying for a moment before settling back onto the roof of the car.

He closed his eyes, and an inevitable wave of fatigue washed over him.

“Excuse me, Saria, something feels off,” he said.

After a brief pause, he added softly:

"Just look after me for a while."

--------

At the same time, the person in the driver's seat silently extended a jet-black tentacle from their body.

The tentacles deftly moved to the car window, gently flicked it shut, and closed the window tightly, blocking out the suffocatingly sweet scent.

Cannot sighed and slowed the car down, giving the Pegasus on the roof time to prepare.

“Dream Essence… I don’t know whether to say you’re lucky or unlucky, my friend.” The voice in the helmet muttered to itself, “Sarkaz sorcery involving the soul only inspires people by releasing the desires within their souls. If it were truly harmful, it wouldn’t have been talked about by the Letanian people for so long.”

"But if it's this level of quantity... can you really still distinguish between dreams and reality?"

Chapter 59 Father and Son (4K)

Having two different dreams in one day was a rare and novel experience for Gerald.

However, this dream seemed too unreal. Everything in the dream seemed to be cobbled together from fragments of his memory, lacking any sense of fluidity or reality... If you were to compare the previous dream about the banshee with this dream, anyone could easily distinguish the differences between them.

Because the scene in this dream felt so familiar to him.

The familiarity is so intense that every detail feels almost deliberate, making one feel as if everything has been disassembled, processed, and then reassembled, ultimately becoming a familiar yet strange illusion. That familiarity, in turn, brings an indescribable discomfort, like being in a poorly written play, watching one's memories being meticulously copied stroke by stroke, yet losing their true soul.

In those vivid dreams, the Banshee Queen would reveal her displeasure or joy at his slightest gesture. But souls are unpredictable; every action, every sudden thought, weaves a unique trajectory amidst countless complex factors. The house before him, however, left only an impression of an empty shell.

The person sitting in front of him, however, gave him a different feeling.

He couldn't explain exactly what it was either.

"Why don't you speak?"

The white-haired Pegasus leaned slightly forward, resting his hands on his knees, appearing somewhat casual.

Seeing that his son remained silent, he raised his hand and ruffled Gerald's hair. The silver strands fell down, reflecting a soft sheen in the sunlight streaming through the window.

Gerald looked up at the figure sitting lazily in the chair, feeling as if he were in another world.

Ah, my body has returned to what it was ten years ago.

His adoptive father was exactly the same as he remembered, still thin and frail, and didn't look like someone from a knightly family at all. He wouldn't say he was sickly, but training was always a huge burden for him.

In addition, due to a lack of practical experience from a young age, although he has read a lot of books and has a solid foundation in tactical theory, without the support of actual strength, all of this is ultimately just theoretical talk.

“Saria,” Gerald suddenly said, “If possible, put my body in the back of the truck, and don’t mind what I’m about to say.”

"Who are you talking to, child?" The white-haired pegasus turned his head back and forth, trying to find the person his son was talking to.

After searching for a long time without finding me, he looked worried and said, "Kid, are you out of your mind? I think I'm definitely more interesting than the friends you imagine, right?"

"It's just to be on the safe side, in case I accidentally say something that could cause a misunderstanding."

Gerald sighed. The feeling of not being able to fully control his body in the dream was strangely unfamiliar. Although he had memorized the techniques, the difference in arm span and strength was like a chasm, making him feel somewhat awkward. "I'm going to go find Marner next door first. I'll be back later."

"Don't keep going to see that uncle." The white-haired Pegasus smiled helplessly. "He just got back, and you've been dragging him to spar every day. He doesn't have time to catch his breath. Why don't you go play with Margaret and the others? Maria is quite attached to you, isn't she?"

Gerald stood quietly, watching him speak, and after a moment shook his head: "Next time, I've already played with Maria these past few days. That child is really good at juggling; few of her age can compare to her. Next time, I can let her try throwing with a shield."

His tone was calm and gentle, as if he were stating something so ordinary that it couldn't be more commonplace.

After he finished speaking, he turned around slowly and walked out.

"Are you forcing yourself again?"

The white-haired Pegasus leaned forward slightly, a hint of concern flashing in his eyes.

He propped his knees on his elbows, leaned forward slightly, stared at his son who was about to leave, and raised his voice a few decibels.

"Why do you think so?"

Gerald slowed his pace and asked softly.

"Because you look very tired, extremely tired. I haven't been this tired since I became the head of the family." Seeing that his words finally had some effect, the white-haired Pegasus smiled, resting his chin on his hand. "Since your mother passed away, you have always acted very maturely, far more so than I have. But even then, I have never seen you this tired."

"..."

tired?

This description is more suitable for Saria or Lamaren, but for him... whether it was the two years in prison or the dreams during this period, they gave him a lot of buffer space, so why is he tired?

If every action you take can generate positive feedback, and you can even obtain such a relic... then what does this "exhaustion" mean to those who don't even have the qualifications to defy fate?

He's not qualified to say such things.

“Please, child.” The white-haired Pegasus smiled as gently as ever. “You don’t need to have any right to complain. I’m always worried about whether you’re too tired. It’s a father’s nature.”

Are you reading my mind?

"Does this even need mind reading? I raised you, do you think I don't know what you're like?"

As he spoke, the white-haired Pegasus raised his hand and rubbed his temples: "It's my fault. If only I had let you live a more decadent life with me earlier—sigh, but you're a restless soul, you've been like this since you were little. Not only are you cold on the inside but warm on the outside, but you also can't muster any interest in any girl, completely different from me."

“There always has to be someone to support the family.” Gerald’s eyes lowered. “Besides, I just prefer the battlefield. It’s just that staying in the family doesn’t allow me to fight against strong opponents.”

"You like my ass." The white-haired Pegasus sneered. "If I actually believed you, you'd be my father, and I'd be your son."

"You understand again."

"Then tell me, you don't want money, status, or power, and you might die on the road to becoming stronger. You have indeed died before, almost dying in the Ursus wasteland."

A shadow suddenly fell across his gentle brows, and his tone lowered. "What are you after, child? Just a chance to climb to the top and control your own destiny? Or are you simply loyal to Kazimierz? Or do you just love fighting, to the point of death?"

"...So you're not planning to continue acting?"

Gerald, who was about to leave, came to a complete halt.

He stopped, glanced around, and finally pulled up a chair and sat down: "At least at my age, it's still a long way off before I go to Ursus."

“I’m not acting anymore.” The white-haired Pegasus opposite him tilted his head and looked at him, then smiled and wiped his sleeve. “Anyway, you already know that this is a fake dream, and I don’t want you to stay in the dream forever. There’s no point in continuing to act. We might as well lay our cards on the table and have a heart-to-heart talk about what’s really going on between us.”

Gerald raised his eyes slightly, his gaze scrutinizing: "If you're going to lay it all out like this, what are you after?"

“Tu, you are my son. I want to talk to you more while I’m still dreaming.” The white-haired Pegasus placed his hands on his knees and looked at him earnestly. “Tu, I feel you are too tired. I feel you can’t even find a place to go—where will you go after everything is over? Are you going to stay in Kazimierz?”

Gerald shook his head, his tone as resolute as ever: "I only know that I will not give up my plan, and it won't make a difference if you tell me all this."

"It's like my advice actually worked." The other person shrugged, then suddenly their eyes lit up. "Hey, why don't you try going on blind dates? Maybe having a baby will change your mind? You're as good-looking as me, so I'm sure there are still plenty of people who like you, right?"

……