I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

That's how it was in the past.

After the post station has been built into such a large base, apart from natural disasters and Originium dust, a third extremely rare cause of natural disasters will appear: man-made accumulation of Originium materials.

And quite coincidentally...

This cause is usually manifested as an earthquake as a form of natural disaster.

“No,” Gerald answered Rupert’s previous question. “It’s just that I’ve seen it so much that I’ve learned a bit, just to be on the safe side.”

When frontline reconnaissance and infiltration are required, there is no room for natural disaster messengers to survive on the battlefield, and soldiers must make their own judgments.

"In short, I can't determine the magnitude of the earthquake, nor do I know how long it will take before it happens. Past experience is also unlikely to be of any use, since we can't judge the specific situation with the naked eye."

He paused, then continued, "My suggestion is to evacuate as soon as possible—the problem is that this method might be difficult for the people inside the relay station to accept. Considering the specific circumstances, even the act of simply trying to convey a message itself might encounter some obstacles."

“...that soldier.”

Angelina murmured, then snapped back to reality and quickly asked, "So, someone wants to deliberately cause a natural disaster? But why would they do that?"

“There are several scenarios,” Saria, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly spoke up. “One is the classic Columbia dilemma, a vicious cycle that many scholars have reported on: pioneering requires a large amount of industrial products to assist, industry itself needs Originium to drive it, and Originium is mined from pioneering. As long as this cycle cannot stop, natural disasters cannot stop either. The natural disasters we are facing now may just be a consequence.”

"Another type is a conflict of interest, such as betrayal between superiors and subordinates, or the exchange of pieces on the political chessboard. I think I don't need to go into the rest."

As expected, the messenger duo fell silent once again.

Provence's large tail flapped anxiously in the air, then came to a stop just before she was thrown off balance, narrowly avoiding being seen by others. She quickly clutched her tail to her chest, sweating profusely; if she were discovered again like before, it would be disastrous.

Meanwhile, the little fox on the other side floated up in frustration, her mind slowly contemplating her next move. The rest she had taken earlier had restored some of her strength, and at least this time she remembered not to fly off the cliff without checking her destination—but when it came to the crucial issue, she still couldn't seem to come up with a solution.

First, Provençal identity documents... This is the least important point, since even if she loses them, she can get a replacement from the International Courier Service.

The biggest problem is that if news of their escape from the post station reaches the Colombian authorities, will she be scapegoated and thrown out by the people behind the scenes, will she be put on the blacklist, and will she still be able to continue as a messenger of natural disasters?

However, this isn't really a problem; she's already prepared for it. Compared to human life, this kind of thing is insignificant.

The second point concerns how to disperse the crowd, or at least ensure everyone's safety.

...To be honest, it's difficult.

Even if they do manage to obtain the flare gun from the messenger of natural disasters, as long as there are still people among those officials who want to trigger natural disasters, no matter what they do, they may not be able to persuade the people at the post station.

Because everything inside was a life-saving supply they had painstakingly brought back from their expeditions, meant to support their families. Without it, they would be no different from being dead.

Just as the two were thinking, Gerald felt Saria's gaze sweep over them.

“Don’t overthink it. It’s easy for me to deal with the prison’s drive layer, but asking me to dismantle the energy of the ley lines is something no normal creature should do.” Where Saria couldn’t see, Gerald’s expression became much more lively: “Only a behemoth could do something like that.”

"I know."

Saria casually remarked, then turned to the two who were still hesitating and said, "Let's go. I'll go back to the inn with you. Proceed according to your original plan, and I'll help you open a passage."

“But,” Angelina’s brain was already overloaded, and she was feeling a little dizzy. Her voice had softened slightly. “What if everyone doesn’t listen to us?”

Putting his helmet back on and his overcoat back on, Vayvan silently turned to Gerald, who looked puzzled, and gave him a meaningful nod: "Some people will listen to what you say."

“Then I want to negotiate.” Gerald sighed as he saw that this woman was trying to make a big fuss without making a sound.

“Go ahead,” Saria replied.

"You'll be cooking for the rest of the trip."

"One meal."

Five meals.

Three meals.

“Deal.” Gerald shook off the dust that had settled on him from leaning against the carriage, waved to the two messengers, and said, “You two go ahead. I’ll be where I’m supposed to be.”

After saying that, he turned around and walked to the front of the truck, found the passenger seat, opened the door, and got in.

The two messenger ladies looked at each other, then turned their questioning gazes to Saria.

"You'll find out." She unusually kept everyone in suspense, though she was embarrassed... but she unexpectedly enjoyed this feeling of connection. "Let's go."

------

"Ah, you woke up really fast, my friend. I actually bet you'd sleep longer, but it looks like I lost that bet."

Cannot seemed to have known Gerald would come to his passenger seat at this moment. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes that the pioneers had given him when he returned from his chest pocket: "Want to try some? Actually, this stuff is surprisingly good."

“Smoking is harmful to your health.” Tianma pushed away the tentacle that was offered to him. “I think you can treat me to a drink another time. I’m here now to ask if you have any of Rust Hammer’s clothes that I can borrow.”

The sound emanating from the helmet paused for about half a minute, after which Kannot gently shook his head:

“Okay, to be honest, I don’t like those friends who call themselves ‘catastrophe followers.’ Sometimes their behavior is… beyond my expectations. So we have something to talk about, friend, but why are you helping them?”

“No matter how much of a purpose you have to pursue, I’ve never seen you hesitate once when it’s time to save others.” Gerald glanced at the door behind him that was locked with the collection, and then took the initiative, saying, “Otherwise, I might not have survived this long and healthy, wouldn’t you say?”

"Oh, my friend, that's because your value far exceeds my imagination. You are more useful to me alive than dead."

The merchant wearing an iron helmet exhaled a muffled breath, "But I do agree with your point of view. It is a beautiful thing to see a false prosperity return to nature—but if it is mixed with the blood of pioneers, it is probably not so beautiful."

“I can tell,” Gerald said, looking at the pack of cigarettes in his tentacle with interest. “You quite like these cigarettes.”

“Because even if it’s not quite pure.” His tentacles emerged from his robes, pulling out a complete set of clothes and a crossbow from behind. “It still retains the scent of the wilderness, unpolluted by civilization, in its purest form… just like I felt when I found you.”

"It was then that I realized that even among the current Kasimir people, there are a few who haven't been corrupted by neon. That's interesting."

Tianma took the crossbow, held it in his hand, and tested its feel.

After a moment, he said, "I'm not really good at using a crossbow. Do you have a bow here?"

“Few people from Rusthammer know how to use a bow, which is something I’ve always regretted. I’ve never even seen you use one.” Kannot lowered his head slightly, used his tentacle to pull a match from the matchbox, and lit it by striking the edge. “How are you at using a bow?”

“Better than my sword, better than my spear.” Gerald responded noncommittally, “Neither good nor bad.”

"Then you are far from worthy of it."

He lit the cigarette in his hand and quietly placed it there, watching it burn.

"Who are you comparing us to?" Gerald nearly choked upon hearing this. "My sword isn't even worthy?"

"Almost."

The voice from within the iron helmet finally crackled with laughter: "Harandu Khan, the Whip of the Earth. Try to reach his level, my friend."

“…Fine, I won’t ask you why you know so much about the Nightmare Khan’s swordsmanship,” Gerald reluctantly put on his rusty hammer-like clothes and a mask. “After all, I don’t want to know how my ancestors knelt down and submitted to him. Every time I learn about that history, I feel a little ashamed.”

Picking up the crossbow, I pushed open the passenger door. It was almost afternoon, and the sky was clear of any cloudiness.

This is a great day for playing a game.

"Do you mind if I ask you one last question?"

Cannot watched as the cigarette in his hand burned to the end, and in the distance, three figures were already approaching the side of the post station.

"Just as a reference for a change in attitude." He flicked the cigarette in his hand, letting it dissipate quietly. "What did you dream about?"

"Huh?" Tianma glanced at the person in the car in surprise, then said with a smile, "You just wanted to ask this? Okay, let me think... I dreamt that my dad told me to listen to him, so I want to listen to him from now on."

"Specifically?" Cannot tilted his head, clearly not very satisfied with the answer.

“He told me I could do whatever I wanted as long as I was happy.” Gerald then brandished the crossbow in his hand. “So, it should be fine for me to use this as a melee weapon, right?”

Gerald stomped his foot hard on the ground, instantly kicking up dust and creating a shockwave that spread outwards.

A wind field immediately appeared around him, like an invisible shield enveloping him, causing his clothes and long silver hair to flutter violently.

He pulled up his hood, covered his face with a mask, and casually slung the crossbow over his shoulder.

The next second, his entire figure disappeared from the spot under the force of the wind.

Three seconds later, accompanied by a deafening impact, the previously still wall at the edge of the distant post station suddenly caved in, and cracks spread rapidly like a spider web.

Kannot gazed at the distant scenery, the cigarette in his hand slowly turning to ash and falling above the seat. The man under the iron helmet smiled silently.

"Look, it's a pity you're not a nightmare, otherwise this would already look remarkably similar, wouldn't it?"

Chapter Sixty-Two: It's all the fault of a certain little female demon

The concrete fragments twisted and crumbled like clay being kneaded by an invisible giant hand.

Six Colombian soldiers who were taking a break against the wall during their rotation were suddenly thrown to the ground by the blast wave.

The coffee cup in someone's hand traced a precise parabola in the air as the brown liquid poured out, refracting an amber luster in the sunlight, and splashed onto another soldier's face. It was so hot that he almost flipped the safety and started firing blindly in an attempt to achieve his own pentakill.

One of the recruits hit the back of his head on the crossbow of the person behind him, his nostrils filled with the mixed smell of blood and sand. He struggled to sit up and saw that his leather military boots were stuck in one of his comrades' equipment belts, while almost all of his teammates were lying on the ground, unconscious.

"*Colombian profanity*...Whose brainless convoy crashed in here?"

As the recruit propped himself up, coarse sand suddenly poured into his open mouth.

Before he could spit out the sand mixed with engine oil, an arm reeking of rust clamped his chin like a hydraulic clamp, slamming his head into the scorching sand.

"Don't move, you're new here." The voice was so faint it was almost inaudible, but it still reached his ears. "Don't move."

The recruit's right eye, which was being held down, barely opened a crack. He could only see a dozen or so crisscrossing scars on the forearm that was holding him down, and a cracked index finger pressing on his Adam's apple, just enough to give him a little space to breathe.

They lay there quietly, waiting for their heartbeats to gradually subside with the heat of the earth.

On the other side of the wall, a figure stepped over the smoldering ruins, his cloak billowing and falling with the wind. The shadow of the white hood obscured his face, with only a few strands of silver hair peeking out from the edge of his mask.

The recruit who had just been swearing felt only relief.

Fortunately, the urgent alarm helped mask his racing heartbeat... otherwise, he was certain that those boots would not have stepped over the empty space next to his head, but would have landed squarely on his head.

And so it went until the footsteps faded into the distance, and then heavy breathing continued to echo in the area.

The soldiers who were lying on the ground were no longer unconscious. Some were taking their feet out of their equipment belts, while others were wiping the coffee off their faces. They didn't care about whether they had bruises or burns; they didn't have time to think about those issues now.

Being alive is the most important thing.

"...Cough, cough cough." The recruit finally recovered from suffocation, choking as he looked at his teammates. "Shouldn't we notify the higher-ups?"

“I don’t know how you view your fate, newbie.” The strong arm patted his shoulder. “Unfortunately, if we hadn’t made that choice, that rusty-hammer guy would have killed us outright—you may not have experienced anything like this before, but that’s okay, you know now.”

“But we could have tried to shoot him.”

"Ha, you think we're filming a movie in Bluecabor right now?" Before the man could reply, another soldier wiping coffee from his face immediately scoffed, "Columbia only knows how to collect our corpses. When facing someone like that, we're no different from ordinary people. Do you believe that if we had just glanced at that guy even once, everyone's head would be rolling on the ground by now?"

"But it doesn't matter, another person is going to die." The person who spoke glanced at the large hole in the wall, walked over to the area, and scouted outwards.

The chilling fear lingered in the air, refusing to dissipate for a long time.

After confirming there was no other situation outside, he gripped the communicator on his shoulder strap and yelled at the recruit, "Damn it, stop dawdling and get over here. Who knows if that guy will come back?"

The recruit was still confused and didn't know what to do when he was pushed out of the wall. He tripped over the rubble on the road and fell headfirst to the other side of the wall—there was a ditch there to prevent people from climbing over from this side of the wall, which now gave him a buffer space.

"Please report the situation."

The sound from the communicator overlapped with the click of a crossbow being cocked. The soldier in charge of communications spoke directly to the other end: "This is the south side of the post station. The outer defenses have failed. There is only one target, dressed similarly to the Rust Hammer members. There are no other enemy traces outside the walls, and we cannot determine whether there has been an attack from another direction..."

His voice suddenly caught in his trachea, and as he looked at the command post in the distance, his pupils shrank to pinpoints behind his eyepiece.

He saw figures climbing upwards on the outer wall of the main watchtower.

In an incomprehensible way.

……

Gerald hadn't really thought that much about it.

As for killing, he was never a bloodthirsty person. There was no conflict of interest or blood feud between them, so he would never do something like slitting someone's throat.

His purpose was simple: to create space for the three men to operate, ensure communication with the messengers from the disaster zone, remind the people at the post station to evacuate, and prevent the military from obstructing them. He also wanted the man to familiarize himself with the current situation—to be honest, this was the first time in two years that he had engaged in combat with others in a relatively complete and realistic manner.

This would be a good opportunity for his upcoming journey home.

He went there to make himself happy, not to indiscriminately kill everyone in Kazimierz as the dream suggested. Otherwise, he wouldn't have needed to ask Saria for medical advice.

After all, he couldn't possibly kill people and then bring them back to life.

Those knights in the Securities and Futures Commission who lie comfortably in the rear and enjoy their lives while ignoring the affairs of the country should be killed; those bloodsucking parasites in the Business Federation should be killed; those who exploit the people under the guise of justice and lead the country down the road to collapse should be killed.

But his brothers stationed on the border, those who still stand guard on the national defense line with their bodies, are definitely not in this category.

But when he wants an explanation from those people, who will be the first person to stand in his way?

It was still his brothers.

Therefore, he needs to practice his treatment techniques now—so that he can receive proper treatment immediately after crippling them, achieving his goal while also practicing his skills—a win-win situation.

Thoughts raced through his mind, but Pegasus didn't stop moving. The moment he arrived at the main watchtower, he ran straight up.

His fingers traced the concrete surface, and the erosion marks immediately spread like a spider web, the entire tower peeling away layer by layer like a corncob gnawed by a wild beast.