I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

Even during routine sparring, her fists would be hampered by worries and thoughts.

Even if she has no distracting thoughts and remains steadfast in her resolve when she throws a punch, it's only because this burden and responsibility have become part of her fist. If a person swings their fist while wearing shackles from beginning to end, then all the world will see is this.

So some people took this for granted, lying on her body and sucking her blood without any scruples, questioning why she couldn't do better.

Just as he once said.

Some call this a guardian, others call this the madman among madmen.

I can't stand watching... it's just getting more and more annoying.

……

Day 15 of the crash course.

It seems that Saria's investigation in Area C is not going very well; she has been frowning the past few days.

But she clearly understood the line between business and personal matters—she even gave him a day off.

On his long-awaited day off, he chatted for a while with Anthony and Dumar in the infirmary.

They chatted about everything under the sun.

Anthony simply picked up his memories and wove them into the melody of a story.

From the music of Letania to the yellow sands of Sargon, Antony, a former rich young master, had seen Letania's opera house, which was like a pearl, and had gazed at the tower that symbolized the twin queens. He had also ventured into the city of Sargon in the scorching heat and sandstorms, and had observed the golden statues and artifacts in the museums up close.

He hadn't seen those magnificent landscapes, but he could still tell the two about the interesting things he'd encountered on the road after leaving Kazimierz.

They talked about how, as the last rays of light faded over the Ursus wasteland, blades emerged from the shadows and crossed what they had once considered reliable lines of defense to reach them; they talked about what the wilderness, which most people avoided discussing, was really like, something they had never seen in their lives; they talked about how they got along with the Sarkaz mercenaries, drinking, playing dice, and several of them crammed into a room and slept soundly until dawn.

Duma listened silently, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, and she spoke of her hopes for the future.

The Originium Arts, used for relaxation, are perfectly suited to be combined with a large, therapeutic garden. She would plant flowers around the garden and water lilies in the very center, so that all her friends could admire them when they bloomed.

It seems no different from before... but this time there are some new things and a vision for the future.

He is satisfied.

……

Day 30 of the crash course.

Learning continues.

But in the dream world, things suddenly changed.

His initial plan was to use skillful techniques to break through his opponent's swordsmanship. Each exchange of blows allowed him to find a way to parry all of his opponent's sword skills, even though the difference in their physical abilities remained insurmountable.

The problem now is...

It seems he can gradually keep up with General Felin's sword.

Chapter Eleven: A Journey from the Past

The word "keep up" is not quite right.

To be precise, his strength, speed, and reaction ability seemed to undergo subtle changes in his dream.

From initially being able to judge the direction of the sword by the sound of the wind, he can now judge the trajectory of General Felin's sword technique with his eyes while keeping an eye on the monster attacking from behind.

……

The dream training, the sixty-eighth time, ended with his body being pierced by the monster, bleeding to death.

As for why it was sixty-eight times... that probably has to do with the mechanism of dreams.

After he had raised his conjecture about whether one could fall asleep during a nap with General Felin, he specifically used his lunch break to verify the conjecture, and he was right.

Not only could he enter this dream every time he fell asleep, but the time it took to fall asleep and the duration of the battle seemed to be directly proportional.

When he first confessed, he woke up at midnight and slept for only two or three hours. As his ability to defend himself improved, he has recently been able to last for about six or seven hours.

To balance his study time and fighting time, and also to save face for the prison guards, he barely managed to squeeze out two hours to deal with the messy rules in the prison, two to three hours to chat, twelve hours to fight, and the rest to study.

……

Dream training, eighty-seventh session.

He was able to deflect General Felin's sword, and the physical gap that seemed insurmountable before now appeared to be no insurmountable obstacle.

No matter how precise your swordsmanship, how keen your combat intuition, or how skillful your techniques, every move will eventually have flaws after constant analysis and understanding.

If the opponent is a master swordsman, how many times has she actually used and studied this technique after her skills reached their peak, and how many times has she fought against and won against equally top-level masters?

Regardless of the exact number, time marches ever on, and people's understanding of skills will become a legacy, passed down to new generations.

He had already taken over the inheritance.

……

Dream training, ninety-eighth session.

In the ninety-eight battles against this General Felin, he was pierced, decapitated, and torn apart by this monster almost half of the time.

If you blow it away with the wind, it will quickly find a way back to the ground; if you bury it with sand, the shockwave it generates will send Gerald flying; if you try to take it head-on, he will have to face attacks from both sides at the same time, and he will surely be defeated within ten moves.

At first, General Felin will be confused by his presence and let the monster watch from the sidelines. But once she senses the real killing intent and resistance, the monster will quickly join the battle and fight alongside her—once this happens, restarting is the only option.

But he had already seen the dawn of victory.

……

Dream training, session 109.

In terms of results alone, he made rapid progress.

Whether in dreams or in reality.

Faced with General Felin, who was wearing a hood, Gerald was no longer moved by the approaching attack.

With a flick of her wrist, the blade deflected, slicing across Kal'tsit's neck in the blink of an eye.

The opponent's defense was equally unhurried, with the sounds of metal clashing against metal filling the air, and sparks flashing between the two.

During the brief lull in the exchange, a subtle flaw quickly emerged in General Felin's performance.

So the blade in his hand changed direction again, lightly touching the blade that attacked from the side, and then, to Kal'tsit's astonishment, slashing upwards at an almost impossible angle.

The sword blade sliced ​​through the air with a sharp whistling sound, heading straight for the opponent's wrist holding the sword.

The other party's reaction was still incredibly swift, but this time, her movements were no longer as effortless as before.

Because it only requires one very simple movement—using the wind to change the trajectory of the sword that is slashing upwards at an angle, gathering momentum to retract it to the shoulder, then lowering the center of gravity, turning the feet, and thrusting out the sword.

Even this immortal being, who has witnessed and killed countless beings, will have blood flowers blooming on his body, as beautiful as roses.

That mechanical, rigid defense could not ultimately withstand the skillful and well-honed swordsmanship.

Even though the vast majority of her opponents had already perished by her sword in their first encounter.

"Come on, let's fight again."

Gerald sheathed his sword, and a torrent of blood gushed from the wound in Kal'tsit's abdomen. Had he intended to strike, that blow would have severed most of her body.

For this one sword strike, Gerald made 109 attempts, endured a 46-day death cycle, clashed with his sword tens of thousands of times, and accumulated 26 years of honing his skills.

Coincidentally, his swordsmanship and his opponent's swordsmanship shared the same origin.

As it happens, that monster is exactly countered by his Originium Arts.

Fortunately, his skill level allowed him to fight his opponent to a standstill in the first ten moves.

Fortunately, he had the opportunity to start over time.

To be honest, even with countless advantages and cheating methods, it's still incredibly difficult to defeat an opponent who has been honed solely by years of experience.

Even if she were rigid, her skills would still be among the best in the world. I'm afraid two or three guards wouldn't last more than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before she could take that long.

For an immortal being, the breadth and length of life are immeasurable. As for the art of killing, whether one specializes in one skill or integrates a hundred different techniques, it all ultimately boils down to the outcome theory of "what works is justice".

However, once this specialized skill is cracked by a multi-playthrough player like him, path dependence will become her only fatal weakness.

No matter how you look at it, he is far inferior to her... except for Originium Arts.

Stunning.

"Mon2tr."

The monster attacked Gerald's side again, but he was prepared and simply pounced straight towards Kal'tsit—

Because the invisible wind was already waiting there.

It's pointless to fight against something far beyond his capabilities. After all, no matter how much training he does, his improvement won't be enough to match that monster.

Therefore, the solution is very simple: just activate Originium Arts to the fullest extent and buy them half a minute for their duel.

The twisted limbs roared and charged toward Gerald, then crashed into the wall that had been carefully prepared for it. In the instant it approached Gerald, the surrounding air exploded and violently squeezed toward the monster's limbs. The force was so great that even the crystals on the monster's surface trembled along with its body.

Gerald deflected Kal'tsit's sword strike, wiping away the blood that had welled up in his mouth from Originium Arts overload as he gasped for breath.

Precise local control is far more difficult than indiscriminate bombing on the battlefield, let alone controlling such an ultimate war machine.

There's half a minute left in the countdown.

Kal'tsit could no longer buy even ten seconds of time for this battle.

The backhand sword strike had pierced her spleen. Although it wasn't fatal for her, the slowness of her movements would only create an irreversible vicious cycle.

Faced with a final struggle, Gerald flicked his wrist and knocked the sword from Kal'tsit's hand.

The outcome is decided.

"Phew, I finally won a game by cheating."

Gerald silently counted down in his mind.

In fifteen seconds, the monster will break free of the wind field and tear him to pieces with its claws.

But he just stood there motionless.

On the other side, the warrior's instincts seemed to be urging Kal'tsit to retrieve the sword that had been knocked away.

However, like Gerald, she simply stood still, her gaze passing over Gerald's shoulder and directed towards the distant city walls.

Gerald followed Kal'tsit's gaze and turned to look behind him.

On the ruined city wall, the first thing you see is a heavy sword falling from the sky.

The Goliath warrior, clad in a massive helmet, emerged from the city wall, slowly gripping his greatsword. With just one step forward, his mountain-like body seemed to emanate the death that would fall from him.

The veiled banshee walked gracefully to Goliath's side, her crimson gaze piercing through the veil that had heard countless incantations, and fixing on him.

An old man, his body wrapped in white cloth strips, followed behind with heavy steps, accompanied by an elderly lich. They both exuded a disheveled aura, clearly having just arrived from another battlefield.

Finally, arriving late, accompanied by a strong aura of blood, were the Kazdel half-siblings.

Armor, white dress.

[Sword-wielding Guard] and [Tailor]

Therese, Theresa.

"How does it feel? It's quite touching to meet a group of new faces for the first time, isn't it?"

Gerald's voice rang in Kal'tsit's ears, causing her indifferent expression to pause slightly.

However, Kal'tsit seemed to have lost interest in continuing the fight. Even her monster no longer roared at Gerald, only responding to his words in a faint tone:

"Even if the Sarkaz court returns from other battlefields—Kazdel will still be destroyed."

"Ilesh is dead, Pegasus from the future, your actions are meaningless... But I want to know, why?"

"The Sarkaz's revenge will leave incurable wounds on the land, so why help Kazdel... What will happen in the future?"

Gerald certainly knew the answer to this question.

Before Celia went to Tremont, he asked her two questions. One was whether she could help look after Duma after she left, so that she could find a job and a place to live in Colombia.

Another thing he asked was if he could get him a book about the history of Kazdel.

And Saria did not disappoint him.

Kazdel, a blurry, tiny circle on the land, its boundaries not even clearly delineated by the city's waterways. The homeland of the Sarkaz, forcibly stitched together by fragile alliances between royal courts, constantly exposed to natural disasters and upheavals.

He gazed into the distance, his expression as hard as iron.