I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

“In 1031, the ‘world capital’ Lingons will be completely wiped out by artillery fire.” Gerald wiped the blood from his sword: “After the Gallo-Laetania-Victoria-Ussus War, Gaul was destroyed.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Kal'tsit's hood fell off unconsciously, revealing her face and an undisguised look of shock.

On the distant hillside, the armies representing other nations erupted in unprecedented panic upon witnessing the fall of their pioneer leader—a panic that was quickly quelled and transformed into high morale and clamor.

The war drums began to play.

Gerald looked at the soldiers rushing down the hillside and couldn't help but laugh: "Look, it seems like the Sarkaz don't even need to lift a finger to inflict incurable wounds."

"how about you?"

The army was closing in, but Kal'tsit ignored it all, seemingly completely obsessed, and swiftly questioned Gerald: "Why did you come to this point in time?! To the point in time when Elesh died?! Tell me!! You descendant of the Windseeker!!"

However, Gerald's next words were like a cold wind, completely freezing Kal'tsit's blood.

"I do not know."

Gerald gripped his sword tighter and walked over to Mon2tr for a closer look—in a way, the guy was actually quite cute.

At the same time, the wind field beneath his feet spread out again.

This time, it covers the entire battlefield.

“I simply dreamt of the battlefield, and then I chose the battlefield.” He glanced sideways at Kal'tsit, who was deep in thought, and took a step forward, sword in hand. “There’s no reason, and I don’t care about the grudges between you. It’s all for my own sake, nothing more.”

"I hope to see you again in my dreams next time—the unknown leader."

"When that time comes, let's continue to fight each other."

Gerald stood before a vast army under Kal'tsit's empty gaze.

Gallic artillerymen loaded Originium Arts, Letanian tower sorcerers chanted spells to disrupt Originium Arts, and Victoria's steam armor roared.

But just as even the most skilled tower sorcerers can only attempt to disrupt Originium Storms, the tower sorcerers under the command of a Lytanian Elector can only be described as "outstanding."

They cannot stop the storm.

Even that couldn't stop the silver Pegasus.

------

Nighttime, Mansfield Jail.

Two moons hang in the sky.

While Gerald was fast asleep, a flag made of coarse cloth was wrapped around his arm at some point.

Even in the darkness, the deep black and red of the flag remained incredibly vivid... as if it were stained with Sarkaz blood.

Shining brightly.

Chapter Twelve: Who is the Film General? Don't mention it again!

The offensive of the three-nation allied forces was like a surging tide that almost swallowed him up, but he was, after all, a celestial horse—even ordinary silver-spear celestial horses had to address him with respect. The inner kingdoms of the inner kingdoms could not keep him, so escaping from the siege was not a difficult task.

Moreover, these 109 battles were not a waste of time.

The Originium Arts attacking him appeared to him like slow-motion edits. The artillery fire from the Gallic artillery was fast, but he could simply raise his hand and deflect it with his sword to redirect it in another direction, causing it to explode among the enemy ranks, instantly scattering limbs and leaving a bloody mess.

Less than a tenth of the swords could reach him, very few warriors could block his sword, and there were no truly powerful individuals who could inflict damage on him.

The season at this moment should be springtime, but springtime in Kazdel has left only coldness and blood.

The battlefield's cold wind lifted him into the air, and he strolled across the sky, the wind draping him behind him.

His gaze fell upon the distant hillside, where the army commander shouted an order to halt the soldiers' futile attack. Several conspicuous suits of armor slowly emerged from the dark mass of people.

Sensing the Originium Arts of a Cataclysmic Warlock, the Allied Forces of the Three Kingdoms swiftly made a precise assessment. The instant the order was given, the integrated weapon systems within the armor of the Steam Knights locked onto the soaring Pegasus in the sky, unleashing a barrage of missiles.

Immediately afterwards, the three suits of armor took off together, their back-mounted propulsion systems spewing flames as they hurtled towards Gerald in mid-air.

Victoria's steam knights exist only in legend, but perhaps it's best if they remain only in legend. The stories in novels have mythologized them far too much. If these steam knights were actually placed in reality, could Kazimierz... really handle them?

Perhaps only that old woman has the ability to clean them up. A few veteran generals in the army might be able to give it a try, but the formation of silver spears and celestial horses might only be able to barely take down one of them.

Oh right, and the uncle next door, he should be able to handle one by himself.

Judging from his movements and frequency, a single steam knight posed little threat to him; killing him wouldn't require much effort, at most he would need to figure out how to break through the opponent's armor.

Two of them would be a bit more troublesome. Although it was still not as troublesome as facing General Felin and the monster attacking from both sides, he would have to think carefully about his attack strategy if he wanted to deal with them at the same time.

Three?

You can fight, but why go specifically to Red Stone?

Does anyone actually enjoy close-quarters combat with several giants several times their size? It's a pure turn-based fight where you can't eliminate opponents quickly, nor can you improve your skills. What level of masochistic fetish would someone have to enjoy that?

Just as he was weighing whether to force himself to fight and see how things went, or simply end the dream by self-destructing, the steam knight charging towards him from afar suddenly stopped.

Upon closer inspection, a line of incantations, resembling written characters, appeared as shackles wrapped around the armor.

There's no need to continue fighting. Leave the rest to us, my friend from the Sarkaz, stranger Kuranta.

The gates of Kazdel are open to you.

……

Gerald had a good night's sleep, something he hadn't done in a long time.

From 9 p.m. to 5 a.m., a full eight hours, I even watched a very exciting movie episode in my dream.

This was the first time he hadn't ended his dream with death, and he also saw records that weren't mentioned in the books.

While he was fighting General Filin on the second battlefield, as described by the Sarkaz, Kazdel was simultaneously facing attacks from all sides.

This was Gerald's first time encountering knowledge related to the Royal Court. He did know quite a bit about races, but he had never seen a race as numerous as the Sarkaz, as if they were wholesale.

It's no wonder the Sarkaz are inherently evil; he instantly understood this as soon as he reached the walls of Kazdel by using the wind.

It's very simple. Those six Sarkaz I just saw each possessed the power to pulverize him.

With such a powerful figure in charge, it would be strange if other countries weren't afraid of them. No wonder General Felin looked so doubtful about life just now.

If it were him, he wouldn't dare let these people unite. If they were allowed to develop and declare war on the land, Kazimierz would probably perish in less than a day.

Every Pegasus grew up constantly reciting the legends of nightmares, and no one dared to allow a kingdom comparable to the Khan and his army to appear on this land.

Gerald had no interest in fighting the old man wrapped in bandages and exuding an aura of death. He could sense that a single touch would be enough to allow the corrosive death to cling to him and turn his flesh to dust.

The elderly lich, the lady who had just invited him with a spell, the woman in the white dress—all of these people were extremely incompatible with him. His swordsmanship was insufficient to sever their Originium Arts, and to confront them head-on with his own Originium Arts would be like a mayfly trying to shake a tree, completely incomparable.

That Goliath was similar to the Steam Knight; Gerald didn't want to fight him, nor could he learn many techniques from him.

But the general among them, who was about the same size as him and wielded a sword, posed a pressure on him that was no less than that of the previous General Felin, and perhaps even far stronger.

—As for what he said to General Felin at the end?

Who was that? To whom did they say it? Who heard it? He doesn't remember such a thing happening.

He was already a Kazdelite in spirit, and nothing could stop his desire to learn.

Gerald stretched comfortably upon waking from his dream, easing the numbness in his arms for some reason.

Next time I enter the dream, I'll see if I can end the battle with General Felin early so I can fight this new general.

Get up, brush your teeth, and rinse your mouth.

A pleasant day ended when I noticed a red cloth inexplicably wrapped around my body.

He tried to tug at the cloth. It looked like a cheap product that would break at the slightest touch, but when he actually tried it, he found that it was abnormal in both toughness and durability.

"...What the hell is this thing? It's so weird."

Gerald reluctantly set the red cloth aside and tentatively dabbed it with water. Unexpectedly, the cloth not only didn't get wet, but even the watermarks disappeared without a trace.

But soon, he saw the water that had been soaking him suddenly release from the other side of the cloth, splashing directly onto his clothes and wetting a large area of ​​his chest.

Realizing something was wrong, Gerald immediately took off his clothes and looked at his reflection in the mirror—the eerie red cloth had covered his right arm and even spread to most of his shoulder. The black and red patterns on the cloth seemed to flow continuously under the incandescent light, like blood circulating within it.

Compared to yesterday, there is only one variable.

He defeated General Felin.

"That's pretty mean. Not only does it make me dream, it also gives me this kind of weird stuff."

Despite saying that, Gerald had obviously heard some rumors about the relics, which were said to have quite strange abilities and unique trigger conditions.

What are the trigger conditions for this thing? Does it like to drink blood?

Gerald casually picked up a small knife that wouldn't cause tetanus, made a cut on his finger, and secretly prayed that this thing wasn't one of those stupid parasites that would drink its host to death, only doing the despicable thing of killing its upstream and having no downstream.

Then, just as he was about to drip a drop of blood onto the cloth with his finger, he suddenly felt a suction force, and his blood was being drawn out of his body out of thin air.

It separated, about one milliliter.

However, once the blood was absorbed, the cloth immediately dropped all pretense and spat out the blood it had "drunk," splattering it everywhere, as if it couldn't even tolerate a milliliter of blood.

Very well, you stupid thing, and you're a picky eater.

Gerald sighed and silently suppressed the urge to continue testing.

After he removes the shackles from his hands three months later and regains his Originium Arts, he'll have to see how long this thing can survive.

What needs to be done now is, naturally, to review the situation.

A recap of the battle that just took place.

Gerald retrieved the assembled "sword" from its hiding place, gently gripping the hilt as the scene of his backhand thrust flashed through his mind.

If the monster happens to be right next to him, how should he react?

The monster clearly possessed self-awareness and would undoubtedly shield its master from harm. If he wanted to suppress the monster at close range using Originium Arts, he would have to disregard the intensity of the burst and prioritize the speed of the release.

His left hand pressed down lightly, and in his mind, he envisioned a scene where the wind was gradually compressed into a single point and rapidly poured outwards—

boom!!!!!!!!!

A massive shockwave exploded out of nowhere beside him, slamming into the wall separating the cells and sending everything in the room flying. The new notebook and notebook he'd just gotten from Saria yesterday were swept up in the blast, but thankfully the photos on the wall survived.

He himself stood firm in the endless gale, not even his hair was blown away.

After all, who would willingly harm their own child? Even the wind, which is contained within all things, would probably not want to.

But Anthony, who lived next door, thought differently.

At this moment, Anthony was getting out of bed in a daze, looking at the cell that had been turned into a double room for some reason, and Gerald across from him with a strange look on his face.

The shackles on his hands were still there, and the suppressor was performing its function normally; only the black and red cloth had become slightly duller.

The two stared at each other for a moment, the sharp sound of prison alarms ringing in their ears.

Looking at each other speechless.

Chapter Thirteen: The Situation Takes a Huge Turn! Saria!

"You mean, you just took a nap and suddenly you could use Originium Arts?"

Anthony carefully chose his words, speaking slowly and deliberately, his tone filled with disbelief.

“Yes, but I have a guess.” Gerald nodded, his tone surprisingly relaxed. “As you can see, something unusual has clearly happened to me.”

He walked to the wall where the shockwave had blasted a corner open, his gaze sweeping over the scattered rubble as he observed the damage to the wall: "It doesn't look like a load-bearing wall was damaged, so it's not a big problem. I'll tell you the details after I've verified my guess."

If Gerald were to say that his friend has any outstanding merits, he would give this nomination to Anthony out of trust.

Even with the absurdity of the scene before him, Anthony simply nodded to Gerald without the slightest hesitation: "As long as you're not injured, that's good. Go see Duma later. Do you need me to help you deal with Barton?"

"It's alright, let him come."

Although the current situation is beyond his expectations, last night's dream and the return of Originium Arts have put him in a great mood.

Now he has the leisure to deal with that annoying fat guy.

……

"You mean, the wall suddenly exploded while you were still sleeping?! How is that possible! Who would be so idle as to deliberately demolish a useless wall?"

Barton, staring at the horrific scene before him, couldn't help but scream at the top of his lungs, "This is fucking unbelievable! Unbelievable! Don't let me find out who did this! Otherwise I'll definitely—"

"Relax, Barton, it's just two adjacent cells. Neither the outer wall nor the load-bearing wall is damaged, you should be grateful for that."

Gerald didn't care about the fat man's attitude at all; he was simply annoyed by the pointless shouting and interrupted him directly: