I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

--------

wake up.

Gerald, familiar with the process, silently sat up in bed, the strange sensation on his neck making him reluctant to speak.

This is only the second day.

The day after defeating General Felin, before he even had a chance to figure out what the cloth was for, the Banshee Queen inexplicably unleashed a series of punches and combos at him, almost knocking him to the ground where he couldn't get up. She also packed up his belongings and gave them to him.

This is the second time we've met!

Despite being a ruler of a royal court, the Sarkaz royal court's lifespan, far exceeding that of ordinary people, dictates that their concept of time differs from others. Given this, why is Ramalen's affection progress bar almost full? What exactly is the mechanism behind this dream?!

The foal felt discouraged, confused, and couldn't understand.

Gerald was already quite disappointed that he couldn't continue fighting General Felin, but now this unpredictable future made him even more bewildered... Did he have to patiently chatter with a group of banshees for half a day every day in order to earn a chance to fight the banshee queen?

Gerald admits he's a chatterbox, but when efficiency should be the top priority, wasting time is the thing he can't tolerate.

Besides that, there was something else that puzzled him even more.

This dream was the first time he was unable to wake up naturally.

Unlike last time, when he unknowingly witnessed the end of the Kazdel War before being pushed out of the dream.

This time, he finally managed to escape the dream by personally slashing off his own head with his sword.

Based on my previous dream experience, time in dreams seems to be somewhat related to the real world.

However, even after he waited from morning until afternoon, and even saw several little demons sneaking out of his room trying to talk to him, he still showed no signs of waking up.

This unusual situation bothered him, but he couldn't come to a conclusion after thinking about it for a while. He simply got out of bed, took out the book he planned to read the next day, and intended to write some notes to pass the time during this unusually long night.

As for the study of the relics, he decided to put it aside for the time being. What happened this morning had already taught him a lesson deep enough—the pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with dried blood still lingered in the room. Even if he remained indifferent to it, his neighbor Anthony was probably already at his limit.

However, just as he was about to start taking notes, his gaze inadvertently fell on the clock in the room.

That glance instantly froze him in place.

As if suddenly realizing something, he quickly looked down, his gaze falling on the necklace Ramallian had given him. It still radiated a dazzling luster, as if the most beautiful things in the world were condensed into this small pendant.

Except for one problem—one-fifth of the color in the middle of the necklace had mysteriously disappeared.

Gerald's heart sank slightly, and he subconsciously reached for the necklace on his chest, intending to take it off and examine it closely to see what had happened.

That's the problem.

He took it off.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Cyclops Bloodline Inquiry (4K)

For a normal person, a complex problem that can be solved from a normal logical perspective is not a difficult problem; a problem that requires inspiration and talent to solve is quite challenging.

But the situation before us makes no sense whatsoever, and there's not even room for inspiration.

If the previous cloth was impossible to tear off, like a piece of skin without nerves on his body, then the necklace he was wearing now was no different from an ordinary ornament.

The question is why there is such a difference between the two, and why this anomaly only appears on the necklace.

Thinking is useless; action is the key.

It is unclear whether the disappearance of color on the necklace is related to suicide in dreams, so Gerald conducted two simple experiments: dreaming with and without the necklace.

The latter did not have time to complete it.

Because when he opened his eyes again, letting the prison bell, symbolizing the dawn, ring in his ears, the time he could dream also came to an end.

"You're sleeping soundly."

Anthony's deep voice came from the cell next door. After a night's rest, his mental state had clearly improved considerably: "The little movements didn't bother you. Looks like you had a sweet dream, something you haven't had in a long time?"

"On the contrary, there were no dreams at all." The emptiness he hadn't experienced in a long time deepened Gerald's doubts. "No battlefield, no warm room, nothing at all."

"Ah, one of my favorite types."

Yesterday's conversation with Gerald had clearly helped Anthony sort out his feelings. He learned to keep his determination to himself, and his tone returned to its usual polite manner: "After waking up from a dream like this, I always feel much more energetic than usual. I guess that's probably the benefit of deep sleep."

Time waits for no one. Gerald stood up, savoring the novelty of chatting with his friend upon waking, while preparing to wash up: "If I had to study the next day, I would agree with you, but this is a prison after all. What's the point of being a little more alert?"

“But you’ve been studying lately.” Anthony poured a basin of water he had prepared the night before onto himself, letting out a comfortable growl.

As the ice water dripped down his fur and onto the ground, he continued what he hadn't finished saying: "This isn't meaningless. I realized it as soon as you said those things to me yesterday."

"The idea of ​​'always being prepared' is meaningless." He wiped the water droplets off his body with a towel. "It's too general and vague. You never know what constitutes being prepared, nor whether everything you prepare will be effective against the enemy."

"—Only by taking action and taking the initiative can we succeed."

Gerald clapped his hands dismissively: "Alright, alright, famous quote. If you ever get old and want to write an autobiography, I'll remember to buy it, take a look at it, and then give it the honorable duty of propping up a table."

“Heh, believe me, if it really comes to that, I’ll put it on the first few dozen pages of the book.” Anthony seemed a bit more composed after a night of work. He hung the cloth he had just wiped on the shelf in the room: “As the first sentence of the second volume, to introduce one of my friends—I believe you’ll like it.”

“Just don’t write anything weird in there,” Gerald replied casually, but after a moment’s thought, he added, “Oh right, remember to make me look handsome.”

“I think a factual account is sufficient.” Anthony glanced at the figure behind the large hole, then changed the subject, “Back to yesterday’s matter—I was planning to invite the girl who assassinated me.”

Pegasus, who was stretching his body, wasn't surprised at all: "Have you thought it through?"

Anthony stopped what he was doing, walked to the front of the hole, and said seriously to his friend on the other side, "Yes, just like Kafka said, I have to escape from here. You said before that you have an escape plan, so we can prepare for both possibilities."

"That assassin clearly has experience in mechanical engineering, and she will be a great asset to us given the opponent's leg injury."

"This way, she can also get in touch with the behind-the-scenes manipulators and find a way to leave. She can achieve two goals at the same time. I can't think of a reason not to do it."

“As I said yesterday, you were the one who was assassinated. You decide how to handle it.” Gerald nodded, not wanting to spoil his friend’s mood: “I don’t care about the assassin. I’ll give you my answer before tonight.”

"Tonight?" Anthony asked, puzzled. "Is there any significance to this time?"

“I suppose so.” Gerald shrugged. “Oh right, I haven’t told you yet, have I? I finished reading the last medical book left in prison last night.”

Seeing the other person's unwavering gaze, he fiddled with the necklace on his chest, making sure their gaze didn't linger on it at all, before continuing his explanation:

"In other words, there's no point in me staying in this prison any longer."

------

Same time, same place.

The prison library was originally built at Anthony's suggestion, but it has now become a place for Seria and Gerald to meet in secret. In a way, Anthony did a good thing for his brother.

When Saria walked into the library with a stack of engineering drawings, Gerald, who was secretly examining the necklace on his chest, was startled and asked directly before she could explain:

"No way, you're planning to test my engineering knowledge so I won't graduate?!"

“…I’m glad that your first thought upon seeing the drawings was exam-related content. But unfortunately, these drawings have nothing to do with our agreement.” Saria found a chair and sat down next to Gerald. “You can take a look at what’s inside.”

The calcification solidified into solid blocks at the four corners of the drawings, which were then pressed down on the table and laid out, revealing to Gerald a series of structural diagrams of the prison.

“I don’t quite understand it, but since you brought it over, I think you should be able to understand it yourself.” Gerald only glanced at the neatly arranged lines on it before feeling dizzy. “I can deduce some of the basic elements, but hand-drawn diagrams… are you also the head of the engineering department at Rhine Labs?”

“I didn’t draw this,” Seria replied curtly. “Do you remember what you told me yesterday? What you said to Barton.”

“Of course.” Gerald rolled his eyes at her. His ability to read so many books and pass most of Seria’s tests in such a short time was undoubtedly impressive. “I told him to go check on the prisoners in sections A and B, and also the workers on the prison construction project—”

He shut his mouth.

"..."

“I understand now, I am not Kuranta after all.”

After a long while, as if trying to escape reality, Gerald murmured, "I have always been a Cyclops."

"Your features are 98% similar to those of the Kuranta race, so it can be basically confirmed that your race is indeed Kuranta."

Seria made a small joke at this point, but she quickly explained why: "Back to the topic, Barton had some prison guards search the workers' rooms, and I found this on an intern."

"As foolish as ever, this is damaging the warden's reputation, but oh well."

Gerald's attention was on another matter: "The people who hired the assassins had no reason to let them leave, so there are two reasons left. First, this intern is on the side of saving Anthony; second, this intern wants to find something hidden in the prison."

“…” Saria was silent for a moment, “The latter possibility is not high.”

“I think so too, because looking at these maps, she seems to be just looking for the entrance to the outside world, and the search is basically focused on the tower in the middle.” Gerald casually flipped through the blueprints in his hand. “The secret in the prison is further down from sections A and B, near the power core of the moving plate.”

Clang.

Saria sat upright with her hands folded on the table, her expression unchanged. Even Gerald's analysis did not cause the slightest fluctuation in her expression.

But just as Gerald finished speaking, her brow twitched almost imperceptibly, as if trying to confirm whether she had misheard. Her hand, which had been resting casually on the edge of the table, unconsciously tightened its grip, her fingertips pressing down on the table with slightly more force.

Then, she forcefully broke off a piece of the not-so-sturdy wooden table.

"How did you know?" Saria barely suppressed her bad thoughts and asked Gerald slowly and seriously.

"wind."

Saria's response was Gerald's nonchalant reply: "Generally speaking, my hearing can't reach that far, and the sound of this moving plate interfering with my ability to distinguish things, unless I can use Originium Arts—like starting yesterday."

"Although it's still very rough, I can sense it as long as there is flow."

This was a tactic he developed himself during his battle with General Felin.

To counter the combined attack of the monster and General Felin, he had to keep his attention and eyes on the enemy's sword at all times, using the wind to sense and dodge attacks coming from behind.

This includes, but is not limited to, collisions, sudden shockwaves, piercing attacks, biting, pouncing, and so on.

Having gradually adapted to a dynamic and ultra-high-speed combat environment, there's no reason he wouldn't be able to perceive a static environment. However, this ability is at most limited to a general outline; more detailed aspects will require him to slowly explore and practice.

This is why he so fondly remembers the days he fought against General Felin; the experience he gleaned from his dreams doesn't lie.

Practice makes perfect; the more you practice, the more skilled you become.

"What else can you sense?" Saria's tone became more urgent. "For example, the entrance to that place, the ventilation ducts that connect there, the drains and water inlets? The number of people inside, the specific environment and condition?"

"Stop for a moment, there are too many problems, let's deal with them one by one."

Gerald simply made a "T" sign with his hand to indicate a pause.

At this moment, Saria also realized to some extent that she had just lost her composure.

Her eyes flickered slightly, as if she suddenly realized that she had leaned too close, so she had to adjust her posture slightly and slowly pull her body back from where it was almost touching the other person's.

Gerald now finally had the luxury of taking control of the conversation. He placed the book he had just finished reading yesterday on the table and calmly asked:

"What is our agreement, Saria?"

He looked up and met Seria's gaze directly: "Four months. I'll read all the books you brought and prove my thoughts and will to you. You will unlock my shackles and take Anthony and the others out with you."

"I've been reading day and night to keep my promise to you, filling more than ten notebooks with notes, my fountain pen ink running dry time and time again... I've now kept my promise to you, and you still won't even explain to me your real purpose for coming here?"

Saria's gaze fell on the books on the table, their pages neatly turned and slightly worn, the notes filled with dense handwriting and ink, and the checkmarks and crosses on the test papers.

She has no room for negotiation, and she never negotiates agreements.

“You’re right. Since I haven’t removed your shackles yet, I naturally have no right to ask you these questions. This is outside the scope of the agreement.” Saria took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s my problem.”

“The next time Mansfield arrives in Colombia, I will take you all with me, as we agreed before.”

Vayvan, who is not very flexible, will naturally subconsciously ignore the true meaning in the other person's words.

Or rather, has she ever truly experienced what is called "sincerity"?

"You know, sometimes I really want to see who raised you to be the way you are now... Am I being too condescending?"

Gerald stood up and paced around the table, his tone even carrying a hint of helplessness: "Working with you is very efficient, but it is also a very tiring thing, Saria. After all, even Diamond is more adaptable than you."

"Just like I never agreed to help you with your personal matters, who says you can't propose a new deal?"

“…You shouldn’t get involved in my private affairs.” Celia shook her head hesitantly. “This will get you involved in Colombian politics, and power won’t do much here.”

Gerald seemed to have anticipated this answer, and smiled at the man before him: "Indeed, but since you're about to release me anyway, it means you're already involved in Kazimierz's politics. So we're even."

He didn't let Saria interrupt and continued, "I have no faith, so I won't talk about charlatan topics like 'forgiveness'."

“I consider the agreement you made with me back then as an investment, Seraya.”

"At this stage, you can see my potential. I can help you make a fortune, and your investment will be a great success."

"Now, it's my turn to invest in the head of the defense department of Rhine Life in front of me."

Gerald walked back to Saria and extended his hand: "It's not a huge investment. I'll help you settle your personal matters. When you go back to Kazimierz, you give me a ride. Deal?"

The invited protagonist is now quietly watching Gerald, a rare hint of hesitation flashing in her eyes. Her hands slowly fall to her sides, and she does not immediately respond to his proposal.

After a moment of silence, she spoke in a low voice, her tone carrying a complex emotion:

“I am not seeking anything in return from our previous agreement, Gerald, and you do not need to compromise on this.”