I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

When Gerald opened his eyes, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains into a corner of the room, and a warm breeze was blowing in from outside, gently swaying the dreamcatcher placed by the bed.

It was the same room, but the time was clearly different from last time.

He gently touched the necklace on his chest and looked at the succubus queen who was picking up her teacup and taking a sip.

Outside the window, the chains binding the young banshees had performed a Thomas Flair-like maneuver countless times.

The terrifying scream had been audible ever since he regained consciousness, and could be heard clearly even without using his Originium Arts.

"You're not planning to... By the way, aren't they much older than me? Can I call them young succubi?"

Gerald originally wanted to test the current time. Although the details in the room indicated that this was the time when he last accepted Lamarlene's proposal, who knew if any variables had changed?

He hadn't forgotten the missing fifth of the color on the necklace.

However, the opportunity to interact with a group of immortal beings was so rare that his originally talkative nature began to stir up a slight urge to become more shrewd.

If it weren't a dream, he would definitely want to keep talking to Lamaren like this forever.

The leader of a race who experienced the war of national subjugation on the front lines must have honed his skills through countless life-and-death battles. Even the things he heard and learned from those battles would have been very beneficial to him.

At least for now, he had already witnessed the Victorian steam knights, the Gallic artillery, and the Letanian tower sorcerers on the battlefield of his dreams. Therefore, Ramalen herself, who had personally fought alongside these warriors of the past, must surely be an even more precious and magnificent treasure.

So beautiful.

“Outsiders seem to really like to use age as a standard for comparison.” Lamaren smiled, completely ignoring what should have been a death sentence for many people. “Young can indeed refer to age, but among banshees, youth is usually used to describe their naivety in skill and mind.”

Gerald took off the ring from his hand with interest and played with it in his palm: "So you don't mind if I ask your age?"

“In fact, I really don’t mind. I can answer you directly: ninety-six winters have passed since my mother gave birth to me.”

Lamaren touched the skin on her face with her fingers, her tone tinged with complexity: "Banshees have ways to freeze their appearance forever, but not all of their kind choose to do so."

"The older we get, the clearer we feel death. It is an immense pain, and only pain can make a banshee sing a soft dirge."

"In Sarkaz, the banshees witness the departure of their kin, and many regard the final lament of death as a form of mourning... Although the act of praising death itself is meaningless, the banshees will not hesitate to sing if their kin can find solace in it."

"—Of course, considering how others perceive this issue." Ramalen sighed slightly. "Perhaps I shouldn't be happy about this. Even I feel hurt when I'm called an 'old woman,' even though I'm considered young among the great banshees of all time."

Gerald listened silently to the story told by the Banshee Queen herself, then took a sip of tea.

He suddenly realized a misconception.

The battle with General Felin on the battlefield is a life-or-death struggle; death will reset his timeline, returning him to the point before the battle even began.

In this process, his perception was subtly changed to another form: he subconsciously believed that each dream would reset the experience, so he didn't need to think too much, he just needed to fight each time, since his words would not have any impact on the current situation.

However, after defeating General Felin last time, his progress was accelerated significantly, perhaps by several months, until he arrived at the valley.

After his suicide attempt, the dream simply reset him back to the point in time when he accepted the necklace.

That's the problem.

The checkpoint itself may be identifiable and verifiable, but the current sample size for this standard is insufficient to determine whether it will be successful every time.

However, to make an extreme assumption, if he happens to do something outrageous just before the checkpoint, such as when he is about to commit suicide, and the sword in his hand just happens to cut halfway down his neck, leaving him in a state of being dead but not completely dead—his dream will be completely ruined.

In other words, to avoid this situation from occurring.

It seems he has to treat every dream as reality and take it seriously.

Chapter Twenty-Six: In short, let's travel first.

"However, there are many people in this world who seek the path to immortality and do not worry about age. For them, having a long life is just a luxurious trouble."

Gerald's thoughts were momentarily interrupted by Lamarle's words. He gently shook his head, banishing that terrifying possibility from his mind:

"Perhaps, you don't need to belittle yourself. If long years mean enduring the disintegration of homes and the deaths of loved ones, then I would rather exchange those years for a peaceful life, or the strength to protect everything."

“I believe you think so too, Lamaren.”

He didn't know much about the Sarkaz's suffering; everything he knew came from the book that Saria had brought him. Apart from knowing that he was extremely susceptible to Oripathy, most of his other knowledge, including about the royal court, came from his dreams.

Of course, the group of friends he met in the wilderness would sometimes talk to him about the past, but most of it was just complaints and grumbling.

He couldn't empathize with the Sarkaz.

How can one truly empathize if they haven't experienced the corresponding suffering?

This is also an insult to the other party.

As if she could read Gerald's mind, Ramalyn's smile behind her veil blossomed with tenderness: "Theresa is right."

"I don't think I've met her more than a few times."

Gerald had heard this name three times already. The history book that mentioned Kazdel didn't seem to record anything related to this at all. It mostly talked about trivial matters from long ago. He didn't know if this part was deliberately concealed or if there were other reasons for the interference.

He placed the ring in his hand on the table: "If you can understand a person after only a few meetings, I'd rather attribute that ability to some kind of mind-reading. You'd be better off spending more time with them before making a conclusion."

Lamarle didn't seem to care about the implications of Gerald's words: "Of course it is, how could there be any other possibility?"

Before Gerald could even process the meaning behind those words, she stood up from her seat. "Come on, Gerald."

"Everything in the valley is a gift from nature to the siren. I hope I have the honor of personally introducing everything here to you."

------

The water has not yet overflowed the young riverbed.

A misty fog drifted from the forest. It was no longer dawn, but the sun had not yet risen directly overhead, still hiding behind the mountains. Dewdrops still fell from the leaves, landing on Pegasus's ears, bringing him a touch of spring coolness and dampness.

My emotions at this moment, and the weather at this moment.

Pegasus has always been a race that loves nature. Its ancestors may have run in similar jungles, drinking from the springs flowing through the forest, with the wind gently blowing through their hair, making their steps forward lighter.

Just as Gerald is doing now, at some point, he, who was originally walking side by side with Lamarle, suddenly moved ahead.

The sudden shift in the relationship between host and guest left even the great succubus somewhat puzzled.

But this doubt soon turned into astonishment, which has now become the umpteenth time.

As the towering trees that blotted out the sun were left behind, the siren's dwelling appeared before them—beneath an endless expanse of azure, where water and sky merged into one, as if they had arrived at the edge of a dream. Waterfalls cascaded down the towering cliffs like countless flowing crystals, intertwining and creating a soft, lingering sound.

"how do you……"

Lamarlene's words trailed off as she clearly saw the spells used to confuse the senses land on Gerald, but they had no effect on his sense of direction whatsoever.

This was supposed to be the introductory course for every succubus.

Back in Kazdel, they enjoyed using these little tricks to test the young banshees' learning progress, filling the hallways in front of the dining hall and bedrooms with spells that would activate instantly in the event of an unauthorized intrusion. If anyone forgot all this knowledge, she wouldn't get any dinner that night.

“Those curses? I deliberately went into them, after all, you were there.” Gerald glanced at the still bewildered Ramalen, savoring the sensory disorientation he had just experienced. “I… to be honest, this is more strange than any hallucination. Even eating poisonous mushrooms wouldn’t cause these symptoms.”

This confusion is easy to discern because at the same time, there are two identical voices pushing him forward.

One sound was the sound of the wind, and the other—that was also the sound of the wind, but it seemed a little different?

It's hard for him to say either.

In this situation, the best option is to simply relax his body and focus solely on Originium Arts; the wind will naturally guide him to where he belongs.

Just like now, after leaving the forest behind, his senses gradually returned to normal.

“The way incantations affect things is different from ordinary spells.” After a moment of silence, Ramalyn said with difficulty, “I’m not sure, even I can’t understand it for now. After today, I will go to the library to look for the reason why this is happening.”

"It's ok."

Gerald smoothed his tail, which had suddenly sprawled out due to sensory confusion: "We'll have time to find out."

……

Crossing the flowing water of the valley, strolling slowly along the slope beside the waterfall, the first thing you see is an area that stands out from the surrounding greenery, covered by a deep, dark color.

Those are thorns.

As Gerald and Lamaren drew closer, that aura, so different from life, quickly permeated the surrounding air.

Even so, the banshee seemed unconcerned about arranging this plant, a symbol of suffering, into a cross shape and placing it in the center of the valley.

Gerald wasn’t particularly interested in such symbols, even though he could see that the banshees were adorned with thorn-like decorations. Combined with the stories Ramalen had told him about pain and dirges, he could only think of various tribal groups with animistic beliefs.

But it is Terra after all, it is Sarkaz after all, it is the Royal Court after all.

Even when conducting experiments, people superstitiously believe that a standard incense-burning procedure can increase the success rate of the experiment, let alone Terra, whose mysterious power truly exists.

"When a succubus is born, she will be swaddled with thorns."

Lamaren gently touched the thorns in front of her, but her soft palm was quickly pierced by the thorns, and blood dripped to her feet, from which one could almost hear a faint wail.

"To offer blessings, the tribespeople would reach out and grasp the thorns on the brambles, smear their blood together, and welcome the future of the tribe."

"……ha."

It's really hard to judge; the alarm bells that belong to a medical student are already ringing in his head.

No comment, no comment. They have their own traditions. Banshees are powerful Sarkaz, maybe they all survived through natural selection?

Fortunately, Lamarle seemed to realize the difference in their philosophies. She quickly withdrew her hand from the thorns and smiled at Gerald: "Let's go to the next place."

As the two continued to walk forward...

Unbeknownst to them, the blood that Ramalen had left on her hand floated up, as if drawn by a force, and drifted onto the invisible cloth on Gerald's right shoulder.

Then disappeared without a trace.

……

“Illness is not common among banshees, but if they come into contact with something while separated from the group, such as Originium fragments, then a place for isolation and treatment is necessary.”

Ramalyn led Gerald to a corner of the valley, to a wooden house situated beside a waterfall, downstream from the river, with a plaque inscribed in Sarkaz.

Gerald suddenly felt that he could learn the Sarkaz's written language in his dreams, if he had enough time.

"If a banshee were to contract Oripathy, it would be a devastating disaster for her."

She touched the thorns and horns beside her hair, her tone heavy: "The Sarkaz are more susceptible to Oripathy, and there's nothing we can do about it."

“In the past, banshees infected with Oripathy would be banished from their homes because of the tradition of thorns and blood, we cannot allow newborns to be threatened.”

Lamarle sighed, "But at least as long as I am the Queen of the Banshees, I don't want my people to be driven out for this reason."

"……Well."

Gerald opened his mouth.

“You don’t need to worry about my feelings, Gerald.”

Seeing the expression on the face of the person beside her, Ramalen's feelings deepened. "I know this is indeed not a responsible act, especially for a great banshee—"

“No, what I mean is,” Gerald interrupted Ramalen’s explanation and still voiced his thoughts, “Originium disease, scientifically known as multiple Originium infection syndrome, is a condition that occurs due to the combination of active Originium and normal cells.”

"I'll explain it in a way that's easier to understand."

"The exchange of blood can cause infection, which can easily make people sick, some of which are even infectious diseases that can affect them for life. Moreover, the biggest hidden danger is that it is impossible to trace the source afterward, which is a very troublesome situation."

"However, Ore disease is different from normal infectious diseases, for example, like this."

A gust of wind swept across Gerald's palm, and blood instantly gushed out. He looked at the blood dripping onto the ground and spread his fingers.

"Put down one finger every minute."

“Wait five minutes.” He looked up, wiped his hand, and the wound quickly healed. “The active Originium in the blood will be deactivated, and there will be no infectivity. So even though this is indeed a terrible thing to do—we can prevent it from happening in some ways.”

Faced with Lamaren, who was frozen in place and unsure of what to say, Gerald silently rubbed his tired eyes.

"You really need a knowledgeable doctor, right?"

Chapter Twenty-Seven: In short, let's fight first.

The stroll didn't last long; neither he nor Lamaren were the type to get so tired after walking just a few steps that they were out of breath.

Rather, it was the group of chattering, gossiping young female demons who were exhausted.

Lamaren, who had just released them from the air, clearly did not reflect on their thoughts. Before long, they rekindled their desire to get closer and observe, and thought they had cleverly hidden themselves in the bushes behind them.

"Hey, Nastya, we...cough cough...is there any way we can catch up with them?"

A young female demon felt that she couldn't take another step forward, not even a tiny bit. Flying in the sky was already uncomfortable enough, but now she had to walk such a long mountain path. The fatigue was compounded, and she was afraid that tomorrow's practice would be ruined.

Beside her stood another succubus with a cold expression, and the two of them maintained a certain distance from the "main force" of succubi.

Nasti gently twirled the bone pen in her hand, and soon two simple cups made of branches and leaves appeared in the air. She filled them with water and distributed them to the panting banshee.