I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

"Either become a knight of conquest, even if I die on the battlefield, but in return, my abilities will not be valued by the Business Federation and become their golden brand, completely tarnishing the family's title. As long as everything is entertained and labeled, no matter how glorious the family's past was, it will eventually become nothing more than idle gossip and jokes."

The sound drifted away slowly with the wind, his tone carrying a calm and understated narration.

"Even so, my father still did not want to trade his ephemeral dignity for my future; he wanted to compromise. But in the end, I refused."

"Ha...because it doesn't matter to me at all."

Gerald said, word by word.

"After all, I was prepared to go to my own battlefield."

Chapter Thirty-Six: Returning Home

Overall, Qazimir was initially a confederation of territorial nobles, which later transformed into a republic; the core leadership was coordinated and managed by the Council of Supervisors, which later expanded to military rule.

The Supervisory Council was mainly composed of knights, responsible for governance and decision-making, and maintained a dual military and political identity.

The National Assembly is the legislative and judicial core of Qasimir, but its authority has been partially taken over by the Oversight Council. Correspondingly, the Commercial Federation has gradually taken control of the country's economic activities, replacing the traditional aristocratic control.

They may seem like rivals, but they are ultimately one family.

But there was one group that they all opposed—the nobility.

"That's normal. If I were in their position, I might make a similar choice."

Gerald didn't care about his role in it: "But it's clear that their 'equal treatment' is a bit too much, especially considering that several generations of my family have died on the battlefield. This behavior inevitably makes people feel like they're discarding a useful tool after it's been used."

"But if you look at my father, it seems like they didn't do anything wrong: they relied on the family's past reputation for political and social activities, but they lacked sensitivity and would do things that terrified them from time to time. In comparison, they actually hoped that we could live a mediocre life with endless money to enjoy."

Saria had been listening in silence until this brief moment when she seized the opportunity to ask her question: "So, that's why you became a War Knight at the age of fourteen?"

“I sometimes look at history, and I’ve actually read some history, Seria.”

Gerald lowered his eyes slightly, imagining the feeling of holding the sword in his hand: "Commerce and finance are the foundation that supports everything in Kazimierz; the massive flow of funds is the lifeblood of this country."

"Medical care, education, transportation, and agriculture are all provided to the community by contracted companies. Almost everyone I know who understands even a little economics believes that the unstable social situation in Kazimierz will collapse one day."

"And the only thing that can overcome this instability is the power of an individual. Knightly competitions can't give me that, but the battlefield can."

Having crossed a chaotic sea, becoming an embryo, it spent the first three years in a daze, its memories and wisdom bound by its tiny head, until it gradually grew up and became aware of the existence of Originium Arts—

He would certainly prefer to explore this unknown place he had never seen before.

Having already died once, what does death mean to him now?

"Therefore, I became a knight of conquest."

The wind blew again, and his clothes swayed slightly in the breeze. He turned around, slowly placed his hands on the wall behind him, and leaned back a little.

"I volunteered for the most difficult training and did the dirtiest and most tiring work, trying to make the most of every moment of my life, fast enough that I could slightly influence the trajectory of my future before I became an adult."

“At least this way, my father can more or less break free from that empty pandering and find some other hobbies... such as painting or writing novels. And I don’t need to worry about what I have to do; I can just focus on improving myself.”

"Fortunately, the glory of my family in the past is not just for show. My relatives and comrades have always supported my actions and helped me, allowing me to become a Silver Spear Pegasus before I came of age."

That one sentence alone caused all of Saria's movements to stop.

Even for most people who love modern chivalric culture, the term "Silver Spear Pegasus" is probably still somewhat unfamiliar, since only the most ardent fans would likely trace its actual existence in reality.

Then, the moment they attempt to enter the Qazimir military base, they are arrested and thrown into jail, where they will spend the rest of their lives in peace.

But for Seria, who had actually come into contact with Colombian politics, or rather, was herself involved in it, she had heard of the name Silver Spear Pegasus.

One word can summarize it all.

The summit of Kazimir.

“But unfortunately, my spear is not as good as my sword. Besides, you have seen my Originium Arts.” Gerald shrugged. “To work with a group of Silver Spear Pegasus, you need to cooperate, smooth out your strengths and rough edges, and then combine them into a complete and invincible spear.”

He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts: "At the time, I... let's just say she was my direct superior, a grandmaster who had survived the most brutal battlefields of the past, and she wanted me to be in charge of the conquest knights who were tasked with beheading."

"Of course, I'd love to. Just like on the battlefield, you're facing real aces and strongmen, and my Wind ability will make me invincible in both raids and escapes. The army gains merits, and I gain experience. It's no exaggeration to say that this is the most suitable choice."

Waifan, who had been listening attentively, quickly understood the underlying meaning: "But this is dangerous, and your boss should know that too."

"She knows, but she herself is just a symbol under the banner of Kazimierz; her own identity can play very little role in this regard."

Gerald shook his head slightly.

"Whether it's Ursus, which suffered a crushing defeat at the Battle of Bloodpeak and was engulfed in a great rebellion, or Kazimierz, which appears glamorous on the outside but is actually empty inside, they both need to remind their people from time to time with their victories that their country is still invincible on the battlefield."

"To outsiders, we are sacrifices, disposable tools, and bayonets destined to fight the remnants of the Ursus army. But within the army, we are the vanguard responsible for transmitting intelligence, the suicide squads responsible for decapitation, and the friendly forces that can most effectively reduce casualties."

"Ah, perhaps my superior had ulterior motives. I could tell she really wanted me to accumulate more merits through a less dangerous means, but she ultimately failed."

Gerald scoffed: "After all, in some people's eyes, I still have a noble status that's frozen. If the Longrider dies on the battlefield, then they will certainly have a legitimate reason to strip the family of its title."

"So I quickly found a very challenging method—to stay alive and bring all my comrades back to where we came from, without leaving a single one behind."

"..."

His words, accompanied by the whistling of the wind, gradually faded away at the end of the corridor.

"I failed."

"On our last step onto the battlefield, we ran head-on into 'The Emperor's Blade,' the inner guard of Ursus."

"—There are three in total."

--------

Gerald did not say anything more.

His thoughts seemed to be drawn back to the battlefield years ago. Although his expression was calm, his clenched hands betrayed the anger in his heart.

The rest of the story is not difficult to predict.

A family that loses its Long Riders will ultimately face only one fate, and a full six months of vacancy can allow many things to happen to those who are interested.

She hadn't heard of any major event that had happened in Casimir two years ago; perhaps it had been covered up... After all, in Columbia, the description of the slow slicing in the files had already given her a glimpse into the past.

We shouldn't touch any of his wounds anymore.

"Do you hate Kazimierz?" Saria suddenly asked.

Hearing his friend's question, Gerald slowly took a step forward and gently touched the railing in front of him.

“Hatred? It brings nothing, because Kazimierz is just a symbol. Hating a symbol is empty, Seria.”

“I have achieved the revenge I wanted, although I was hurt more badly than I imagined.”

He smiled nonchalantly. "There were several times when I was almost hit by pre-planted Originium bombs. Those were indeed very dangerous moments. But they were all people who had never experienced a battlefield. All I needed to do was find my targets and make them die in the most painful way possible."

"This prison isn't really my cage. By the second year, my injuries were almost fully healed. I have to thank Duma for that; otherwise, I really don't know if I could have recovered from the wounds inflicted by the internal guards. I also have to thank myself for not attacking their country back then; otherwise, I would have been reduced to ashes and gone somewhere else by now."

“But a wanderer always returns to his hometown. Everything I have gained with my time and years is not for kneeling at the feet of the Supervisory Council and the Business Federation, to continue being their dogs.”

A longsword materialized beside his hand.

"—Kasimir, you need to give me an explanation."

Even if the final outcome of this explanation is always unsatisfactory.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Last Day in Mansfield

Ten days passed in the blink of an eye, and soon it was the last day.

During this time, Seria did not act according to her usual habits. Now that Jeston had infiltrated the prison guards, her best option was to minimize contact with Gerald and not do anything conspicuous.

Robin would take advantage of the time while changing his dressings to go to the morgue and be responsible for clearing the passage from the infirmary to the underground structure of Mansfield. According to Duma, there were many abandoned structures left over from the construction of the prison underground, and through these places, they could reach the docking area of ​​the prison.

Kafka would occasionally discuss the current situation in the prison with Mina, who was also the Liberli trainee who provided them with the blueprints.

Having her accompany him to the monitoring room to check the camera locations was not a pointless move; compared to others, a former Colombian gang member was clearly more familiar with these details.

At the start of the escape, neither Gerald nor Saria could accompany them out of Mansfield. After reaching the underground passage of the morgue, the subsequent rendezvous would have to be arranged by themselves. The Originium Arts they had reserved would come in handy.

During this period, Anthony and Duma maintained their original routines: one stayed quietly in his cell reading, while the other treated the prisoners and worked his last shift.

Sometimes, thinking about it, it's quite thought-provoking that Duma, a doctor who has spent her entire life in prison, has done her best in terms of knowledge and treatment, yet Mansfield only pays her a token salary.

However, those days have come to an end. From today onward, she no longer needs to think about these so-called meanings. She will have enough time to witness everything in the outside world with her own eyes.

The ten days passed peacefully, and the scenery was no different from usual. Tikarendo appeared before them as expected.

The prison break has begun.

--------

The cleaning team that was led to Zone C this time had a unique kind of noise and commotion.

This is largely due to the personality of the head guard—luckily, this talkative fellow, who survived the assassination attempt on Anthony in Section C, has once again taken on the job of leading the cleaning, thus adding a bit of fun to his otherwise idle supervising life.

Similar to the team during that assassination attempt, there was also Vayvan in charge, Kafka hiding behind Vayvan, and Robin with bandages on her legs who needed Kafka's help.

"Hey, tsk, you guys." As they walked, the prison guard who had just been scaring another prisoner turned around and immediately spotted Robin and Kafka hiding in the group. "What, it's you two again?"

"Hey, big brother, we've only met twice, it's not like we've met 'again'."

Kafka chuckled twice. "This makes it sound like we're some kind of jinx, which is no good."

"You'd better be." The prison guard sighed. Ever since he stepped into Block C two minutes ago, his right eyelid had been twitching incessantly, and his head had been throbbing.

When the two familiar cells came into view, the prison guards who had been grinning stopped again, turned around, and swept their cold eyes across the group.

His voice echoed in the empty corridor, “Your task is simple: clean the cells thoroughly and don’t cause me any trouble. If anyone tries to slack off or do anything unnecessary…”

boom!

This time, what landed on his head was a heavy punch—the "Standard" produced by Rhine Labs in Colombia, the record holder for the Ministry of Defense's boxing machine to date, the hand of Saria, which reached a perfect level in both intensity and duration of dizziness.

As the key card was swiped on the wall, the cell door opened.

Two burly men approached the prisoners at that moment. Their excellent fighting skills and outstanding physiques would surely leave these "naive" prisoners with an unforgettable memory, especially when their fists touched their chins, and the flashbacks that would run through their minds.

"I'm sorry, buddy." Kafka clasped his hands together and observed a moment of silence for the prison guard lying on the ground. "At least I didn't do it, so rest in peace."

"He's not dead, why are you cursing him for no reason?"

Gerald casually used the wind to roll up the prison guard's clothes on the ground, then stripped off his own clothes and threw them into the cell. He then tossed the clothes he had taken off to Anthony, saying, "Check if the size is right."

"...You use Originium Arts in a way like this, that's really extravagant."

“We have to consider the feelings of our ladies,” Gerald casually replied.

Anthony sighed, compared the sizes of the clothes, and said, "It should be fine if we squeeze in. Let's proceed according to plan?"

Gerald glanced at the overhead camera and nodded. "We'll proceed according to plan. This prison guard will lead you to the connection between the tower and the underground. I'll go to the top floor and lower the tower in Sector C to find Duma as soon as possible. Once the power is cut off on the floor, we'll leave through the tunnel immediately."

After saying this, he was about to turn and leave when Anthony silently stopped him.

"what happened?"

Gerald looked up and saw Anthony put the prison guard uniform aside and pat him on the shoulder with his hairy hand.

Take care, brother.

"We'll meet again sometime."

Anthony said in a deep voice.

It's neither "see you later" nor "see you when we get back to Colombia."

Instead, it's "See you later".

Pegasus, who was about to leave, paused, about to say something. However, when he saw the familiar determination in the other person's eyes, the words he had originally planned to say gradually settled in his heart, and in the end, only a few words came out.

"Yeah, take care too, brother."

He responded briefly to the other person's words, extending his fist and touching it with the hand resting on his shoulder.

Then he turned around and sprinted towards the elevator shaft, disappearing from everyone's sight in an instant.

Never looking back.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Xiao Jie, do you think I can't pour my own water? (4K)

The moment Gerald left Sector C, the shackles on his hands shattered into fine powder with the swing of the wind blade.

He had never run at full speed in reality in the past two years, and when he finally took his first steps, the feeling was no different from that in his dream, and even better than when he had fought with all his might on the battlefield.

Was this transformation brought about by a dream, or did the piece of cloth on his shoulder and the jewelry on his chest give him new power?