I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

“I still believe that it’s more important to be on the right path,” she said.

“Hey, I have a joke.” Gerald chuckled, setting his empty cup aside. “A new recruit once joined my unit, and he asked me, ‘Captain, Captain, what if I get lost on the battlefield one day? Is there a practical and effective way to get me back to camp without getting yelled at?’”

"I said, yes, some brothers, yes."

He continued, but the content didn't quite match his tone: "As long as you keep going forward, until you reach the Ursus camp, then kill all those enemies, and take their heads back to our camp in the opposite direction, that's the right way, and I definitely won't scold you."

"...Is this a joke?" Saria's tone clearly carried a hint of doubt.

"Ha, that's based on experience." Tianma couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Alright, if we keep talking, we won't be able to sleep tonight, and we have a train to catch tomorrow."

"Let's get started, Saria. There's no need to overthink it."

Gerald finished the rest of the wine in Seria's glass and put it back next to the boulder: "The sleeping bag Kannot gave me has an inflatable cushion, your tail should fit. Get a good night's sleep, and all the complicated things will be solved."

He snapped his fingers, and the wind stopped again as he wished, and the fire reignited on the wood.

"Good night." A gentle smile appeared in Saria's eyes. "Sweet dreams."

Then he walked to the other side of the camp.

Waifan paused for a moment, silently watching Pegasus's departing figure. After seemingly pondering for a while, she finally resumed her movements.

She looked into the distance.

The wilderness is not as dark as it used to be.

--------

Gerald slowly walked towards the edge of the camp, towards the familiar scent.

He was wearing casual clothes borrowed from the prison guards: a light blue jacket over a t-shirt, and even the standard prison guard trousers, which offered little protection against the cold in the wilderness at night.

Although he doesn't plan to sleep yet.

"How's the communication with that Ms. Waifan going, my friend?"

A deep voice came from behind the helmet, and the familiar figure was now standing next to a rock formation, with an object wrapped in cloth at his feet.

“Sigh, what do you take a friend’s chat for? Talk therapy? She doesn’t actually need any guidance.” Gerald walked over to Kannott and looked at the distant horizon. “She knows exactly what she needs to do.”

“I can see that. I’m usually reluctant to host a Colombian businesswoman, but I have to say that her level of fame is enough to change my attitude towards her. On the other hand, such people usually don’t have a good ending, so I sincerely hope that her future will be different from everything I’ve seen.”

Kannot bent down and picked up the package from the ground: "But let's get back to the topic, my friend, this is for you."

"For me?" Gerald took the package from Kannott's hand, frowning. "So you really were waiting for me?"

“Ah, yes, even if I don’t know in what form or by what method, you still appeared in front of me.” Canno nodded. “When someone told me to wait for someone in the Colombian wilderness, I was actually quite surprised, especially considering that the other person’s identity was very special.”

"She specifically told me not to tell you her name, that you would find out naturally."

Gerald glanced instinctively at the package in his hand: "Our operations are all kept secret... which means someone told you a prophecy?"

“I’m afraid so,” Cannot sighed. “I had a feeling this would be troublesome, but my friend, it’s gotten to a very troublesome point now… Do you remember what I said when I first met you, about how I introduced myself?”

“I have helped many people, Rusthammer, the Cyclopes of Sami, the mystics of Sargon. And usually, a prophecy cannot be made at a precise time, and a prophecy usually ends up being self-fulfilling, but she directly stated a date.”

"Considering the client's identity, the issues here are extremely serious."

“I’m starting to get scared.” Kannot silently turned his gaze to Pegasus beside him. “But no matter what, getting the package into your hands is a deal I have to make.”

Gerald nodded, his eyes lowered, the gaze already telling him what was inside: "Would you mind if I opened it?"

“Why not?” Kannot clearly didn’t reject the offer. “While my professional ethics don’t allow me to open it, I can obviously satisfy some of my curiosity with your permission.”

So Gerald tore off the outer packaging.

When he saw the actual object, his breath caught in his throat for a second.

There is a sword inside.

The family sword.

Chapter Forty-Seven: The Changing Seasons

"You look surprised."

Kannot's words pulled Gerald from his thoughts, and he continued, "The sword has a triangular symbol on it, the symbol of Kazimierz. With its intricate patterns and excessive ornamentation, it is quite practical, clearly a prime example of Kazimierz noble craftsmanship. It's not hard to guess that this is a sword from the Wind Chaser family."

Gerald paused for a moment, then said, "That's true, but logically speaking, it should be in my home right now."

“Perhaps someone is giving you a hint?” Cannot nodded, his tone inquisitive, but he clearly knew where to draw the line. “Anyway, now that the deal is done, I think I should extricate myself from this. I hope you find the answer soon, my friend.”

His figure disappeared into the darkness above the rock, leaving Gerald alone, stroking the surface of the sword.

Regardless of the objective fact that no two swords are exactly alike, he rarely used the swords of the Wind Chaser Clan. Using such a distinctive weapon on the battlefield would be tantamount to revealing his identity to others.

Therefore, ever since he inherited the title of Long Rider, the sword had been sitting untouched in his basement for a long time, only being taken out on certain ceremonies or important occasions.

However, he did use it in a certain place, and there were indeed people who saw him holding the sword.

Dreamland.

He held his sword horizontally in front of his chest, assuming a fighting stance.

He replicated every move he made in his dream of fighting General Felin in reality—it was incredibly smooth and seamless, as if it were his own arm.

Those 109 duels had long since made him accustomed to the sword's weight. Even if he were given the standard longsword from the Kazimierz army, it might not be as comfortable as this sword.

However, this sword lacked any aura of blood; it was more like a decorative vase. If they were to face some powerful opponents, this sword might even break.

After all, more than a hundred years have passed since this sword was forged. Even with the best forging techniques, it is still not considered presentable today, thanks to the gradual improvement and refinement of various technologies.

Thinking of this, Gerald pulled out the jewelry from his chest. These past few days, he had made sure to take off the jewelry every night before going to bed and hold it in his hand.

At this moment, that one-fifth of nothingness still lingers conspicuously in the center, showing no sign of changing.

--------

Strange ceiling.

Or perhaps, there is no concept of a ceiling in the wilderness, and he could only have returned to the valley of the banshees.

It didn't take long for him to sort out his thoughts and feel his limbs again. However, unlike the last time he came to the dream, he was not lying in the room that the succubi had provided.

It could even be said that he had no time to focus on the layout and structure of the room—because at this moment, a hand that did not belong to him was gently stroking his forehead.

He forcibly suppressed the urge to draw his sword and strike.

Ten days later, it's not easy to clearly recall the memories of the last dream. However, the battle with Lamaren is still deeply etched in his mind. His last memory is of the siren taking him to her bedroom and treating him... In other words, at this moment, he is the one who is seriously injured and being cared for.

Good morning, Gerald.

A gentle voice, like a fragrant breeze, came from above him.

He looked up, his gaze meeting a pair of bloodshot eyes.

“I hope I haven’t disturbed your rest.” Ramalyn gently stroked his silver-white hair. Although it felt a little rough to the touch, the faint smile on her face seemed to indicate that she was particularly enjoying this peaceful moment. “The spell put you into a deep sleep for a while.”

"How long have I been asleep?" Gerald tried to speak normally as usual, but before he could finish speaking, the rough, stinging sensation in his throat, as if cut by a knife, made him realize that the problem was probably far more complicated than it appeared.

"Three months."

The words that Ramallian spoke were completely different from her relaxed tone, almost freezing his body in place.

“Three months.” He subconsciously repeated Lamaren’s words, then tried to get up immediately—fortunately, his body was still as agile as usual, “but I was able to stay conscious after the battle was over.”

"The same curse often leaves banshees unconscious for longer than you. Some banshees even spend their youth in this dazed state. And the curses they suffer do not even originate from my power."

Lamaren, however, was not surprised at all: "Aside from the special races among the Sarkaz, an ordinary person would never simply fall into a coma even if they only received a full-force curse from the Lord of the Royal Court. And you received three curses, not including the one used for cutting—that says a lot."

“However, there is something that is quite concerning to me.” She paused slightly, removed her hand from Gerald’s hair, and gently touched his forehead, as if carefully sensing whether there was anything unusual about his body: “Your life force remained unusually strong throughout your coma.”

"what does that mean?"

Gerald silently turned his head away, trying to avoid Ramalen's caress.

He was still somewhat unaccustomed to this kind of contact under non-essential circumstances.

"This means that you could have woken up earlier."

After being clearly rejected, Lamaren's disappointment was palpable, but she quickly suppressed the inappropriate expression: "The essence of a banshee's curse lies in the soul, and the soul and body are one. A body that has completely lost consciousness and had its soul stripped away will gradually approach death. Banshees sometimes experience this feeling through the exchange of curses."

"...Understood, thank you."

Asking more questions is not as effective as taking action.

Gerald took a deep breath, placed his feet firmly on the ground to support himself, and reached out to stop Ramalyn from immediately rushing forward to help.

His clothes had been completely changed into a brand new outfit. His original ring was quietly placed on the table, while his sword and scabbard were neatly placed side by side by the bed. Clearly, the owner of this room had put extra care into them, otherwise he wouldn't have left these cumbersome items in a place where they would be used daily.

Gerald slowly walked to the bedside, reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword, and drew it.

The moment his fingertips touched it, a cold metallic sensation washed over him, while at the same time, the familiar scent of blood filled his nostrils.

This is definitely not the same sword.

But if that's the case—how do you explain the prophecy that Cannot told him, and the sword he actually received?

"Are you alright, Gerald?" He heard the concern from the Banshee Queen behind him.

"I'm very good."

Gerald calmly sheathed his sword and let out a soft sigh of relief.

At least for now, there is one thing we can make a preliminary judgment on.

He probably shouldn't have been in a coma for three months.

Upon seeing Gerald's current appearance, the leader of the banshees slowly stood up. Although she wasn't wearing high heels, she was still a few inches shorter than Gerald, but that couldn't hide the fact that she was tall.

In her own room, she no longer wore the solemn or dignified clothes that Gerald was familiar with, but instead changed into a more relaxed home outfit.

Her dark robe cascaded down to her ankles, its intricate patterns like faint glimmers of light in the darkness. Her long hair was not styled; it was simply draped casually over her shoulders, with a few slightly curled strands falling across her cheeks.

The dark veil that had originally covered his face was no longer necessary to wear—at least not in this room, and in front of him.

Lamaren walked lightly to the window, slowly pushed it open, and a refreshing breeze rushed in, while the tireless chirping of birds echoed in her ears.

The days of transition from spring to summer have arrived.

Chapter Forty-Eight: And just like that, Gerald's life was completely ruined.

It's that feeling of searching for mechanisms within endless possibilities again.

To clarify the current line of thought, the first thing to trace back to is the passage of time—similar to the time when he defeated General Felin, this time after defeating Lamaren, he also had a period of time when he could move freely, and the phenomenon of time passing occurred after entering the dream for the second time.

In this way, the passage of time can be temporarily linked to defeating enemies/advancing important story events, but what about the sword and the prophecy...?

Even in reality, his current actions remain completely uncertain. Neither Mansfield's final destination nor the direction they choose to leave can be predicted.

Unless it's a prophecy.

However, prophecies cannot accurately predict time, thus creating a contradiction that is impossible to achieve without considering the existence of extra-cognitive abilities.

Therefore, under the current circumstances, the only possibility is that he personally told that "her," and from there passed the "prophecy" to Cannot.

If this assumption holds true, then it raises a question:

In his dream, he may indeed be experiencing the past, or even becoming a part of history, as one of the unrecorded heroes who truly participated in the battle against the allied forces of the three kingdoms.

So--

He then understood what to do.

……

Lamaren gently raised her hand, her fingertips tracing arcs in the air. Subtle incantations, like flowing light, floated softly around her. The faint words dissolved into the air in an instant, drifting away on the wind.

When she turned her head, she was able to see the expression on Pegasus's face.

"..." Ramallen's smile faded. She straightened up slightly, her movements carrying a hint of barely perceptible caution: "Gerald, are you really alright?"

“I’m fine, Lamarle, as fine as I could be.” Gerald placed his sword at his waist, looked up at her, and replied earnestly, “In the end, I found that the unknown and the uncertain are the most terrifying. When the doubts in my heart are answered, things are much easier to solve.”

Her response was Tianma's tone, exactly the same as always—except that "everyday" referred to the present.

He always had some concerns in his dreams, but now there's no need for them anymore.

He put the ring back on by the bedside, felt the breeze in the room, and felt a peace he had never experienced in his dreams.

At twenty-six, still living an ordinary, solitary life, perhaps with a few friends, some close confidants, and enough power to overturn certain forces.

But ultimately, he doesn't have an anchor where he can stay for long.