I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

At this point, whether witchcraft involves the soul or concepts becomes irrelevant.

Although his energy would be completely drained in an instant, he might still have a chance of winning if he only wanted to deal with top-tier fighters who weren't particularly skilled in close combat.

However, this time, the cloth on his shoulders was not replenished as before... Whether it could suppress the power of the curse remained an unknown.

Gerald closed his eyes slightly, exhaled softly, gripped his sword tightly, and strode forward steadily.

……

The closer Gerald got to the enormous bed frame, the more clearly he could feel the power of the incantation gradually gathering in the air.

This feels wrong.

No one ever blows the starting whistle on the battlefield. The moment he stepped toward the bed, the incantation in the courtyard was activated like a flame.

This time, Ramalen didn't need to speak; the songs of the past kings had already deeply permeated this space: every breath seemed to whisper, and every inch of land represented inviolable authority and truth.

Gerald instantly went from stillness to high-speed movement, as if everything around him had been left behind. The suit the Banshee had designed for him clearly took his style of movement into account; the fabric flowed in the wind, conforming to every sudden stop and dodge. His hands and feet still felt light—but this lightness was quickly reversed into heaviness.

Centered on the large bed, thorns rapidly spread from the surrounding stone pillars, mirroring the thorn altar in the center of the valley. The thorns intertwined, forming intricate cross-shaped patterns, like some kind of precise seal, firmly locking the entire space in place.

An invisible sense of oppression enveloped Gerald, making each step feel as heavy as sinking into mud, requiring immense strength to move even a single step.

What's even more suffocating is that these thorns aren't still; they're becoming active at an alarming speed, rapidly closing in with an aggressive posture. His space for maneuver is being compressed little by little, leaving him with nowhere to retreat.

At first, there were only a few thorns, but then, the thorns that spread from between the stone pillars grew wildly as if they were alive, climbing and intertwining, and eventually completely filled every inch of the space.

Looking up, the ceiling was already covered with thorns, and the thick layer of plants blocked all the way out, making it difficult for even light to penetrate.

Gerald quickly adjusted his breathing, his eyes scanning the surroundings for a possible breakthrough. However, all sounds were gradually swallowed up by the rustling of the growing thorns, leaving only the eerie rustling echoing in his ears.

The Banshee Queen stood not far away, her figure disappearing into the deepening darkness. Only her and his breathing mingled, sounding exceptionally clear on this silent battlefield.

However, the problems he was about to face were even worse.

Lamaren herself joined the battle.

She didn't use the bone pen in her hand, because the thorns were creeping towards them. As they drew closer, they could even sense the decay and curses clinging to them.

Using spells in this kind of space carries the risk of rebounding back onto oneself, not to mention that she is also in this darkness.

But the banshee doesn't only have this one weapon.

Lamaren slightly raised her chin, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Then, a beautiful and melodious song slowly flowed from her lips.

Passed down from ancient times, this elegy symbolizes death and carries with it an indescribable sorrow and allure.

The Banshee Queen's voice was extremely soft, like the strength of a mother cradling an infant in her arms. Yet, the voice possessed an incredibly penetrating power, as if invisible threads echoed in the air, weaving an impenetrable net. Each note carried a sharp pain, unearthing and savoring the deepest fears and regrets of the past.

Blood flowed from Gerald's nasal cavity.

The banshee's screams were clearly weakened in intensity, but this made them more precise, and their lethality more subtle yet deadly.

To counter this auditory assault, his Originium Arts were also at work—the power of the wind was controlled into a near-vacuum area, significantly slowing the transmission of sound. This act, which was like forcibly piercing his ears to stop the singing, was brutal, but at least it allowed him to still have some breathing room.

However, this sense of ease soon vanished as well.

With each step he took closer, the banshee's song grew stronger with the echoes in the space, and his movements became increasingly sluggish. He could only barely push his body to its limits, desperately running towards the space that had not yet been swallowed up, dodging the gaps in the thorns.

As the song reached its climax, the air suddenly froze, as if solidified. Everything around was enveloped by an invisible pressure, making even breathing difficult.

Only now did Pegasus realize what the end of this hunt was.

The thorns seemed to be spreading towards him in a chaotic manner, but the flood-like invasion was a carefully designed deception from the very beginning.

Gerald had thought that the bed should have been overwhelmed by the ever-approaching thorns.

However, after losing his sense of space and distance, and with the banshee's song briefly breaking through his mind, he didn't even notice that his position was being squeezed towards the center of the room.

But when his foot was tripped by the suddenly appearing edge of the bed, he landed on the bed.

He finally understood something.

It wasn't the incantation on the bed that activated everything around him, but rather that everything—the song, the thorns, the darkness, and even his own every move—was a prelude to leading him here.

The bed was never swallowed up by thorns.

The thorns stopped spreading, and the footsteps of the Banshee Queen appeared behind him.

……

"The succubi before me used to select their prey by hunting in the courtyard, taking pleasure in watching them struggle in the thorns."

"Sometimes, when a powerful and perceptive individual hears of this and comes to challenge them, they will make these rituals... more formal."

"This tradition has been passed down to this day, and I once swore that my courtyard would only exist to protect the banshees from external enemies and to ensure the continuation of the race."

The gentle voice brushed against his back and climbed up his spine.

"But do you know what this place is for, Gerald?"

Pegasus felt a part of his body being repaired… The incantation inscribed on the bed itself was suppressing him while simultaneously repairing his body… What was the reason for this? Also, why was it designed this way? Was it for the Lord of the Royal Court to recover? Is it only the banshee who is unaffected by the suppression?

He kept thinking about how to break the deadlock. The cloth on his shoulders had not been replenished. Since leaving Mansfield, he had not had time to make any preparations before rashly accepting this challenge.

We must continue to think, to find a way to break this deadlock—

"—Naturally, it is used for continuation."

“And I did not break my vow. I did activate the spell here for the continuation of the race, not for my own amusement… absolutely not.”

"Don't forget one thing, Gerald: no matter how friendly you are to them, banshees are, after all, a race that has lived by plunder since ancient times. We will plunder everything we want and take it into our hands."

"The banshee's claws will shatter the skulls of her prey, tear their flesh apart; leaving only the most precious, the most delectable parts—"

Tianma finally spoke up, saying, "Wait a moment."

The air was quiet for a while.

Lamarle's movements softened again. She slowly pulled her weight off the bed, suppressing her agitation and uncontrollable emotions.

That was definitely too hasty.

Well, it was just a test anyway, so the problem isn't too big.

Just be patient and wait for the next opportunity. In any case, the time spent taking care of him has been enough. Just be patient.

There is time before the limit is reached.

The idea lingered in her mind, unwillingly persisting—until Gerald uttered his next words.

"I haven't even had time to rinse my mouth or wash my face yet. Succubus... do you have a corresponding incantation?"

"...Is that all?"

"that is it."

Lamaren's long hair fell like the night sky, cascading around him, the smooth strands brushing against his shoulders.

well.

Gerald thought to himself.

This could also be a way to win a battle; he won't lose.

------

"What's wrong, Nastya?"

The young succubus was holding a large book in her hands, reciting its contents with a worried expression, glancing at her friend in front of her from time to time.

She seemed to have been staring at the distant palace built of piled rocks since yesterday, the courtyard of the king's court.

“Speaking of which,” the young banshee looked around, “it seems something quite sensational happened at the Tower of Words yesterday. Did you go see it? I was asleep at the time and had no idea what happened.”

"I am not sure as well."

She silently kept track of the time; a full day had passed since she first felt the thorns.

She had read about it in the book; it was a domain that the Banshee Queen used to resist external enemies. The fact that it could last for a day and a night without dissipating meant it could only be that person named "Gerald" from before.

That young man resembling Kuranta was indeed a being whose strength was no less than that of the King of the Royal Court.

Even if it meant kneeling and begging... she had to investigate the feasibility of her idea. If it could make the thorns disappear, she should quickly ask him for advice on that.

Thinking this, she repeatedly cast her gaze toward that courtyard.

The thorns that had been entrenched there finally began to recede slowly.

Chapter 51 Will a "young" banshee dream of a reincarnated pegasus?

The next morning's light bathed the succubus's courtyard.

The cool light shone through the gaps in the stone pillars, gradually dispelling the darkness that had enveloped the entire night. The thorns that had been clinging to the courtyard began to slowly shrink back, their branches folding back onto the stone pillars one by one after fulfilling their purpose, disappearing once more into the protection of the incantation.

Gerald silently watched the thorns recede, holding in his hand a broken branch cut from the thorns, from which a few wisps of light faintly seeped, carrying the aura of the incantation that had not been completely extinguished.

The power of decay attempted to enter his body along the branches, but the traces of the incantations were always kept out by an invisible barrier, unable to penetrate even a little.

His fingertips gently traced the rough surface of the broken branch.

This wasn't a change brought about by Lamaren; it was a result he deduced while his bedmate was sleeping—thanks to the curse within the banshee's bed, he could still maintain a...vigorous vitality.

Perhaps it was because of this that Ramalyn initially seemed determined to defeat him and force him to beg for mercy in an extremely forceful manner.

Although she can only lie motionless in bed now, unable to make even the slightest sound.

There are two reasons for this outcome. First, the Kurantas are more accustomed to interacting with their own kind rather than engaging in deeper contact with other races. Other races find it difficult to tolerate their size and behavior regarding certain private matters. Coupled with minor physical differences, the battle was essentially one-sided.

On the other hand... for some reason, after initially forcefully pinning him down on the bed, Lamaren quickly lost her initial dominance. Not only did she appear exceptionally submissive, but she also almost completely obeyed him, showing no intention of resisting any of his actions.

He had even prepared himself to die once more.

After finishing his exercise, he spent most of his remaining time studying the surrounding thorns and the core uses of the incantation in bed.

However, the deconstruction process was not smooth. Apart from testing that it was highly likely to restore his vitality to its original state, there were no other clues. On the contrary, the cloth on his shoulder kept conveying a kind of celebratory joy to him.

...For no reason at all.

Tenma rubbed his sore eyes and sighed.

He gently pulled his arm away from under her, carefully lifting himself up so as not to touch the hair scattered on the bed.

The situation was so dire that even describing it as horrific would be an understatement. Although the wind ensured that the dense aura in the space wouldn't reach anyone's noses the moment the thorns were cleared, instead rising straight up to the clouds and dissipating, the designer of this bed clearly hadn't anticipated that the Banshee Queen would be defeated in her own domain.

The result of losing control was that the large bed, which could accommodate more than a dozen people, was completely covered with traces of the battle.

The silk-like bedding now looked as if it had been pulled out of the water and dried in the sun. Even after his heart had beat 30,000 times since the end of his workout, he could still feel the slight hardening on it.

The sheets were crumpled together, as if the whole place had been turned upside down, and strips of fabric torn off were scattered everywhere, rustling all over the floor.

The scars on his body still burned with pain, especially on his back. Pegasus's regenerative power allowed new flesh to grow rapidly, but it would soon be torn open again by the banshee's sharp nails under extreme pressure, leaving almost indelible marks on his body.

Blood and sweat were indistinguishable, and their breaths, almost touching, had long since blended together, inseparable.

Darkness is indeed bad, Gerald thought to himself.

It can completely destroy one's rationality, leading to actions that resemble those of a wild beast.

After things calmed down, things gradually became more complicated.

In his view, he couldn't understand at all what Ramalyn's mental journey was all about.

Up until the previous dream—no, it should be said that during the past journey, although Ramalyn had expressed sincere gratitude to him and made some intimate gestures, a ruler of the royal court should not act so impulsively. Even if she maintained unconditional trust in him, she should always be vigilant.

Think carefully about your motives.

He did indeed meet the condition of ensuring the continuation of the banshee's bloodline.

As the lord of the banshees, he had previously taken on the responsibility of ensuring the continuation of his race in order to fight a pure and ruthless battle, and he also went along with spouting some nonsensical philosophical maxims.

The succubus herself had already made a request to him, saying that she just wanted to stay a little longer... He didn't seem to have done anything to offend her, and such a domineering attitude clearly indicated something unusual.

I still can't understand it.

Even though they both appear to be humanoid, the Banshee Queen and her perception seem to always be on opposite sides.

……

Gerald slowly moved closer to the banshee, looking down at Lamaren as she slept soundly.

Weariness still lingered on her face, and faint tear tracks etched along her cheeks. Her breathing was steady and shallow, and her long eyelashes trembled slightly, as if she were having a dream unknown to anyone.

What will she dream of? Will she dream of the walls of Kazdel, or the battlefields she once traversed? Will it be the time when the banshees gathered together, or the moment when she fought him?