I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

This is indeed how I remember my father.

He is generally mild-mannered and gentle, but sometimes quite annoying. This is because his thinking is wildly unconventional, and sometimes his behavior is even childlike. He is also frighteningly oblivious to many political issues.

Gerald's lips twitched, and he swallowed back the rebuttal he had prepared, replying calmly, "Yes."

"Huh?" The white-haired Pegasus seemed a little surprised by the answer and blinked. Then, his expression became more and more lively. His previously lazy posture immediately straightened up, and his face was full of enthusiastic smiles. Even his eyes narrowed slightly: "Hey, that's right. You've finally reached this age."

He gently patted his knee, his eyes full of anticipation: "So, which one do you like? Do Margaret and Maria still like you? But Maria seemed a bit too young back then. If she still likes you when she grows up, I think I could consider it. That child called me 'brother' when she first met me; that little guy is really lovable."

"It's someone else."

"Eh!"

He suddenly stood up, paced around for a few steps, put his hands on his hips, and even looked up at the ceiling in a pretentious manner, as if he was quickly making some mental calculations.

After a moment, his gaze was fixed on Gerald, but then his expression softened.

"It's a pity I can't see what she looks like." He sat back down as if suddenly deflated, and after thinking for a moment, he asked again, "...Is she prettier than your mother?"

"It's hard to say, they're evenly matched."

"What about your age?"

"Bigger than you and me combined."

"An immortal species?"

"Ah."

"Can you beat me?"

"I'm unlikely to win. I could try if I had to fight desperately, but I wouldn't do that now."

After listening to his child's explanation, the white-haired Pegasus fell silent, which was unusual for him. After a long while, he said, "I think it's a pity about the remaining few as well. Why don't you try to be more compassionate?"

“Is this something a father should say?” Gerald finally couldn’t help but laugh, his tone tinged with helplessness. “Besides, the remaining few have long since become irrelevant to me. I haven’t run into anyone from the Linguang family for two years.”

“Why can’t a father speak up? I just want you to be happy, why should I care about anyone else?” He replied with a bewildered look. “If you think it will make you happy, I will support you even if it means going against the heavens and doing something outrageous.”

“...Even if I go back to Kazimierz and kill everyone indiscriminately?” Gerald paused before finally speaking.

The white-haired Pegasus tilted his head: "Would you feel happy? Can your heart handle it?"

“Maybe.” Gerald nodded.

“That’s everyone’s fault in Kazimierz. Kill them.” Without the slightest hesitation, the white-haired Pegasus concluded, “I believe you, as long as you grant me one request.”

"...What is it?"

Gerald's smile faded slightly, and as if sensing something, he looked around.

An indescribable sense of unreality permeated the air; the walls were like melting canvases, details began to peel away, colors gradually faded, revealing a blank space.

Those things that were once so lifelike are now like flowers in a mirror, within reach, yet shattering the moment they meet.

His desires were fulfilled.

When a person can distinguish between dreams and reality, what truly affects them is only their inner thoughts.

So Pegasus turned his gaze back to the person in front of him.

“Don’t let me become a burden to you,” his father said softly. “For a father, that’s worse than killing me.”

Gerald fell silent.

Before the dream ended, he asked one last question.

"Can...I do this?"

However, the white-haired Pegasus remained silent, only smiling and waving to Gerald.

When the dream completely collapsed, the power contained in the fragrance finally returned to Pegasus's soul.

Along with that, came the last words from that voice.

"Just be careful not to catch a cold. Have a safe trip, Gerald."

Chapter Sixty: When Did the Messenger Girl Arrive? (A long chapter of 7,000 words)

the other side.

A tentacle slowly emerged from Kannot's robe and scratched the iron helmet on his head.

A long queue had formed at the checkpoint of the messenger station. Normally, apart from the occasional passing caravan or a lone traveler, the wilderness is mostly occupied by Rusthammer members scattered in various places, and it is rare to see such a crowded scene.

However, for Colombia, a country whose origins lie in pioneering, wilderness has never been just a synonym for desolation.

In this vast land, every unmarked area may hold immense value: untapped resources, rare relics, or even clues left behind by long-vanished civilizations. Even dangerous Originium clusters may conceal coveted treasures and secrets.

The large-scale excavations by certain companies in the Sargon region are a prime example. After thousands of years of changes in the landscape, who can guarantee that the land beneath our feet doesn't hold the legendary treasures of the Shah?

In Colombia, where drones and aircraft are expensive, the cheapest and most direct resource is undoubtedly human labor.

Therefore, the sight of pioneering teams returning from their explorations has become a common scene here.

The explorers in the group, clad in protective suits, dragged their weary steps, their equipment scratched and eroded by the wind and sand. The badges on their shoulders each spoke of their origins: affiliated with a corporation, a pioneering guild, or even a special team with ties to the government.

Kannot glanced down at the crowd before him, his gaze sweeping over the convoy at the front of the line waiting to be inspected. A squad of soldiers wearing badges stood beside them, maintaining order and checking each returning settler. The infected were isolated in specialized facilities; the outline of makeshift quarantine camps could be vaguely seen outside the outpost.

Ironically, the pioneers and messengers of natural disasters, two professions known as the most susceptible to Oripathy, are now the ones who need to be quarantined at the post stations that should be serving them.

Cannot slowly withdrew his tentacles from the steering wheel, opened the car door, and stepped out with steady steps.

His imposing physique and heavy iron helmet immediately attracted the attention of the pioneers waiting in the surrounding area.

A dusty, disheveled pioneer was the first to call out, "Brother, can I borrow a light?"

Kannot paused slightly, his iron helmet gleaming dimly in the sunlight, silently reflecting the somewhat disheveled appearance of the settlers. He turned his head, slowly casting his gaze upon the group; the aura emanating from beneath his helmet subtly exerted a sense of pressure on them.

"Fire?" Kannot was silent for a moment, then his deep voice finally came from inside the iron helmet.

The pioneer scratched his head and grinned:

"Yeah, bro, don't be so serious, I just wanted to light a cigarette." He pointed to the roll of paper he was holding. "It's windy here, and my old lighter is broken again."

Cannot did not answer immediately, but instead reached out from under his robe and pulled out a box of matches.

He clumsily took one out with his gloved fingers, lit it by rubbing the phosphorus layer on the side, and pressed it against the teetering cigarette. "Use this."

The group of pioneers were stunned for a moment, clearly not expecting Kannot to take out a box of matches, and the atmosphere became a little awkward and curious.

"Hey...brother, you're really...really a traditionalist." The pioneer chuckled, bringing the flame on his tentacle closer and carefully lighting the cigarette. Watching the tiny sparks rise, a smile returned to his dark face: "Hey, thanks, the match really works!"

"It always works, my friend, it always has."

Cannot's tone was now unpredictable. After nodding, he walked past the group toward the back of the truck.

The discussion about his actions continued behind him, and even though the voices were kept very low, they were still faintly audible. For example, "From Victoria? He doesn't look like a pioneer." "He's probably an explorer, an emergency worker. Anyway, he's not common in Colombia." Such remarks quickly reached his ears.

However, he didn't stop and continued walking towards the back of the car.

Just then, a loud bang suddenly erupted from the direction of the post station.

Turning around, I saw that the security checkpoint was in chaos, as if something had appeared inside the station.

About ten minutes later, a dark shadow suddenly flew out of the smoke and dust, tracing a sharp arc in the air.

A moment later, they quickly disappeared into the dense convoy ahead. The crowded vehicles, the chaotic figures, and the glittering metal reflecting the sunlight layered upon each other, obscuring the shadow's whereabouts.

Before long, they disappeared completely into the torrent of convoys, as if they had never existed, leaving only the shouts of the security guards echoing in the air.

------

Fifteen minutes before the explosion occurred.

Angelina Anshin, an operator from Syracuse and affiliated with Rhodes Island, is currently running at top speed with Lupo, who is carrying a large tail on her shoulder.

As a messenger, Angelina rarely chooses to stay in one place for long. She has many goods and letters to deliver, from Yan Kingdom in the far east of Terra to Sargon in the west. The moment she sets off, it means there is no turning back.

Therefore, she carefully plans her journey for each delivery, so that other people's sentiments can be conveyed to them more quickly.

This trip was a little different.

Traveling to Rhodes Island offices in various locations and collecting monitoring ring data from operators who hadn't returned to their ships for a long time—this was the first time she had received a formal commission from the Rhodes Island authorities, even though she had previously received many commissions from Rhodes Island operators without her knowledge.

As a messenger, Angelina possesses overwhelming advantages compared to other messengers.

She really can fly.

According to her own understanding, the key is to make her body "whoosh" lighter than air, so that she can float in the air and fly away to a distant place.

According to official sources, she can only influence gravity. Although the magnitude is not high, it is more than enough for delivering mail and checking weight.

This Originium Arts can also be applied to other people, such as Miss Lupo, who is currently carrying a large tail on her shoulder.

“Angelina…slow down…no, faster!!” Provence, the messenger of natural disasters, was fighting off the urge to vomit and kept urging Angelina to speed up. “We need to get to the messenger station quickly for geological analysis! The soil temperature is too abnormal!!”

"I know! But this is already the fastest I can go, I'll try a few more times!"

Angelina gritted her teeth and forced herself to push her Originium Arts to their limit.

Her feet flew as she traversed the rugged rock face, sending pebbles flying with each step. The whistling wind roared in her ears, carrying a few grains of sand that brushed against her cheeks.

Provence, standing beside her, gripped her arm tightly with one hand and clutched the compass and map to his chest with the other, guiding Angelina while trying to maintain his balance.

The scenery along the way changed rapidly. The once vast wilderness gradually shrank into a thin line on the horizon, with shrubs and desert plants constantly flashing past and being left behind in an instant. The cliffs became steeper, and the distant mountains and storm clouds intertwined, casting shadows that spread across the ground like twisted monsters.

“The direction of the compass… wait, Ange, it’s that way!” Provence pointed forward, her voice sharp as her muscles tensed.

Angelina quickly focused her gaze on where the compass was pointing.

A precipitous cliff line appeared clearly before us, plunging straight into the end of the wasteland as if cleaved by a knife and axe.

Her pupils contracted slightly, and her body relaxed.

"...Never mind."

Angelina gritted her teeth and muttered a sentence in a low voice. Her tail swayed violently in the wind, her ears stood up high, and she gripped her staff even tighter.

Provence asked almost instinctively, "What do you want to do? Angela, wait—"

Clearly, someone wouldn't give her a chance to finish speaking.

The cliffs of the Gaspar Desert bear witness to some of the most spectacular scenery in the wilderness, and are also the fastest way to get around the area. Simply take a Colombian GPS, walk to the edge of a cliff, and jump off – you'll die, but you'll also be showing future generations a route that saves you half an hour.

Of course, sometimes you don't have to die.

At least Angelina wouldn't.

The surrounding gravitational field began to change. The two bodies were lifted up in a strong sense of weightlessness, and then crossed the edge of the cliff in an unbelievable trajectory.

Provence gripped Angelina's shoulders tightly, her tail stood stiffly upright in the air, her ears trembled slightly, and Angelina's body began to tremble as she lost her strength.

The full-speed run had left her with almost no strength, making it impossible for her to stay airborne for an extended period as usual. However, simply jumping off the cliff and gliding through the air for a short distance was not a difficult task for the messenger in her current state.

The problem is that she didn't think about it at all on her way here.

The messenger station was actually built not far from the cliff—so much so that when she flew some distance with Provence, they were already above the station.

The messenger station below gradually came into view, with its dense buildings, bustling crowds, and parked vehicles. The soldiers on the watchtower were the first to notice the two people descending from the sky and alertly raised their binoculars.

Moments later, the alarm suddenly went off.

“…It’s over, they’ve found us.” Angelina muttered softly, glancing at the soldiers who had already begun their work and the weapons they had raised, without saying anything more.

She subtly adjusted the gravitational field, allowing the two to approach the ground at a faster speed.

Just as the two were about to approach the square of the post station, before they could even stand still, a "click" sound came from all around them, and the sound of a crossbow being cocked instantly echoed in their ears.

A dozen soldiers quickly surrounded them, coldly pointing their aim at them.

"Stop! Don't move!"

A fully armed Colombian soldier stepped out from the crowd. The Colombian national emblem on his shoulder gleamed in the sunlight, and he looked like the commander of the group.

"Your actions violate the post station's regulations; crossing the checkpoint is a serious violation." The commander's tone was icy, his gaze remaining ever vigilant. "Please state your identities and purpose, or we will detain you immediately."

"Wait a minute! I am the messenger of natural disasters, and she is the messenger."

Provence immediately raised his hands and nodded to Angelina, who was panting in front of him. Her voice was heavy with breaths, but still maintained its usual gentleness: "We have observed abnormal weather patterns on the road and need to conduct a geological inspection immediately. This could very well be a sudden natural disaster."

The commander's gaze lingered on the Originium fragments on Angelina for a few seconds, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly: "We need to examine the credentials of the two messengers of the Cataclysm."

The two noticed this movement instantly.

Unpleasant memories flooded his mind. Provence nodded slightly, carefully opened the bag on his back, took out a stack of well-protected documents, and handed them to a soldier who approached.