I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

Judging from his age, he must be at least seventy or eighty years old, yet he has a face that is so perfect it's almost terrifying.

If he were to appear in some folk legends, people would inevitably suspect that he maintains his youth by eating children.

But this is Terra after all, and stories of immortal beings are not uncommon. The problem isn't really here; it doesn't matter to him whether the other party has lived for millions of years.

"Okay, then let's pretend I came from the future."

Gerald sighed. Things that shouldn't have been this complicated had suddenly turned into a side story, making him quite depressed: "The last time I saw you, you came up to kill me without saying a word, so I was going to kill you too."

"Then I lost the fight and died. But I took a nap and came back."

"From my perspective, it's possible that I travel back in time every time I sleep, or it's possible that my dreams are connected with yours. Otherwise, I can't figure out why your army didn't just rush down and gang up on me, but deliberately left this scene where we fight one-on-one."

“It’s also possible that some supreme power has woven a trial ground for me, and you in front of me are just a vessel with memories.” He gestured a universe with his fingertips: “Or, I can jump to another timeline while I’m asleep, which is a classic novel trope.”

"Look, there are just too many possibilities. Why don't you tell me exactly what kind of response you want, so I can meet your needs?"

Silence filled the space between the two.

Kal'tsit was unable to respond to Gerald's question for a moment, whether because she had learned a shocking truth or because she was annoyed by Gerald's nagging and didn't even want to speak.

In contrast, the Originium Arts around Gerald were much more substantial, with wind clinging to the soles of his feet, already preparing for the next attack.

"Now, let me ask you a better question."

Even if we talk things out now—does it matter? Will it have any impact on the outcome?

He looked at the other person, drops of blood falling from the sword in his hand.

"You brought the allied forces of the three kingdoms here. Surely you won't stop here just because I'm the descendant of the child you picked up, or some mysterious person who traveled from the future?"

"As for me, I dreamt of you yesterday, and I dreamt of you today, and I'll probably dream of you tomorrow too. I might even see you while I'm taking a nap. But I have no reason to waste time honing my skills on explaining things every time."

Gerald had no desire to say a word to this venerable figure in front of him.

To drag in grudges from nearly a century ago? He simply doesn't have the strength or resources for that now.

The best solution is to let things take their course. It's not too late to talk about this when he has beaten the other party.

For him, not being able to take the initiative in the conversation was a very torturous thing.

Now, the woman's expression was hidden behind the shadow of her hood, making it impossible to read her mind. Ironically, it was this very appearance that made Gerald feel that everything he had just said was in vain.

So he raised the sword in his hand.

"So, fighting is more suitable for the two of us than chatting—you agree, right?"

------

The sound of the bars slowly opening echoed in the empty C area, followed by the crisp sound of heels hitting the ground, and a cold, stern figure appeared outside the cell.

Seria's gaze lingered on her target for a moment—this former rich young master named Anthony had developed many good habits in prison. He was polite, cautious, and self-disciplined, treating all prisoners in both Block A and Block B equally, maintaining a courteous attitude towards most guards, and she was no exception.

She pressed her fingerprint on the door lock and said coldly to the person inside, "Go take roll call, then you can have breakfast, prisoner."

Anthony had just finished his morning workout, wiped the sweat off his body with a towel, and nodded to Seria outside the door: "Thank you, are you the new prison guard?"

Seria didn't answer, and Anthony took this reaction as normal, simply greeting her briefly: "I didn't mean anything by it, I won't make things difficult for you."

"However, this prison is not friendly to most people. I wish you all the best in making it here."

The heavy footsteps left from Sector C. Saria didn't stop and walked directly to the innermost cell.

The transparent glass essentially exposed all the prisoners' secrets. After all, even if the two old men in Block C didn't need the guards to keep such a close watch on them, the other serious offenders were not so easy to deal with.

If they're not careful, they could really pay an unimaginable price.

But when Saria walked past Anthony's cell, the scene before her left her speechless for quite a while.

"……What are you doing?"

Compared to his condition yesterday, Gerald's mental state today is clearly very worrying.

The man in front of me had placed his long legs against the wall, pressed his back against the floor, and stared at the notebook in his hand without moving, his face full of weariness.

Looking inside from the outside, it's like a giant lizard that has just crawled out of the abyss, with even its ears and tail exuding an air of decadence.

"Hmm? It's nothing. I just ran into a problem that I couldn't figure out no matter how hard I tried. I've been thinking about it for about a whole night."

Gerald lightly poked the paper with the tip of his pen, the ink quickly making a mess of the surface. Beside him, a longsword, cobbled together from various parts and screws, lay quietly on the floor.

“Contraband is prohibited in prison.” Saria glanced at the sword on the floor only symbolically before looking away. “You don’t seem to be concerned about medical issues, but your health should always come first.”

“You’re right, so I’m planning to catch up on some sleep later tonight.” Gerald casually flipped to the section he had written last night in his notebook and tossed it precisely to Saria, who was standing in the doorway. “Here, you can check my homework.”

While Saria was silently flipping through her notes, Gerald, who was lying on the ground beside her, gently picked up the "sword" that was placed next to him and pointed the tip of the sword at the ceiling.

The battle with General Felin was not going well.

Simply put, his words had a "counterproductive" effect.

Although this venerable figure was willing to continue fighting him... this time he was truly going all out, showing no mercy whatsoever.

Even without the monster joining the battle, their exchanges still didn't exceed ten moves. When the opponent unleashed her masterful swordsmanship, Gerald had almost no ability to resist and could only try to buy time by parrying repeatedly.

However, there is some good news as well.

His opponent's swordsmanship was from the same school as his, and with a little more thought, he could figure out the pattern, which made it much easier to break down the movements.

If Gerald's own swordsmanship was a killing technique honed through instruction and combat, then General Felin's swordsmanship was like his ultimate form.

There's no spirituality to speak of; it's always been rigid and formulaic, relying on a single, effective trick.

It's that "flirting" move.

Deflecting the enemy's sword in the direction she desires, seizing the initiative in the attack during those brief milliseconds, and then gradually amplifying the openings created until the enemy can no longer maintain their defensive stance, is a technique well-suited for duels.

The problem isn't how to counter this move; the key issue lies in her physical strength.

To give an analogy, imagine a small nuclear bomb flying toward your location in an unpredictable way. Even if you come up with a theory that can decipher the trajectory of the ballistic missile, the blast radius of the nuclear bomb will still obliterate you completely.

This is the problem Gerald is facing now.

Her sword was heavy and so fast that even he, a celestial horse, could hardly discern the direction of the attack. Some of her subconscious feints made it impossible for him to defend against them, not to mention her combat intuition, which was as precise as computer code.

After thinking for most of the night, Gerald could only come to one conclusion:

You can only fight head-on.

Furthermore, you must be able to parry one of her signature moves in close-quarters combat. Once you can parry it once, you can practice until you can parry it every time.

The opponent still has that monster they haven't used, and he hasn't used all his Originium Arts yet. As long as he trains day after day, one day he will be able to defeat the opponent with pure skill.

To achieve this, the prerequisite is—

Gerald, leaning against the wall, suddenly exerted force with his legs, spinning in the air like a top. Following the imagined path of his opponent's sword strike, he deflected the oncoming sword.

He then swiftly thrust at the wall in front of him, stopping just before making contact.

—We must learn the skills of that General Felin.

"Phew!" Gerald relaxed completely and let out a long sigh of relief. "Alright! I'll study hard today too... uh."

His confident words stopped when he turned around and saw the view at the doorway.

The wind whipped up by the sword strike blew Saria's police hat off her head, landing it in a corner of the corridor and messing up her carefully styled long hair from that morning, with nearly half of the strands curling up on half of her face.

……

After a long silence, Gerald put the sword back in the cell where he usually hid things, and then stood obediently in place.

Saria unlocked the cell with her fingerprint and slowly walked into it.

She carefully placed the notebook under her pillow to avoid damaging it, and then casually pulled the strands of hair covering her face up with one hand and tied them with a hair tie from her pocket.

Gerald glanced silently at the increasingly solidified enamel in the other's hand, then looked up at the emotionless face.

He sighed and slowly uttered his last words.

"Hold."

Chapter Eight: The Hands Begin to Turn

It must be said that although Saria appears cold on the outside, she is actually a good person on the inside. As long as you don't violate her principles and bottom line, she will only give you a verbal warning about most things.

Given the choice between a smiling face that hides some wicked thoughts and an icy beauty who always has a stern expression but is actually easy to get along with as long as she follows the rules, it's easy to tell which one to choose with a little thought.

Incidentally, the former was not referring to Gerald.

After all, the only way to describe the expression on his face right now is "grimacing".

"...Please do not speak during treatment, Mr. Gerald."

Mansfield's doctor always liked to look down at the cold, uneven floor so she wouldn't have to meet the hostile stares of others.

Few people could make her feel comfortable looking them in the eye; her father was one of them, and Anthony was another. The person in front of her, however, simply treated her as a normal friend.

Therefore, she doesn't avoid her friends' sight.

However, becoming friends with this Mr. Gerald meant always having to put up with his incessant chatter.

Duma thought it was time for her to consider unleashing a calming Originium Arts spell on him when he wasn't looking.

"—Hey, you haven't heard the most crucial part yet. I dodged the prison guard's deadly attack with a 'whoosh,' and just then, my fist slammed towards her temple like lightning, stopping just in time... Hmph, if I hadn't stopped in time, the cell wouldn't look so nice right now; it would probably be a mess of red and white mixed together!"

"Since you stopped in time, why are you covered in bruises? Did you want to start a business together with him?"

Gerald nonchalantly touched his unharmed face. "One thing at a time, at least I can be considered to have won, right?"

He wasn't just making things up.

Since Saria confronted him yesterday and explained the principles of calcification, Gerald realized his method was indeed feasible. The main reason she hadn't suffered much in this regard so far was that she hadn't encountered a species faster than her.

What he didn't say was that if he really attacked, it would only cause Saria to stagger and catch her breath for a while, and bleed a little.

Vayvan's physical attributes are just that formidable.

Then you'll see red, white, blue, and purple mixed together on his corpse.

"That's impressive, you can even fight off prison guards."

In Duma's memory, she had never seen Anthony fight with a prison guard, so her judgment of their strength was still based on the most basic prison brawls. It was understandable that he couldn't beat a fully armed prison guard. "However, it's always better to be careful when fighting. You should have informed me when you secretly brought Anthony to the infirmary last time."

"Okay, okay, I'll definitely do it next time, I'll definitely do it next time." Gerald chuckled, then his arm was pinched hard by Duma.

After Duma carefully applied ointment to treat the bruises on his body, he stood up from the chair, stretched comfortably, and thanked the doctor as always: "Thank you so much, Duma."

In the past, when he got injured during training, he would ask this young doctor to treat him. Apart from some old guys who always fought in prison but never died, Gerald was probably the prisoner who came to the infirmary most often for treatment.

However, today seemed different from usual. A hint of hesitation flashed across the young doctor's face, and his gaze, which had been gloomy, now held a hint of worry.

“Say what you want to say,” Gerald bluntly saw through her thoughts. “Be brave, be frank, Duma. Do you remember what I told you before?”

"...If someone gets impatient, just throw Originium Arts at them?"

“That’s right. Violence isn’t a good thing, but it really can solve most problems, including making those who don’t want to listen to you quiet down.” Gerald snapped his fingers, pulled out his chair again, and sat down. “Come on, say whatever you want. If you have the power to make people listen to you, then don’t be afraid.”

Duma opened his mouth, then lowered his eyes again: "I heard from Anthony that you're about to leave prison."

“Yes, I’m here today for this reason in a way as well.” Gerald nodded. “I have an escape plan, and I’ll tell you about it once I’ve filled in the details—if possible, I’d like to take you and Anthony with me.”

“But I grew up here, and I’ve never been outside more than a few times.” Duma looked up, her eyes filled with confusion. “What’s it like outside? What would I do if I went outside? Where would I live? I don’t know any of these things.”

“I think so too,” he shrugged, smoothing the hair that had fallen over his shoulder. “If you want, Columbia is a good place for you to settle down. You’ll learn a lot of new things. I have a very energetic friend who would never refuse a user of Originium Arts who is skilled in medicine.”

"Making some spare money, pursuing your interests, and trying things you've never experienced in prison sounds both exciting and scary, right?"

“Is that so…” Duma murmured softly, “When I actually meet someone outside the prison, I will definitely be speechless, and my body will tremble uncontrollably… But by then, I don’t think I will have friends like you or Anthony who can help me.”

“But you don’t want to stay in this prison either.” Gerald quickly realized the hidden meaning in Duma’s words—this was a good change.

A very good change.

For a long time, in Gerald's eyes, Duma was like the protagonist of an old movie, a pianist who spent his entire life on a ship from birth to death, freezing his life in this tomb where even the land could not be seen.

But now, time itself is starting to show signs of movement on Duma.

"The last time I set foot on Colombian soil, I followed your instructions and handed a note to the fruit vendor, along with a gold voucher."

The girl swallowed hard and slowly recounted her experience, “I lied to him and said I couldn’t speak… although I really couldn’t say a word.”

"But the green grapes are very sweet, and the bananas are very sweet. We can eat the freshest fruit without having to wait for the food delivery person to come back... I thought, how wonderful it would be if I could grow some fruit trees myself, wait for the saplings to grow, and pick the fruit when it's at its best."

“But trees can’t be grown in Mansfield.” A touch of sadness appeared at the corner of her eye. “Life won’t grow here. Even if you water them every day and nurture them, they won’t bear any fruit because there’s no sunlight here.”

There was no sign of life.