A Wish to Grab Happiness

The state of the fallen Rugis is undoubtedly critical, which can be called a state of gravity.

Hanging it from your right hand to your shoulder is burnt and rotten, not carbide equals a miracle, and your upper body, mainly your back, is also marked by skin degeneration. That sight of red and black cannot be said to withstand very direct vision, distorting the expression of Fialert La Borgograd.

But if we don't save him here, he dies. Fialert doesn't mind his own footsteps fluttering, and he's going to stop under Rugis, who fell and fell.

Now. This is the only time. Arson noise is also beginning to show calm due to desperate fire suppression work by believers. The only time I can help Rugis is when they don't have time to stand here. It is undoubtedly the hand of the Reaper who welcomes this heavy state if left unattended, even if he survives more and more, there will always be a disability in his body. Life as an adventurer is hopeless.

Oh, I won't tolerate that. Fialert's hands were pressed against the wound. I don't think I've touched my skin. The feeling spreads flat on my hands. That's what I decided to do to save Rugis. I was so convinced that he was the one who should be golden. Yes, can you forgive him if he stays like this and decays here?

Again, Fialert's lips chant magic and change shape.

"... duh, duh... duh!?

Clogged throat. It's like the magic that's supposed to get tangled up in your voice doesn't output. From the body, that's from the tip of my hair to my toes, I have no magical reaction whatsoever, trying to run my senses around.

Fialert's expression is blue, his eyes stained with remorse and despair. She understood this feeling very well. Once, when I still trusted my efforts, I accumulated them every day until I was in this state.

That is, this is a phenomenon of magic depletion. Not less, depletion. In this state, a magician cannot exercise magic unless he receives a proper rest.

In an attempt to concentrate on how much magic twisted, nothing is aggregated at hand, and the throat does not output a voice, as if it had forgotten how to make a sound.

Oh, that's a lie. There is something like this.

In those black eyes, there are tears. Finally, finally. I finally found my way. A man named Rugis is about to catch his breath. Even so, I still can't do anything. Weird than ever.

It's useless.

If this is the case, I should have died. If you were to be slapped down into the abyss of hell after being made to see hope like this, it would have been better to be held in flames and die with him. That is the undisputed salvation.

The chest of the fialert is painted black and dragged into the ground. She lay her eyes down and nearly let her face down. Suddenly two voices echoed in its earlobes. A woman and a man's voice.

"Is it the depletion of magic? It's something you can't do."

"I already have a dark neighborhood in my expression, rest, fialert. If you run out of magic, I'm sorry you're safe."

That's what I say, a man's hand can be reached.

One of the voices is a voice that is often familiar to fialerts. That was undisputed, the voice color of Hert Stanley. The hand that can be reached is gentle and the expression is a guide to fialert. And the other belonged to a girl who always followed beside Rugis, a female swordsman, named Kalia.

They both have coal on somewhere in their outfits, with a red pattern that presumably returns blood. But I can't see a big scratch on that surface.

What Fialert lodged in his chest when he raised his face from a state of leaning down and recognized the two appearances were two conflicting emotions.

One, appeasement.

Oh, now he's gonna help. They are indisputably talented. Even though it began to quench the fire, it can be seen from the way it would have dived through this noise almost intact. They are the gold itself. So you don't have to worry about anything anymore. It all fits well now.

And the second is hatred that freezes those breasts.

The body of the fialert is stretched, the back teeth are tightened, and the stiffness is raised. Oh, again. Is it again? After me, him, and Rugis have exhausted themselves, will the gold take away from you in the end? Please don't. I don't need that reality. If I could only rely on gold to let him know that I couldn't do anything, I wanted him and the two of them to die here.

relief given in exchange for dignity and independence. Will the poor welcome such a hand from heaven? Fialert saw his fingertips tremble unconsciously. On the lid is the bravery of Rugis earlier. He acted indisputably to preserve his dignity and, as a result, tried to enjoy death. I took the Sickle of Reaper as my friend and tried to die while keeping myself.

Oh, how sweet that is. Will you be able to choose such behavior from me? Can you take the sweet fruit that is before death?

Slightly, the fialert deflects its face from the two and distorts its righteous expression. In those eyes, indeed, were tears of remorse.

"No, you can't. You said Fialert, I'll get you another job."

Block the hert that reached out to rest the fialert, and Kalia affirms so. Walking as sure as she was, she picked it up from the rubble.

At first glance, that doesn't look greatly worthwhile. It looks like an old sword and is worth a certain amount as an antique or not. Yeah, speaking of which, the sword that Rugis was lowering to his waist, even as it was that article, seemed to Fialert. Even so, I'm not sure, as far as it looks and touched substitutes.

"- This is our family heirloom. In inheritance, what was also called mystery and miracle. I don't know about that potency either. It's just that it was magically purified."

Use it, and say so. Kalia throws his sword unconstructively. Fialert, bewildered, received that old sword, just thrown at his chest, with both hands.

Oh, this is foreign. The moment I received it, a sigh of admiration leaked out of Fialert's throat. She doesn't know how effective this is as a sword. But this is braided with a piece of iron, even to its pattern, pressed side by side and with magic. Will we be able to reproduce this in this day and age where we have gathered first-class wizards and sorcerers from all nations?

Both hands of the grasping fialert seep by accidental sweat.

"I don't need an explanation. I guess this adventurist fool did something unsolicited anyway.... Too much, I can't help it"

Therefore, to the whining voice, Fialert doubted his ears and sent a strange gaze to Kalia.

It is the expression that narrows the cut long eyes and does not break the crisp appearance of those little lips tightened. But the emotions that undoubtedly seep into its voices and silver eyes are nothing more than remorse, rudeness.

If I can, Karia's eyes speak eloquently of what I cannot leave to you. Those hands seem to be rigidly assembled and contain emotional exposures.

"... yes, even with all this spirituality"

The ends of the lips of the fialert cannot help you to connect.

Oh, it's me. I'm the one who saves this man. I'm sure Karia helped me, and I'm sure she gave up on her own. But right now, it's not the geniuses who save Rugis, it's me.

Convert the treasure sword you grabbed with both hands into your own magic, braid it to overlap, and then keep pushing it onto Rugis' body. Fialert's fingers were smeared and stained with blood. But that's no longer out of my mind.

I closed my eyelids and saw ink being pressed against parchment paper floating in my brain.

How can you use this magic mass to repair Rugis' body? We have to get that path up here and now. It's not the same as using existing sorcery. Without holding hands in my brain, I write that magic theory on parchment. The feeling that magic theories you shouldn't know combine beautifully is odd, and possibly somewhere comfortable. Since childhood, I have had similar thoughts. How to incorporate external magic into people and make them part of skin, body defects. That's a theory that was mocked by others.

But now in my own head, the theory emits an indisputable glow. When Fialert opens her eyes, without blinking, she opens her throat and offers her witchcraft brace.

- In this hand, if you will, the art of casting him.

It's the art of degenerating the world. Sorcery theory to repaint the roots. The history of witchcraft, its branches in the future, may be referred to as the mainstay of the fialert given two names of transformers.

It was a sight that doubted my eyes. A mass of magic, a treasure sword, is buried in Rugis' body. The magic remains forming the shape of the sword, transforming it into the same being as the Rugis one. Rugis to the treasure sword, and the treasure sword to Rugis. In that case, the treasure sword has to be noticed. own deficiencies, need for repair. In order to repair them that way, the treasure sword immediately began to turn the excess magic all over his body.

Its potency is great. Magic covers and circulates all over Rugis' body. Originally, that body, which should not have magic or anything else, joins hands with magic and repairs the burnt skin while we are no longer friends with it, repairing the deformed body.

Fialert stares at Rugis with a blissful look as he opens his eyes. I cast this body, yes, to be proud.

But its spiritual power is no longer beyond its limits, to the point where it is exhausted. Even if his gaze is pointed at Rugis, it will no longer be difficult to see him, and sweat is licking his whole body's skin.

When he saw that one of his last fingers had been repaired, Fialert fainted, trying to fall straight into Rugis.

"You're not gonna stop it."

Karia shrugged to Hert Stanley, keeping her lips pointy with abomination, to make the eight hits. Standing next to Karia, the sighing hert opens her mouth.

"If you try to stop me, you will stop me. Of course, if you want to risk the life of a fialert, pull out your sword and stop it."

Helt keeps talking as he tries to pick a word and stops talking from time to time.

"Besides, I think this is a good opportunity. She, Fialert, was strong, but not sure where. If you think about her, you shouldn't stop now. I'm not as overprotective as you think I am."

To the words spinning from its mouth, uh, Karia rocked her silver hair.

I see that's the right thing to do with the good intentions of this man, so I put my arms around him and frown. The question was in some of its breasts. But Karia didn't dare to ask that question. Something, letting Hert spin words doesn't do much good. There was such a strange feeling in Kalia.

"But you, you don't seem comfortable with me. Because he's the kind of guy who conflicts with your correctness."

Raise your jaw and let your fingers crawl on your own cheek to Karia's words pointing to Rugis, Hert answers.

"It's still good there, I don't know. I don't think it meshes or doesn't mesh. He's a stranger. But."

I'm interested. To the words, Kalia's spine lightly chills. Until that reason, she couldn't grasp it.