A Wish to Grab Happiness

Into the nostrils is the smell of things burning. My lungs hurt strangely, knowing that even smoke had inhaled it. Ringing his throat many times, but his body discomfort doesn't go away. I just got a slightly sticky sputum.

"- Then, brave man. Let's ask again. Is your God the same as our God or another masked false God?"

In a situation where I still can't even breathe, a voice that maintains its integrity is thrown in my ear.

Give me a break. My thoughts are still intact. Instead, I'd like to get a respite to sleep like a grass tree for a night or so. With a wrinkle between his eyebrows, he looks up at the person in front of him from a seated position.

Even though he has calmed down, he has not hesitated to step into a place that could still be described as a fire place, and the audacity that does not change that expression in any way. In a world where everything was thought to have been covered in coal, only one bearer of the voice was releasing a presence that would degenerate the ambient air.

She was called the Virgin. Brilliant and light in its eyes is an indisputable sign of faith. To see smooth, long stretched but nicely groomed hair, perhaps the birth itself belongs to the advanced class. The work and the harsh atmosphere are sophisticated everywhere, and the expectation of ordinary people is that they will make something important that they cannot do.

I see, indeed, we are honored with the Virgin. It definitely has elements that attract people. I guess people call this, the so-called charisma. Not at all, I don't have any connection. Snorts unintentionally.

"Just give me a minute. This one's still really alive, or is actually dead, and I can't decide whether you're the keeper of hell or not."

I have a hand on my chest trying to get the chewing cigarette out of my nose, but my hand emptied as it was. I knew it had been burned to match the clothes I had just new when they were burned out, but the handiwork doesn't seem to heal that much.

Bite your back teeth abominably and narrow your eyes for a moment. Probably not a smart choice to answer this question instantly. The opponent focuses on the Virgin, with more than a dozen murdered believers. Everyone is staring at this one with shivering eyes. The gaze is no longer that of a prey. Conversely, this face is Kalia, Hert Stanley. And only Fialert La Borgograd, who passed out and is still in his dreams.

When I put on the spot a deep sigh filled with emotions such as confusion but distress, my lungs tickled and hurt.

I sure as hell should have died brilliantly, but how is this happening? If you're looking down from the sky, I want answers. Hey, God.

Instead of stepping one foot into the abyss of death, the light plunged into my eyes, which were so bracketed high, that there was no role again. Reflectively close the lid and narrow the eyes. Blinking a few times, when my eyes finally tried to play that role again, it was one girl who came into view.

It was Karia, the one with the long sword, who turned brilliant silver hair into two rooms. The appearance of distorted eyebrows in a grumpy manner emits an atmosphere of sword swallowing.

But it's a strange story. I thought that being a friend of Reaper to the afterlife was about me and Fialert. I can't imagine this woman dying, not very much. Oh, no, or is it a common one, the one called Waterfront Conductor when you go to heaven or hell? If you ask, the acquaintance of his lifetime, he'll show up imitating that figure.

"Are you finally awake? Did you even imitate the Princess of Eternal Sleep, who is already in the play?"

I gently hammered him in the chest to the point where Karia said she should have kissed her cheeks if they were mean.

Convinced. This is not a fake or a imitation of its appearance or anything. A woman named Karia herself. The kind of rhetoric that backstrokes a person's spirit in its futility is not a craftsman who can do anything but this woman. Mostly, if a waterfront conductor comes out imitating an acquaintance, I'd at least like it to be Arueno. If this sexually evil woman is to come out at the end of the day, the Hell's Keeper himself is still better off.

But if it is. If Kalia in front of me says it's not a imitation, it means I'm alive and I'm opening my eyes like this with my own body.

That's why. Only that question comes to mind on a dull head that still doesn't turn its mind well. I offered this to the flames, and that's what must have invaded the heat deep inside my heart. If you are human, what awaits as a result is only indisputable death.

Blurry, bite your lips as you lower your mouth angle.

"... well, yeah. If you're grateful, tell him to put it down, it's indisputable that you have your life, and it's his feat. And my sword."

Ahead, which Kalia pointed to while voicing some incompetent voice, was the figure of a fialert lying on the ground, embraced by Hert Stanley.

Reason is recovery from fialert sorcery. It didn't fall entirely to her heart, but if she were told it was her work, some understanding would be reached.

That is an indisputable genius. Even if the magic was not usable and the sound was weak, it showed its talent in the fire scene, as the saying goes, then Tsuji would fit.

Well, even so, I'm not sure why I saved myself. For Fialert, it would be close to me and other roadside stones. Oh, no, or maybe she still had a conscience to give to worthless pebbles in this day and age.

- Tips, tricks.

Footsteps resounding throughout the room with wonder. It sounds like it's ringing consciously. That's clearly approaching us. Plus, multiple.

Tasty. My teeth bite. This one, at least, fialerts are non-combatant. I don't know if my eyes are still used to my vision, either, but the light is shining out in front of me. Does the body feel uncomfortable or foreign? Whatever the case, it seems that the sequelae remain, so I can't really say how it is. Kalia and Hert Stanley. These two alone can survive most of the crisis. But if you take your feet with you, that's the way it goes.

While the thought was crawling through the brain at a dull rate, the identity of the footsteps quickly became dewy. Of course, I had a lot of expectations. The woman appeared before us, trampling through the ashes and carefully avoiding the burnt foreign matter. Bring a dozen armed soldiers.

"Praise for that courage, unnamed. Be respectful of the wise and the brave, imitate their doctrine, and I respect you too."

That's the Virgin and that's what they called her. Reflectively, my body cools to the point of language that is too polite, unlike the voice that I heard earlier in the chapel that is close to fury.

That is, chills. Some of them come from the rules of thumb, but polite language is what is used by those who hold one thing in their bellies. So that the nobles in the royal palace may bear the veil of their words, so that they may love the rich, and aim for their share.

This woman has a plan. Definitely. Otherwise, what brings a dozen soldiers behind your back who can be considered excessive for escorts?

"Greetings at such a fire, excuse me. I'm Mattia. Virgin Mattia and that's what they call it. Even so, I don't deserve to be called the Virgin, etc."

The sounds of the voices that speak do go hand in hand with sobriety, attracting people somewhere. It's like telling them there's no backing table, cleanliness. Oh, that's why it's horrible. Your heart seems to turn upside down. Because the plan of these old people is determined not to be Loc either.

"Thanks for that one, it's an honor. Well, then spare the Virgin's face, and there's one noise I'd like to ask you to forgive."

I joke about the unfortunate mistake and tell him to explore it. For a moment I could see the end of the Virgin's eye moving.

"Yeah, from the start, there's no anger in this chest. For a crest man, the statute that all life, all goods, shall be returned under God sooner or later. All burnt and lost goods are only aggregated to God. In other words, being lost is God's will in itself. Is there anything more foolish about it than resentment?"

I'm letting Karia snort her jaw like she's silently gaveling, but she, and perhaps Hert, should also be noticing.

Is this a trick, or even if it was true, the only theory that makes sense is her, Virgin Mattia. If you look at the faces you refrain from behind, you'll understand. There is an outrageous feeling in its eyes, and the tremor in its hands and feet is evidence that it is forcing its emotions to kill. The inside of your chest will be simmering.

The crisis has not yet left. We're being thrown in the middle of a flash.

"I didn't even hear your purpose, I suppose - then, brave man. Let's ask again. Is your God the same as our God or another masked false God?"

Not to have any malice, and no good intentions. However, the Virgin Mattia told her so with a mouthful that she heard the obvious.