A Wish to Grab Happiness

"Mr. Rugis. Wouldn't it make sense for us to unload each other's swords?"

Hert Stanley whines to forgive as he brightens his white blade.

That's what I'm saying, but there's no gap whatsoever in how I put my sword up. Feel free to jump into its nose thinking of an ambush, and your skull will be cracked in two.

I returned it so that I could feel as light as I could, not to overflow emotions from my chest into my voice.

"Oh, I think so, too. But if we can't bend each other, we can't do this anymore."

There are times like this, and I squealed and threw up the bite cigarette.

Place a dull silver-light knife on both hands and take the appropriate distance from the helt. Not a very, but not a casual opponent. Instead, he didn't want to fight without ambushes or traps.

Because they are Helt Stanley, the future savior, the undisputed genius, the one who shows the beauty of the sun.

In the slums, there is dust. All over this dim city, only this boulevard was oddly sunny.

I don't like it. Oh, even if I don't. It's not sane to fight this guy from the front.

"So, the girl already?

He ran away. Indicate with your fingers the clutter that could still overflow in the crowd.

For God's sake, bad luck is a strong one. One child, but not enough to run around the familiar slums.

I stroke my chest and gaze at the fact that there is no such small figure when I look at the crowd around me.

"... Mr. Rugis, how could you do such an imitation?

of Helt. That seemed like an ultra-pure question. A look that doesn't seem to be trying to make a fact. He had such a rare, bewildered look on his face dividing everything with goodness and justice.

"I don't know what you're asking. An acquaintance's sister was about to be slashed off with one arm. Well, I guess I won't have to give you my hand."

Look at the guards lining up behind the helt, with their eyes narrowed.

When Helt asked if it was true, he thought there was no escape from the boulder. "Yes, Captain," the guard replied saluting.

As a matter of course, it's a terrible difference from the outrageous attitude towards slum dwellers. He was polite, like I'd never been taken by anyone.

I don't know what time he, Hert, was captaining the Guard Corps.

I had never heard of such a conversation on a previous trip. But I have heard that the Stanley family is a well-known celebrity in this Gallu Amalia.

If so, it is only natural that the Guard Corps also makes a difference due to its character, even though it is a gathering of citizens. I've never heard of a completely equal organization. It is, well, understandable that the patronage of the family and their skill left Hert to captainship for a short time. Of course, there may be other reasons.

Two or three words, exchanging words with his men's guards, Hert said, keeping his mouth down and silent, and so pointing his lips for a moment.

"It would be good. I order you to secure that girl. However, enforcement on the spot is not allowed. Whatever it is."

Unexpectedly, he opened his eyes and doubted his ears. It was a mistake to hear something. I thought it might make my eyelids blink.

What the hell is this guy talking about? I don't understand. I felt that way, much further from my earlier conversation with the lizard.

A man named Hert is not a man of bad sense. Like lizards, you can't even try to secure cereals just for your own merits. Why?

"... this is outside the wall, Hert Stanley. What's the rationale, a guard regiment coming into the slums?

Try to pick a word while you put the confusion on the chest shelf. Yes, speak.

Hert raised both eyebrows, slowly, shaking its neck to the side. It's like saying that I see everything, like this intent.

"I understand that you didn't know the facts. Mr. Rugis... the girl has been reported by his men as having had a tattoo. If so, you can't just miss it"

It's like a rhetoric to include, a rhetoric to forgive. It's like giving them warmth. Oh, my God, that was a word I didn't care about.

Sure, Cereal's neck muscles have tattoos. I have sinned in the past, a testament to that.

But I see, is that a reason? Unexpectedly the point was made and the end of the mouth swayed. Oh, I totally forgot.

That Helt is a stubborn man who doesn't talk to me at all, and that he will never tolerate evil.

I mean, this is what he wants to say. Tattoos are a testament to the priors. Even if it's a girl, if it was once tattooed in Gallu Amalia, it's not so easy to clear up with this suspicion. He said it was rather close to black.

I see. Totally. Excellent. That's more than a good reason.

"Those who have been dug for tattoos are not even allowed to approach Gallu Amalia by nature. This is a clause that also links up with peripheral urban states. I understand your point, Mr. Rugis. But why don't you leave this place to me?"

If I don't make it bad, I guess that's what you're trying to say.

If you are Hert, the captain of the Guard Corps, you can also send a letter to the peripheral city state.

Unlike the lizard of the deputy captain in question, Helt has the right to push him out of Gallu Amalia if he has a tattoo.

A masterpiece.

I told you to leave it to me, it's a joke. Oh, my God, that's a bad joke.

My hands and feet are paralyzed. The throat withers and refuses to let the word go. For years it seemed like a snake wrapped around his spirit whispered, keeping him company.

With me, I can't tell you that there's no part of me that is perceived by Helt on that journey of salvation. It also feels like his words are right somewhere. No, you're right. It doesn't make a difference.

But it's still not. Me and you are absolutely different creatures.

"- I don't know what else to do, dude. It's me. Judge me."

To that abrupt word, Helt widened his eyes to ask what it meant. I can't go back.

But I'm counting on you for Cereal. I can't just do that. I'm sure you'll punish her. That's the kind of guy. This man doesn't understand.

Oh, yeah. Tattooing is a sign of sin. Theft, cuts, or fraud? It's not even Loc.

This man, in Hert's head, has no concept of having to sin. Because sin is not something that should be committed at any time.

Yes, that's why I don't even imagine.

I don't have the money to call a doctor, I can't even buy drugs. I can't even bring nutritious food. The days when you just wet your eyes and watch your sick family weaken.

The cruelty that childhood understands that no matter how much I pray to God the world helps me, there is no such thing as helping myself in this world.

That those who still cannot give up may seek medicine, but not so much, for something nutritious, but may dye their hands in sin.

That's not limited to the helt. I don't know, to them, to the strong. The theory of the mighty does not include the weak.

"I said I was the one who did the burglary and the shooter. And that hungry ghost is not an accomplice or anything. Just passing through."

I very much don't tell you to tolerate that. Sin is sin. Punishment is punishment. Oh, how right.

But some people can't live in that world.

"It's useless enough to catch him, that hungry ghost can't talk. Once upon a time, when I was hungrier, my brother was about to be killed by the Guards."

From the waist, he pulled the knife out and told him so, as if nothing had happened.

I can't go back. I don't even want to.

Thoughts were surprisingly calm. I'm sure it was deep down and I understood.

That me and Hert Stanley are never compatible in their will, in their lives, in their souls, in everything.