A Wish to Grab Happiness

Thoughts were incredibly clear.

That man, and the man I once thought would never be far away, is standing in front of me.

Cold air fills the lungs, and a moment of silence covers the space.

- Gin.

The knife rips open the sky and makes a squeal. The sound cut off my mouth.

Run the left and right knives with your right leg protruding and your elbows containing extra space. The target is the neck and wrist.

I had decided on the idea of a first shot. I dreamed it in my head many times. If this man ever fights Hert Stanley, he's bound to take it this way.

Even the chances of winning are thin. Even though it is, it is like giving your neck to the decapitator yourself to give way to the opponent until the beginning. We must measure our mistakes and always take the lead and fight.

- Gunn. - KING.

Of course, I knew how difficult it was to deal with this man. The enemy is Hert Stanley, Hall of Heroes.

Two muscles, which should have been targeted by an ambush stain, are bounced into white light.

A blow that should have missed the timing of each, with Hert returning one directly from the front and the other slightly on the wrist. What a clever thing to do with that two-handed sword.

"... you don't need a hand. Stop by and I'll kill you."

Helt ordered the guards who had pulled out the sabel for my murder, over my back.

I suppose it's also chivalrous spirit, which I really appreciate, but it probably sounds like my humble spirit that I can afford to be alone.

This one says he's in a hurry and his stomach is going to bounce, but his voice is cold itself. I don't know if I can afford it, but I'm not sweating a thing.

Forced to push the rough breath into the back of his throat, which inadvertently becomes so with a leak, he narrows his eyes.

This duel fight is totally different in nature from the liquor store duel when I used to work with Kalia. That's an extension of play, so to speak. This is an indisputable exchange of life. With some sacrifice, you can take his, Hert's neck.

The erection of the helt rests its double-edged sword around the chest. This attack will be defeated irrevocably. But in the structure itself, there is nothing like killing or hostility. I suppose you're wondering how to hold this one down.

Oh, I'm angry. I'm too angry. But there's always a difference in my power. In an earlier blow, Helt would have guessed my power, too. We need to take it.

Naturally, it's a natural decision. So there's only one thing I can get into. In an instant, I scratch my breath into my lungs.

- Kiwiin. - Gin.

To blindfold the sand and dust I woke at my feet, a blow that cracks my knee. Next, rotate your body and draw a silver semicircle if you don't decide on your flank. None of that, I don't get one.

Ahead of making the silver light bounce, there was always white that bounced it back. Every time a flash of silver rips through the sky is depicted, the sound of splitting your ears echoes around you.

Change attitude with each blow, upper, lower, and middle. Angle, timing and speed. Use all means and let the knife cut the space.

I don't breathe. The lungs are crazed for air, and the legs that carry the body many times are beginning to lift their roots early. But I understand. This head is sore. If you leak your breath in between this man, this torso will bounce and fly in between.

Helt has no intention of killing. Nor does hostility exist again. But from time to time, I feel that golden gaze. From time to time, I could see the vicious gaze that I dreamed of scratching this life off my neck. For that tender, attentive look, the frenzy that doesn't suit you at all is brilliant in your eyes.

The heart forcibly understands. If this man cares about it, his torso splits in two in an instant, his skull falls and his hands and feet tear apart. Yes, within one breath.

Getting one breath is in exchange for life. I don't know his thoughts or intentions. Now I just cut this one off like I can afford it, and my expression is calm without a single sweat.

- After all, there is only one chance.

Your brain is immobilized by insufficient breathing, and your vision fades slightly.

The silver light, which should have been emitted while diminishing life and spirit, strikes down with the drive of the wrist and hips, as if it were useless.

There's no sign from there. I'm angry, but thank you. I'm being saved, but then I don't have a chance.

Kick the earth deep, for a few steps, back off.

If you can strike a blow here, you probably won't be spared your fate. But you know it, Helt didn't even show you how to move that foot.

"... to each other, let's take the sword down, Mr. Rugis. This doesn't make any sense."

Spit out again, that word. That means a little bit different than earlier.

The body lets the heat escape with sweating, but so much burning that it can't keep up with it covers the chest. The exhaled breath flamed and burned his mouth.

This is what Helt said. You can't scratch yourself with your skill. That's what I told you there was no point in continuing.

He tells me. Yeah, it's what you tell me. But you're right. Even though he is still young, there is no shade in the brilliance of his sword moves.

Kalia's long sword still had a mixture of sweetness. The magic of Fialert had not yet been sharpened.

Even so, his, Hert Stanley's sword moves even scare me.

Spookiness as if you were young and no longer complete. The guards who are holding back behind it are also keeping an eye out. I can't see the lizard in it, but have you gone looking for Cereal yet? My heart beats faster.

Although I hear that a hero is chosen for destiny, and a brave man is one who has been spoiled by God. In this case, it is no longer enough to suspect that its very existence was handled by God.

"You can afford it. Sure, it's hard with my sword moves, but it sucks straight from the front."

Wipe the sweat falling off your forehead and turn your tongue.

To push anger into your chest and feed it so you don't put your emotions into pranks. Now, you don't have to put your emotions on the line of words yet.

The dust falls and the eyelids blink slightly.

"Mr. Rugis. I don't hate you... Rather, I'm even interested. It seems very unlikely to work merely stealing. I don't think I want to slash and throw it away here. Pull it off. Then I swear to God I will not harm you."

My cheeks, they tremble. My eyes hardened unexpectedly and my skin tingled.

Why would Helt be interested in me?

The chest was complicated. Where that word means is a concern that something bad has become tangled up in my destiny.

A slight exhilaration that the opponent, who once considered himself a lodging enemy but could not even bite him, is interested in himself.

What a pity. What a pity. I can't reach him at all, Helt. Even so, I have the illusion that I let him near me.

Besides, not yet. The battle isn't over yet.

"What are you talking about? I haven't had a scratch on myself yet. If you want me to drop my weapon, don't do it with that sword, Hert Stanley."

With my words, I open up to words that are too cheap.

But still, he'll come. Even if you know it's an invitation, you step through it. That's the nature of a man named Helt. Only there, I trust you a lot.

I rocked my golden hair, brilliant in my eyes, and Helt's knee moved for a moment.

- There was no sound.

Exactly, a breath.

Open-eyed eyes shine, indicating authority not to eat and kill prey.

The dust opens his way so as not to disturb himself. The intermission was so frustrating that I thought the ground might have shrunk for him.

After that moment, I was already in between those white fangs.

The helt has a double-edged sword placed in the middle section with a lumbar drive to draw an arc.

Just a sword sticking through my left rib. There is no way you can use a knife to do that with speed. The realm of madness, such as taking. A few moments away I see myself snapped a few bones and lay low on the ground.

That is, of course, just a prediction. I couldn't have seen that sword in my eyes. The light blinks and nothing but looks like something white is approaching.

Intense. I'll actually try to be present. That's beyond comprehension. There is nothing else to be stunned about.

- But not out of expectation.

That is known. And I understood that the winning chance was only here.

Put your hands extremely low and make silver brilliant before putting that movement into view. Once. Only once.

That gold would have been imminent, the moment.

Rise the knife into space so that it scratches more than the lowest level of sight. A blow to eat through your opponent's underbelly rather than a hip with nothing to protect. I don't see that.

Totally, based on predictions, predictions, and experience I've seen so far, a blow. A blow that just prunes the sky that means nothing if you do poorly. But this is the best I can do for myself now.

White light doesn't even show up, pressing me to eat my left belly. A glimmer of silver than at hand goes to heaven without scratching off the hearts of its resentful enemies.

What this earlobe heard at the end of it was the whining of the wind.

And what I felt - was pain like mutilating my body.