A Wish to Grab Happiness

Virgin Mattia felt the twitching and bloody taste spread in her mouth.

Did you cut your lips somewhere? Did the wound drip into my mouth? Or did the blood of one another, who defended himself around me, which was the shield with his life at stake, splash upon his tongue? Mattia takes a step forward, leaking her constant breath.

The offensive in the Galuamarian metropolitan area seemed to manifest one hell for the crests.

As soon as it enters the mouth of the city, the arrow swings like heavy rain slipping into it. I expected it, everything was within my expectations. Let them put up shields to prevent it, but there will be corresponding casualties. We shielded each other at that sacrifice and moved on. The streets in the front of the city are now paved with the blood and remains of the crests.

The taste of blood was oddly bitter, Mattia spit out into the ground. There was a constant mixture of the smell of blood and organs entering the nostrils. That must have been a graduation if it was a weak woman.

But that's why Mattia can't fall in. You can't just let your trembling legs collapse with your instincts. Because I am the Virgin. The crest follower, because it's its flag.

—— Gooooooooo

Guards and crests, the anger of both overlaps. The sound of switching between swings. The sound of a sword and a shield ringing. They play each battlefield music, coloring the darkness with blood at night.

Nor is the army of the crests inferior to the Guard Corps. The forces themselves are antagonistic. The bows and arrows that descend cause the wounded, and the purity of their fanaticism is not so low as to lower morale to that extent.

Another, the neck of a Guard soldier swallows the tip of the spear with exasperation, and the arms of a crest man zero the ink of blood to the ground.

Some time has already passed since the collision between the two.

At this time, Mattia had one assumption that was beginning to come to mind. The end of this battle.

Boulevard in front of the Great Castle Gate. An arrow descending from the sky, a regiment that strips its ferocious fangs and strikes. Surely both must be a threat. Must be, though.

Mattia reads the way the surrounding flags shake, the degree of anger and march that is unleashed, and the state of war from them. When the result came to mind in my brain, I slowly, narrowed my eyes.

If this is the biggest hand the opponent can hit. I can win. At least, I won't lose. Mattia's cheeks, which do not give such a blatant expression, are greatly appreciated for a long time.

Indeed, we cannot ignore the damage of the arrows that still descend like thousands of rain grains over the heads of the crests. But that has also weakened momentum as we enter into a mixed war with the Guards.

If so, later a battle between the Guard Corps and the Seal Christians, the quality and number of each. The number on the boulder is thin on the side of the crest Christian. I have to admit that. Mattia intuits, however, that the quality, if added, is never lost in terms of momentum.

If things do not move greatly and continue, we will surely take the banner of victory at its end. Yes, Mattia's thought convinced me.

Oh, that's when, until it comes.

"Virgin Mattia, part of the front line, collapses! A squad will storm!

Ralgud-Ann's screaming words sounded strangely quiet to Mattia. The sound of my breathing, even at a time like this, is thrown out of my mouth with a slight hold of swallowing without the appearance of impatience.

I saw a brilliant white blade in the distance. As it follows, a flash of blood rises through the darkness at night.

Gold and whole blonde hair. Those golden eyes said they were still far away, and yes they were still far away, but looking at me, Mattia understood. That alone, fears crawl up your whole body as if you had been amputated from the top of your head to your toes.

That one, it comes here. They come.

Even if you pile up thousands of corpses and try to replace it with earthworms, that gold devours itself as a turbid stream that swallows everything. The hunch existed as a heavy rock in Mattia.

What the hell is that?

I don't understand. I can't imagine. There was no such person in Mattia's calculations. There was no human being like that who cut off the war situation and made it ours by himself.

Mattia was alone when the sharpened expression broke down. The hustle and bustle around me makes it sound like something far away. My teeth rattled.

Now again, before the gold, a single crest stood, and within a few moments, his neck flew through the universe.

Definitely. I die in that hand. nature and Mattia's heart, had embraced it. I understood it as strange.

Oh, is that the end here? The bitterly tongue-infused carelessness and another, emotion close to giving up was beginning to emerge in Mattia.

It was a hard, heavy life. Days I can live with the two names of the Virgin more than I did at an early age, breaking expectations and jumping the heavy pressures. A life where you know that your existence is being used politically, but you are not allowed to say no.

My life, wherever I went, was the life I was wished to be a Virgin. It was a life that could only be recognized by dressing up as a Virgin. The blade is approaching. That one comes right up to here. The result is the same for the impatient crests, trying to be shields.

I'm sorry, Bishop. I'm sorry, followers. I'm sorry, father, mother. Mattia couldn't be the Virgin. In my heart, I whine about my last penance.

Yes, if it was a life that was only worthwhile to remain a Virgin, it should be the Virgin to the end. At the very least, I want to see that in the eyes of those who slaughter themselves. She is indisputably a martyr.

Both hands were creating a form of nature and prayer.

"Seal Saint Virgin, is there a mistake?"

Unexpectedly, the golden voice was kind. Reaper's voice is gentle, it may be the last survival.

Mattia keeps praying and snorts, like she doesn't need words.

Moment after moment, the golden knee swayed and the white blade became the sickle of the reaper, brilliant to the neck of the Virgin.

"No, no, don't face the Virgin until this is the time. Praying at the end of the day is like saying," Give up your hands and surrender. "

That, for a few moments. Such an ironic voice reached Mattia's ear. At the same time, the joining sound of iron and iron echoing around.

I can't afford an execution that won't be executed forever, and Mattia slowly gives me her neck. There, a silver dull light received a white blade that shined in the dark night.

"At the end of the day, cleanliness doesn't produce anything. He said I'd scratch his feet pretty ugly."

Reflects moonlight on a two-wielding knife, gently shrugging shoulders, its shadows. He in green. Just a collaborator. It's not like he needs to risk his life. Unexpectedly, Mattia blinks her eyes.

Rugis and the adventurer who named him so were there.

Here's why I came back after I stepped over the humiliation. It has not yet been decided.

But it is. Never to trample someone. I'm not turning them down, like I once was, to cut them off. Then it's the same. Isn't it the same as the ones who once cut me off?

Is such a thing acceptable?

I'm sure the Kalia guy is laughing at the fool. I make it myself at all. I feel like I'm laughing at the shadows running on the ground. At all, I can only call you a fool.

But that's good, that's good for me. It's not what I found out, such as making the right choice rationally. The only right choice for me was to take the hand of the Crest, Virgin Mattia.

Behind you is the Virgin Mattia. On the front, hero Hert Stanley. I see my flag color has become clearer here. It's really not easy to understand.

But of course, if I could, I would have liked to have given a little more momentum to the forces.

"I honestly didn't expect to be here, Mr. Rugis"

Helt says he shot and leaked the Virgin, but I don't see any rush in that look. Rather, from that mouthful, it sounds that way when I was somewhat placed in the corner of that head to come. At the edge of my head, I had a bad feeling.

"I agree. I didn't think I was standing here until just now, either. Have I kept you waiting?"

Turn the knife at hand as you say so in a mild tone. It was strange and familiar to my hands. This would go with some scratching.

The hustle and bustle of the battlefield show a lot of calm. Since Hert, the leader of the Guard, stopped his leg, is it because of an intruder named me who took the white blade down on the Virgin?

It was a distorted space. The battlefield, which is supposed to be a space for movement, is now often turning its back quietly.

"No, not so much. I just wanted to ask you something."

The helt rearranges the double-edged sword without gaps, but zeroes the words one at a time. The air coming out of my lungs felt strangely cold.

"I had a lot on my mind, but only one thing. Are you my enemy, Mr. Rugis, or are you on my side?"

Whatever that sounded like, a strange inquiry.

No one on the battlefield ever asks if they are allies or enemies to the opponent in front of them and against them. It is the law of the battlefield that there is no blame for cutting it off immediately.

But more than just being asked, let's answer. with clear intent. Let me assure you. Sensation of a slight lump above the chest. When the words ascended the esophagus, they repeatedly descended several times.

"... it will be decided, enemies, indisputably. You're on that side, I'm on that side. Is there anything easier to understand than that?"

That was the way I put it, like telling myself somewhere.

Of course, hatred that scorches the hearts and minds of those who possess them, and their obsession with the brilliant talent, are still sitting in the majority of these breasts. If you open the lid at all, that emotion will crawl out at any time. That's not wrong. But somewhere today, yes, those emotions are quiet.

Put up a knife with both hands, step on your feet and splash the sand. In the chest, even though it is such a strange quiet, the expensive itself lies somewhere in the mind. I felt so strange. The back of your body is blurry and hot, as it responds to the high in your chest.

"... is that right? I'm sorry. I don't know, I'm so sorry."

White blades, brilliant. Quiet, until odd, covers the battlefield. Helt's voice sounded as if it would leak exhale.

"All later, then, in the fashion of battlefield"

Both arrangements are aligned. I didn't need any more words.