A Wish to Grab Happiness

A blow to the helt, which is likely to tear apart not only the space but even the sound. White blades shake my gut in the middle of the night, accompanied by an auspicious speed.

As if responding to that blow, take the knife in your right arm to your neck with the shortest straight distance and the fastest poke.

Genius must be killed with one thrust. If you allow me to breathe twice, I will undoubtedly defeat. With this one punch, I'll scratch his neck and cut him to pieces. Silver shakes slightly.

At the same time, the knife placed on his left hand was placed in its orbit so as to align it with the white blade of the helt. I don't think I can prevent it. But deviate or not. If I can fix that track at worst, that's good. In the meantime, I'll kill him.

That's exactly, between one breath. I had a feeling that if I breathed out, this offense would be over. Will the one hand I should have hit make it or not? Sweat strokes my neck muscles.

—— Gah —— Kin

During the moment's defense, I did hear it. Strange mixed sound with two sounds.

One is the tone in which iron exceeds its strength and tells its own fate. I understood that the knife placed on my left hand did not even distract me from changing the trajectory of the blade, but was broken.

The fear, it was. After a series of attacks, the blade of the knife has been scattered and hurt. I understood that it was not strange to live that life at all. But here?

No, you're not. The knife was broken, even if it was the first blow, if it matched Helt's full strength. That until now, it was only a small handful of checks.

To match that sound, one more thing. This one is simpler. With the knife, my left wrist jumped into the white flash and broke. No more sensation. Instead, he felt something hot and scorching in his chest.

I had a feeling. Intuitive, no reason, no feeling.

With this blade, the neck of the hert will not be determined by a single blade that extends beyond my hand. Before that, my own torso will be severed and I will remain desperate in a burning and rolling emotion.

Tastes bad. If you don't get off track at all, you die. Delivery, in time. It's when you should have cut it off desperately, in time. Delivery. Delivery. Delivery.

In that narrow time Helt's golden eyes shone like fierce beasts.

During the thinning night, Kalia watched the offense between the two with a tranced look.

Silver long sword in its hand. Something that should have been swayed when Rugis was in crisis.

But I don't need that anymore. No, for Kalia, it was no longer something to shake. Big silver eyes shake. The white cheeks were even vermilion in the sight in front of them.

Rugis' silver blade, Hert Stanley's white blade. The weapons of the two males mutilate each other's nights as if to draw a melody. I can never say that Rugis is in good shape. Instead, there are even signs that they are going to prune that neck while they speak out.

But still, Kalia couldn't push and kill feelings close to the joy of creeping up from the depths of her chest. The expression that should have always been in order collapsed, and I am leaving it all emotional but still at this time.

That man, Rugis, is standing by the crest and waving the blade. With the will in his chest, he is waving that barbaric courage. That is exactly what I was led to at my fingertips.

Oh, is there anything more pleasing than that? Kalia's heel moves like it's paralyzed. Rugis is fighting for himself, so to speak. Mages like that fialert must be watching this fight somewhere. But all this fighting isn't for you, it's for me.

I can't stop the palpitations in Kalia's heart. Things carried well, too much. To the boulder to a duel with Hert Stanley is a little unsavory. In the worst case scenario, I also thought about scratching Hert's neck off the back.

But I don't need that anymore. On Kalia's long sword, there were no signs of being waved. That man, Rugis, is playing sworddance diligently, doing everything in his life.

Yeah, if you line up with the helt like this, its sword tip is still immature. Footsteps and cleverness are not to be said to belong to the strong. It is the mediocrity itself that covers that body. Relative to that genius, I don't think I can survive very much. Still, even so. How can we do that, like look at it, feel ready for it, and trample on it? All you can do is show that figure a heartfelt respect.

Rugis and Helt, both of them, moved on to the last offense, I can see. Rugis' left arm is broken and the knife on his right hand doesn't seem to reach the neck of the helt in the end.

Karia had deposited all her decisions in her chest. And if Rugis be desperate here, then he shall be with him. That's what brought him to this battlefield, my duty. Greatest respect and sincerity for Rugis.

—— but oh. If you will--

That, in the middle. Karia narrowed her eyes. As a temporary, even though it is an attack that I do not want to divert my eyes from. The sunlight was trying to block my eyes.

The battlefield was about to pick up the morning.

On the back, I feel the warmth of sunlight. I waited for the light, its brilliance. I made it.

The sun cleaves the book of the night and finally raises its heavy hips to show its glory. With that sunlight on my back, I stood.

The golden eyes dazzle the sun forward. My eyes flashed reflexively, I could see. The momentum of the blade, which is supposed to claw the torso, stops. While slashing his flank, it hasn't reached his gut.

Right hand, silver knife. Deliver it. Except here, the day will not come when you can take the neck of this hero. If you kill him with this one punch, he will surely be resurrected. Right here, right here, we have to kill him.

The intermission was completely fleshy, and the knife drew an orbit that would be sucked into the neck muscle of the hert.

The sound and feel of the flesh was born in the hands. Oh, shit.

It was a sight like a lie. My knife, for an indisputable moment, should have reached the shortest distance.

That's him, Hert Stanley. He was forced to drive his body, twisting his torso and changing the tip of the blade from neck to shoulder. A knife pierced his shoulder is shining in his blood.

This is it, this incredible rate of reaction. I feel a strained breath leaking out of my lungs. This is me and him. Of genius and genius, is it the difference? I was convinced that it could not be avoided. When I was stuck in its neck, fate had told me. And yet.

Cover your shoulders and the helt plays the knife. As it was, he set his sword on the Great Upper Stage. This one doesn't have any more hands to hit.

One hand later. Later, one was missing. Fill in the difference between a mediocre me and a genius hert, something. My chest, it's hot in my body. At the time of his death, his guts were still boiling.

"Give me a brief farewell, Rugis —— my favorite enemy"

While Hert zeroed the words, he swung down the white blade to my skull, which no longer even remained retracted. The sunlight was making the blade shine.

—— Oh, if you wish. In this hand. Another swing. Yes, even another sword, if any.

A sorrowful whimper of fialert danced through the universe mixed with the wind.

Repeated life-threatening defense. In every swing of that blade, Fialert's chest was a thought of being torn apart. See you later. He can't do it again. Rugis tried his best to reach out to the unreachable. You just have to give up. You should run. That doesn't matter to me. So mediocre, there must be days of pursuing happiness within reach. Why?

Fialert herself was well aware of the inability to do so. Days of giving up and living looking down without reaching the geniuses. The days when you have to eat up your teeth and still lay your eyes down.

Rugis can't accept that. Fialert knew it painfully in an act in the underground temple. That figure of trying to reach out, even fulfilling the risk of losing his life, even though he is the same ordinary person as me. Oh, that look is ideal. My ideal.

That is why, because he is such a man, Fialert La Borgograd decided so when he would golden him. Even so, at this time, Rugis is about to fall zero out of this hand.

I hate it. I don't want to admit it. I don't want to say no to that. I don't have that kind of cleanliness with me.

That's why I can't even help Rugis with a weapon in one hand here. It's magic, and I can't even provide support. There was nothing I could do for a fialert on this occasion right now.

So, moisturizing tears in his eyes, Fialert spun the words.

It's not magic. I cannot exercise the magic hostile to this city at this point in time. So that's just words. It's just words of prayer. It may not mean anything. But believe me, it means something.

Undisputed. This is who implanted the sword in him. Because he is the tenant who cast him.

—— Happiness in this hand, if you will.

Fialert's words swayed the space slightly before the sword-wielding helt.