What's Wrong with a Great Hero Being Jobless

Heinemarie went out bravely to solicit her will.

The rest of us were sinking.

I don't even feel like saying anything about this.

You'll have to admit it. Honestly, my thoughts were sweet. Heinemarie's Nori is light...... no, it's not light, it's hot and painful, and anyway, I was feeling like I could handle it at my leisure because it created an atmosphere that seemed like it could be all right at all.

I didn't know you had to challenge a death squad that was imperative to halve your power.

Besides, the Dwarves seem to think like, "Live and die in battle" = justice. Maybe fighting and dying is not so much, no, I'm not afraid at all. Perhaps there is no fate to gladly raise your hand in such a battle.

I'm sure what's important to them is to fight well and scatter glamorously.

Even if you can't win as a result, if you fight like a Han and die, you're superior.

Heinemarie said if there were fifteen of us, we could win half dead, but really? Either that or you can fight convincingly with some fifteen.

I don't think there's any certainty that we can win. I don't seem to throw a fight along the way, but I would do anything to win, and I probably don't have an obsession like that.

More or less, you can't call a half-dead a premise operation, can you?

The ideal is a sure victory for zero damage.

Even if that's not possible, I'll keep the damage as low as possible.

To that end, squeeze wisdom. Use whatever is available.

Isn't that what fighting is?

"... Han, huh"

I kicked the floor and stood up from the chair.

"You're not. I'm not a Han."

Momohina looked up, nagging all the time.

"... sarcasm?

"I'm gonna come out a little"

"Where...?

Milliu asked me, but I didn't answer. When I left the house, Heinemarie's father and Bumpy Dwarf were still waving the golden hammer. I noticed it for the first time since that time, in the middle of nowhere.

The other dwarves were axe swords, and the rest were made parts of armor, decorating it with pride without slouching in front of the workshop house.

Heinemarie's father... maybe not, but let's just say he's a father, Heinemarie's father, no.

What the hell is this guy?

I looked closely at the objects lined up on the shelf. Metal, elongated cylinder. It has parts that I can grip with my hands. It's not metal there. Wooden. Trigger. This...,

"Gun."

When I shrugged, Heinemarie's father shook his shoulder and stopped his hand.

"You know what I mean, human"

And Heinemarie's father said without looking at us.

I don't know, an amazing voice.

I nodded,

"Oh. Somehow. You're a flying tool."

"That's right. But how do you know? This is the weapon I invented."

"Ah? Really? Hmm. I wonder why..."

I twisted my head. I've thought about it, but I'm not sure.

"But awesome. I can't believe I made it myself."

"I wonder"

Heinemarie's father put the golden hammer on the floor and wet the sweat on his face.

"I'm Gotheld. Heinemarie's father."

"I knew it. I'm Kisaragi. I'm traveling."

"You like it."

"I don't care what anyone thinks. I just do what I want."

"That's good."

Gotheld laughed, Niya.

"I'm the same. Otherwise, I'm not gonna make a gun."

"What does that mean?

Humans don't get it.

Gotheld stood up and took a gun from the shelf.

"We Dwarves use gunpowder when digging tunnels. It's been a long time. But we don't use gunpowder other than drilling holes. Not to mention the use of it to fight, if there is one. The battle..."

Gotheld put up his gun,

"The battle is a white soldier. Flesh bullets. We call ourselves cowards with bows. I mock people who use magic. If we are men, an axe or a hammer or a sword, a powerless woman slays two daggers against her enemies. That is our pride. It's our way. We don't use flying gear."

"But you're making it. That gun."

"Yes."

"Why?

'Cause I don't think so.'

Gotheld lowered his gun and exhaled like a wind from his nose.

"Those who do not have to die, obsessed with pride and doing it, die in vain. It's like dying is justice. But don't just say it. I don't give a shit. Fighting would be a means. Fight to win. Not to die. This is my belief. That's why I make guns. Stay away from your enemies, don't let them near you, kill them with your guns. Whatever they say, I will seek a way to do it. Until I screw you."

I stopped trying to ask who you lost in that crap fight. It's wild.

I didn't ask, I know.

For the dwarf of Gotheld, the great body is full of sorrow, and the eyes of the same colour as his daughter's. The grief would have torn Gotheld apart many times. I would have driven Gotheld crazy.

At the end of it, Gotheld followed.

To the belief that fighting to die is crap.

But it won't be easy.

In the Dwarf society, which is always held at the Han Festival, Gotheld would undoubtedly be heretical.

Instead of Heinemarie introducing us to Gotheld, she didn't speak, she didn't give us her eyes, and I'm sure that's why.

My daughter is not tolerated by her father's beliefs. I don't think I can admit it.

My father and daughter are torn apart.

Han, huh?

"... fuck you"

I snorted and grabbed the gun on the shelf.

"Gotheld"

"What is it, man?"

"I told you my name."

"Oh. I heard. What is it, Xaragi?"

"Lend me this guy."

"What...?

"For a reason, I have to fight. But unfortunately, you don't have the right weapon for me. This guy's perfect for me."

Gotheld stared at me with his sitting eyes.

I took that line of sight with the intention of turning it back.

I'm sure this man wouldn't have even cried when he lost someone important.

I should have even been waving a golden hammer and working out iron without tears.

I can only do that, he's a clumsy man. Even if my daughter doesn't understand, this man can only pierce himself.

"If you're gonna use a gun, Dwarf won't approve of you."

"Are you alive because you want someone to recognize you? I'm not. I'm the only one who can admit me. I'm not worth a damn if I can't admit myself."

"I don't lend guns."

Gotheld let him sneeze his jaw.

"I'll give it to you. But don't do that. There are newest types of guns that have undergone improvements. It's called a priming ceremony. I can load the cartridge from behind the barrel. It should be a lot easier to handle than that preemptive gun."

"Xaragi which...... ugh!

And a voice sounded like when I ripped the paper from behind.

Turning around, Heinemarie stood with about ten dwarves.

… have we gathered yet?

Good morning. Dwarves, you dying bastards.

"What are you doing, Xaragi which! What the hell are you going to do with what the man made!

The Dwarves behind Heinemarie are bluffing. Some dwarves are frowning or wrinkling their nose columns to reveal their anger.

"Whatever you say."

I turned the muzzle toward the Dwarves. As some dwarves have done so, the guns seem to be known. I put the gun down.

"Heinemarie. When I asked your father to lend it to me, I decided to take it from him. That's all."

"Xaragi which! Do you want to fight with that gun?!?"

"Isn't that a fight?"

"Exactly! What is the battle......"

"I will save my people."

Figs are in Knoll's warehouse. Imagine that again.

It's about him, so you must be crying.

I would be frightened, trembling.

"It's a fight for it. No more, no less, no more. Is there any pride or flattery? It doesn't mean anything to me if I don't save my people."

"... it's not a true battle."

"Speak for yourself. I got my weapon. Even your father knows about the location of Knoll's warehouse. You tell me, I'll go there."

"But... ugh! Heinemarie has already sworn to fight. As a dwarf, you can't break your vows of battle."

"That's a tough one. Well, do whatever you want."

"... but ugh."

Heinemarie looked back for a moment.

There should have been about ten Dwarves, only one, two... four.

I don't have another half left.

"If you mean to use a gun or something, we don't gather gestures. Now, we'll finally get to the warehouse. This fight... you can't win."