A Wish to Grab Happiness

The crest soldiers eat through the bellies of the Archdiocesan Army with no flock. It was as if tearing the sea, going through a deserted field, but with a foothold, everyone moved forward.

The soldiers, far more numerous and more proficient than ourselves, break apart as funny. Are you drunk like that, or were you floated by the heat on the battlefield? The toes of soldiers running on the front line are getting faster and faster. A little more, you'll see the enemy's main line, then, it's like the battle is no longer settled. It's like glory was held in the hands of the crest. That way, most importantly, we can go home alive.

If I could go home alive, I could drink, hold a woman too. We can get out of this ugly hell. Just think of it, the minds of the soldiers deviate. It would be impossible, such as seeing something else.

In the raging enthusiasm of those soldiers, I was alone, narrowing my eyes. From the depths of my chest, something like a slow crawling scare tightens my heart.

Expectations that maybe we can win as this is. There's no way that's cheap, lament. Those two emotions are eating through each other's bodies and taking away heat from each other.

The soldiers keep moving forward without any problems. Enemy soldiers are weak as if they have frustrated their will.

Really, have the enemy soldiers collapsed away? You think you can eat through the enemy's main line like this? Will Richard's grandfather ever forgive him for that?

But the battlefield is where unexpected things can happen at any given time. Rather, it may be said that unexpected events have been enclosed in the battlefield from the outset. No matter how skilled you are, you can ruin everything because you missed one thing.

A battlefield, a war, can happen in any way.

Then is it possible? You know, our samurai strategy of breaking through a little bit in front of a spicy master works.

Thirst swallows the spit of thirst. For a moment my expectations seemed to cover my chest. My chest talks about whether it would be good to just keep going forward.

- Really, is that good?

Moments, gaze, looking across the battlefield from the horse, not in front of you.

There can't be anything busy to see in a cloudy vision of expectations. Therefore, it makes no sense to look at the appearance of a collapsing enemy soldier in front of you, if so, let's try to believe in the spiciness of one master.

I look over to the left and right wing of the battlefield, which is now far away. I guess Kalia and Erdis are struggling, only the flag swing looks slight, but still looks glued. Again, only the central part is pushed in. The Catholic Church becomes a perfect place with deep nostalgia, as if it could hold a crest soldier.

I felt my breath get rough. It was as if the fever accumulated in his lungs was being spit out as it was.

Next, he turned his eyes toward the horse, his leg, on which the enemy avant-garde commander would ride. Hold your breath, maybe ten seconds, you didn't even blink. Peek into the horse legs of several commanders, not just one.

After that, I finally breathed in.

- No, I can't, I'm stuck. You're laying low, this is it.

As soon as I intuited so, I felt my lungs filled with unspeakable cold air. The truth and so on are mostly determined by something that is not even the norm. I understood that very well. When I was traveling, I was reminded many times.

But would it have been something so painful, something called truth? That was the first shock I've had in too long. I feel like I've been hammered in the chest. But I can't deny what I've seen in my eyes right now.

The entire formation of the Archdiocesan army is utterly unnatural. An army is like one creature, and if some collapse, it ripples across the board. The fact that only a part of it collapses away doesn't mean it does either.

And. If such an unnatural circumstance could have happened in nature's wake, then there is no way that the spiteful division, a skilled general, could have struck anything. Instead, the absence of Grandpa Richard here makes me realize that the theatre that is now taking place in front of me is malice itself.

Besides, it would be obvious if the commander looked at the leg of the horse pulling the reins.

Human feet and so on can act in any number of ways, and personal differences are too great to read the thoughts. But horses are much more honest than humans. If the rider is upset or has to pull an untrained reins, that's all he has to do to bump his legs.

How about that? Those front-line commanders said it was a sudden retreat, but they didn't unnaturally flutter their horse's legs as one. Rather, the confusion caused by Fialert's battlefield witchcraft has faded, or even sharpness is hidden in its handwriting judgment.

While at the center of the front line, he accidentally turned his gaze behind him. I turn my thoughts in my head as to whether I can withdraw or at least keep the momentum of the soldiers pressed. But the idea was denied in an instant.

No, soldiers don't get lost or think, they keep moving forward uniformly. Besides, everyone and everyone keeps making noise, and even if I did, the range would be around dozens of people.

There was a feeling that the neck muscle had been swept away by someone. The lips and tongue are cut dry and moisture-like things are disappearing from the throat. No matter how many times I turned my thoughts, I understood that an inescapable ending was imminent right there.

Wrinkled in a green military uniform, he leaks his exhale as he regrips his treasure sword tightly. I felt exhalation leaking out of my lungs for a long time.

Turn your vision from behind and forward. It is still far away, but the enemy's main force is no longer in its sight. The more you let the horse run at full speed, the more you're likely to slash it with one breath.

Well, I asked my own mind what was going on. Things suck to be modest. Defeat and death lie before your eyes, and you can't even make your feet slip away from them. It's like a swordsman forced to move on, ahead of a wild beast.

A little more, if you eat up close to enemy headquarters, perhaps an ambush spear from both sides will eat through your flanks. Besides my thoughts, I might feel good about dying and going. It's easy enough to understand that you lost and died in the war, etc. It would have to be a lot better than to die belly-up and miserable on the back road than to die mocked and mocked by the masses.

Even if we meet the same death, there is a way to do it. Anyway, I want to do it in a way that I can convince myself to do, at the end of the day. Is that a luxurious wish?

An enemy soldier made a mild rebellion, which is very unlikely to be a backlash. For a moment, the battlefield stalls. I tried to see the gap and chewed the cigarette on the horse.

Only for a few moments I enjoyed the feeling that the smell of chewing tobacco went through my nose, abandoning my thoughts. Cheeks, the dry wind on the battlefield pounds.

- Or there's a way to die. Humans. That's about what I want you to choose.

Something strange, I think. Things will go a long way towards getting worse, and there will no longer be a good means to make things better, and all I can do is scratch and scratch.

Even so, there is no such thing as giving up or giving up in my chest. There was only a will to just do what needed to be done.

Anyway, that abominable voice echoes in my ear every time something like that is about to go past my mind.

'That's enough. Let's give up. No, rather, you've done well. You don't have to work hard anymore. You don't have to be hurt.'

So ask for salvation and take my hand. You can hear such a deafening voice. I heard it in Belfein, the voice of someone who cheated Arueno. The kind of voice where all that unpleasance and pain came together. Even though it is a curse, it shall not echo in your ears as if it were an illusion.

I don't care, it's uncomfortable. That voice color in my ear is painful.

Oh, even if you try to suffer a miserable defeat that would expose you to mud and shame. Trying to achieve an unbroken end like eating your intestines. Do you shake your hand until the end of the day? Will it ever come back to the days dominated by that notion?

Neither a miserable defeat nor even an unbroken death can be a reason for me to accept giving up. Twisting and bending my lips, I leak my words.

"Fialert. One more time, just once. Can you ask for sorcery?"

Let's squeeze the battlefield around. Because betraying their thoughts and eating them is what keeps the battlefield in your hands.