A Wish to Grab Happiness

- Guys, look at my hero! The enemy collapsed and the path was paved there!

Ringing her throat so that she could blast her voice around her, shaking her long, tidy head, says Virgin Mattia. A silver cage hand and kneeling reflected the sunset light.

Behind Mattia's chest, something like a hot roll is feverish. Stiff, the emotion I've been forced to put a lid on and lock in. The name, hatred or resentment, was boiling.

Archdiocese and creed.

Since what time did the two become hostile with each other's spears? I don't know that anymore. Originally, it wasn't even on record as to what relationship it was.

What is certain is that in this day and age the Catholic Church is a mighty man who walks wide across the earth, and that the creed is only one of the cults whose dwelling is even suspicious.

Mattia had a deep understanding of that. As such, it is only natural for the strong to abuse the weak, because if they were in a different position, the crest might have also defeated the Catholic people.

But that is why we cannot be forgotten or tolerated of all the contempt and persecution we have ever suffered.

They chased the country, they took the city, they drove the village, they drove the land away. Former crest believers who have become displaced people who are not even going. Until we put the trading city of Galuamaria in our hands, that was the only land that lived in the crest teachings.

Run, run, run. In that escape God was made to trample on faith, a man was made a slave to crush his body, and a woman became the property of someone. That's what searching for a place for crests to live.

I even get treated like a livestock as a slave, like that, every day. I wonder how many years that went on. No longer, I can't even imagine Mattia. All she knows is that at least by the time she was born, that's what it was like to be a crest.

In the Virgin Matthia, the stiff, lidded emotion was silly, trying to come out zero as she crawled. Hot breath, leaks.

"- long. There was a very long cold time"

As she speaks, Mattia sounds her voice. The words are as if they were a celebration or a curse. Mattia's tongue and lips elaborate her words carefully.

"The disciples rob me of my dignity, and I still have to endure, trample me, and run away. Those who live peacefully in the countryside are killed only on the grounds that they put up a crest. Men were tortured, women were offended, we were robbed, and still had to endure."

There was such a cold time, Mattia says. It was a voice that stained the depths of the soldier's body in the battlefield. Words that make your heart daunt and gently stroke your chest. The gesture that strokes its breasts shakes the emotions that accumulate deep down.

Sweet, everyone has to listen, Mattia's voice. That's what people might call charisma and.

"In a long, very long cold time when pride is tainted, land is taken away, and just teeth are stiffened"

But, as she continues to say so, Mattia says. The Virgin's voice echoed everywhere and everywhere.

"- But it ended here! Now, with this time, we shall be men again. It is now time to clear the wrath of the souls of our ancestors of the carelessness of our compatriots. This is not jihad, with our will, take the enemy's neck off!

At the same time as his voice, Mattia punctuates the heavens, as if he were putting up a spear. A voice following the Virgin bounced the barbarity of the battlefield.

- Whoa, whoa!

Soldiers', voiceless voices. The very mass of sound emitted. It blew out a heavy pressure coat that was comfortable for my body, but it emitted like it did.

Suppose what Rugis gives his soldiers is fever to the point of madness. What Virgin Mattia gives, oh, that's still not a blessing. It's a clear curse.

The line of words, which also seemed to be the whimpering of the Virgin Mattia, cursed the Seal Teacher generals, knights, soldiers, everything. No longer does anyone think only of eating and breaking the Archdiocesan army in front of them. Its blood and flesh are all I see in my eyes. There is a dark, dark glow in the back of my eyes.

Its constant, detached ability to implant faith and emotion squatting in one's spirit into the hearts of others. Should I call such Mattia a Virgin or a Witch? I'm sure no one has an answer.

◇ ◆ ◇ ◆

The Archdiocesan army, in the great tent, had a small leak of a squeamish voice.

"Are you stupid or what? I told you not to use it."

"The wound will open, don't speak out. Besides, I don't remember breaking orders. You can use it when rescuing soldiers. Because if the captain is broken, that's how many soldiers will die."

When I flaunt my shoulders at the words of Naimar, my flank leaks pain as if it had been twisted.

It's been a long time since Richard-Permilis was accustomed to such things as scratches, but it's been so long since he's embedded so many major wounds in his body. Maybe since I was once given the name of a brave man and toured the country.

My godson gave me that wound.

Really, it's what I grew up with. Be good, be bad. Thinking of his godson, Fu and Richard think. That Rugis, who was not well done, now became a hero and stood up to himself, and even scratched himself. Abominable, but still, I didn't feel bad.

Therefore, if there is one problem, it is only about the technique engraved on Rugis.

What is that? Richard's lid closes for a moment after many years, and the figure of Rugis, facing him on the battlefield behind it, floats. Once upon a time, this person has seen numerous demonic procedures, and I don't even know the one called the Elf Curse, but I do. Sometimes I took those damaged human hands.

But I've never seen anything like it in Richard's long life. On the battlefield, the moment I put the blade of the black sword through Rugis, I got it. Richard's eyes did look inside the array.

The sight that engraved high-altitude magic all over the body. That, obviously, is unusual. Sometimes I've heard of wizards and sorcerers carving their own ceremonies into their bodies, but Rugis' magic tolerances, no matter what he thinks, are exceeded.

Human beings have a tolerance for magic. Even if I tried to rewrite my own body by magic, magic, and if I exceeded my tolerance, I would end up sick of Adventurer's disease and lose my life. That's common sense.

But Rugis' body was different. It incorporates a surgical formula without breaking down the body, as if it had been meticulously applied by someone throughout its body.

Casting, smelting and convergence. I don't know what the word deserves that. What Richard understands is that Rugis now has an indisputable anomaly in his body, and that, in that way, it is probably due to some strong will. Unexpectedly, Richard was feeling like a chill crawling up his spine.

Plus it's awful, he's even given the elf curse.

Shit, he's picking the worst path. Richard doesn't know the details about the elf curse. But I only knew that the man it came down to wouldn't die in all sorts of ways. Most humans embedded with spells will live a life separated from tranquillity, etc. It's not true that elves can curse you. What the hell did that godchild do?

In response to the anguish that surfaced in his skull, where he took a deep sigh, the therapist finished wrapping a bandage around Richard's side. I guess I had some witchcraft in mind. There were signs that the pain in the wound was relieving.

"- Battalion captain. You must be an army general. Then I don't want you to be so impotent."

The treatment is over, as soon as possible. Neymar's piercing words struck Richard in the ear. He's a superior officer from the ex. He wasn't in the character to care about courtesy, etc., but even more so to the word now, I felt that stuff was shredding off to Richard. As a deputy, it's no trouble.

But this is it, and I guess it's not a bad growth, while distorting my lips, Richard says.

"Look, Battlefield, then, sometimes we need that kind of impotence. Let's keep it in the chest… So, what's the situation?"

While being transported from the battlefield to the Great Tent, Richard was prevented from losing consciousness, but he couldn't possibly have checked the war. There's nothing strange about the military collapsing just the time I was being treated.

In response to Richard's inquiry, Neymar nods small and responds.

"Yes. It's not fragrant. Enemy witchcraft seems to be stopped, but it is boosted by the witch's command. This is a situation where we are retreating while we manage to contain the damage."

Listening to that voice, Richard said as he gently rang his fingers, doing well. As the word goes, it was a much better situation than I had imagined.

This one was unusually wounded on the battlefield by an army leader. It's not surprising that the entire soldier has collapsed scattered. If you're still on the front, you should want to praise me for being good enough.

Neymar's gaze asks Richard what he should do from this point on. As he responded to his gaze, Richard echoed his squeamish voice into the tent.