A Wish to Grab Happiness

Philos-Trait, ruler of the autonomous city of Philos, was in the office, unknowingly chewing on the inside of his lips.

In that white eye is a piece of parchment sent by the crest teachings. I guess it's never a fake book to see their crest stamped.

What is engraved there is no different than what Philos-Trait imagined in his head. I mean, something that forces her to make a clear choice.

- Coordinate with the invisible crest teachings ahead, or fall with the city?

Do you want to die here now, or extend your life a little bit, and later? Philos thinks that what is being poked at by him is something like that. The results are the same, no matter which one you choose, the worst or the worst.

That I will only spare you a short time of danger for taking the hand of the crest religion. If the main forces of the Catholic Church approached the land, the city of Philos and the crest would be defeated by a wave of giants called the Catholic Church.

It is also difficult to choose to imitate the cage castle, etc. by targeting the main unit of the Catholic Church.

The surrounding area is now in full cold weather. In the northern part of the continent, the appearance of white makeup would already be hidden. Though the Catholic Church boasts more and more immense forces, it cannot be imitated like putting a massive army into it. Instead, you shouldn't. Phyllos-Treit felt his white eyes harden and his fingertips slightly paralyzed.

No matter how he tries to fix the scenery, the Archdiocese was defeated by the crest. A giant, a dragon, was frightened by a lizard named Seal Religion.

Once, you can do it with accidental bias. But twice, it's no longer destiny.

For the Catholic Church, the next defeat will never be forgiven. People in the upper ecclesiastical hierarchy will understand that very well. That is why there can be no such thing as a massive march at this time of year.

They will have enough strength and morale during the cold weather, and that is how they will indulge their hatred of creed religion, waiting for the snow scenery to become scattered.

If so, Russia, the pulse of the city Philos begins to fall to the bottom of the earth.

This is also a city that has been granted autonomy. Naturally they have some strength to defend themselves from night thieves and bandits. The force used in the Sanio match is to the extent that it can be described as a Phyllos-Treit private soldier.

There is no such thing as not being able to fight if you are officially using force as a city. Instead, the crest instructors were wounded soldiers in many of the earlier meetings. Then it may be possible that if you stand around well, this person will have an advantage.

But no matter how well you do it, you won't win. There was a feeling of something sticky crawling through the bottom of my gut.

Anyway, the soldiers know. The Archdiocesan army was swallowed up by the crest army. The presence of that lunatic demon that runs through the army and steps through the skull. I don't know, my spine, poppy. My tongue is so restless.

The Catholic Church has been defeated, in one of its facts the morale of the city soldiers is devastating. I'm sure that can't even be deceived by the exaltation of the battlefield.

Leading a human without such a fever, what can war be? War is a ritual that hits the fever of a man's madness. No more fever, no more willingness to trample and crush enemies, and you can't win.

Besides, there is another reason why the war cannot be fought, and Philos gently hits his jaw, I think. The body slowly sat back in the office chair. It's time.

A few degrees at the door, the sound of a knock knocks. Go ahead, Philos said in a throwing voice. I was informed in advance that there were visitors today. There will come a man who will take away from himself the diplomatic means of war.

The clerk's, quiet voice sounded. And he shows himself from the end of the door.

"Dear Philose-Trait, ruler. It's an honor to meet you."

"Thank you. Let's get this over with."

Ahead of the door opened, Roseau, a delegate from the Civil Council Hall, was bowing his head respectfully as he dressed himself in his courtesy.

◇ ◆ ◇ ◆

Roseau and the birth of a man so called was never good or anything else, but rather humble.

I don't know my father's name, I don't remember my mother's face very well either. Born from the belly of a junior whore, he seemed to have no parent-child relationship or even his own name, and therefore he did not remember his own name until he was willing. Hey, if they called me, I understood that to be about me. Well, if you don't understand, they just hit me in the cheek with hot iron.

By the time his hands and feet began to move, Roseau was moving around as a lower worker in the whorehouse. His main task was to keep washing sheets that were going to be out of dirt and even boil the silk, or beaten by a bad mood guest. That was a natural routine for Roseau, and he didn't much doubt it.

By then Roseau must have had nothing. I didn't have the head to think for myself, or maybe even the emotions were lost. If I was just called, I would have moved, abused and outdone my own body, and if I hadn't been called that, I wouldn't have moved. Roseau remembers that he only spoke of muddy soup and bread that seemed to be missing teeth.

Yes, he had nothing. No money, no identity, no blood muscles, no power. God did not give to Roseau.

There is only one more thing: the teachings that living right is God's will.

"I understand the hectic work of the ruler. Besides, I'm kind of a spokesperson for the people's congregation. I don't have a mouth for words with you."

Turn your tongue, move your lips smoothly, says Roseau. The voice color was strangely powerful and weighty. Shake Philose-Trait's ears as his voice echoes through the room. Is it from the way the voice is used, Roseau's words softly enter my head?

Philose-Treit nodded his jaw small enough to prompt Roseau to continue, redirecting his gaze from parchment in front of him to Roseau.

White, emotionless eyes pierce Roseau. He accepts and tells his chest that he is accustomed to his stiff gaze.

"Marching cooperation to the Archdiocese. As a result, our autonomous city of Philos suffered painful damage. People's congregations are no longer allowed to participate in the war."

Okay, and Phyllos-Treit swayed his lips small and nodded. I'm just saying that I know that without asking.

But Roseau thought the same thing. This ruler knows perfectly well that there will be no such thing as changing his attitude as soon as he hears the opinion of the National Assembly. It has been and will continue to be.

That's why people like themselves come out.

Roseau opened his lips, blinking its characteristic, cold eyes. Like I said, here and now he doesn't have the authority to put words on Philose-Trait. Those lips are just until they communicate the Civil Society's decision.

"Therefore, the Civil Society overlaps the crest and the spear, nor does it submit to cooperating -"

"- If you resolutely refuse, you will say so. I know what you mean."

He took his gaze off Roseau just saying he was no longer interested while sitting in the executive chair, feeding his eyes again on parchment paper, Phyllos-Treit said. The voice she sounded, she says, is stupid.

I understand very well that Roseau and his words are too foolish. There will be no cooperation with the crest religion, but there will be no war. Is it something that can be convenient? The city of Philos is clearly saying that it is hostile to the crest religion.

Instead, if such convenience passes, this world must be something even better. Wishes are fulfilled, salvation is available, and outstretched hands are received. It must be such a beautiful world everywhere.

But there can't be anywhere in the world.

The current state of Philos, the autonomous city, is in a lucid predicament. Whatever options you choose to grasp and hand over, there is an entanglement ahead of you.

In a position to choose it, Roseau even remembered the truth and admiration for Philose-Trait, the girl who could still accommodate a strong will in her eyes. If they were former rulers, they would have either taken refuge in the Garrist kingdom before or waved their tailfeathers to the crest teachings early.

But this girl is still sitting in a chair named Ruler, eating her teeth and eating her teeth without evoking the best of the worst.

Excellent, a mirror of the ruler, the very righteous that the Catholic Church speaks of. You can even say Hail. The more I want to even give you a drink from myself for not being the right one.

Except for the fact that such correctness is of no use.

Roseau received Phyllos-Treit's words and smiled with a seemingly humane grin, he said.

"That will be more general than civil society. Our citizens hope that the ruler, Lady Philos-Trait, will choose a better path."

I'm sure this girl will keep picking the right path again for the bug spit to run, Roseau groaned in her chest.