A Wish to Grab Happiness

Once, when Roseau was still being treated like a dog in a whorehouse, he believed so, I guess, that he was not the right person. That's why he said he couldn't receive God's salvation or love.

Anyway, the shopkeeper, the whore, and the customer show the habit of having a very normal human attitude besides themselves, so that they can hit things with themselves. That is because I am the wrongdoer. Because you're not the right person, I assumed. That doesn't make any difference, trying to pray without sleep every night, trying to do good deeds.

So Roseau kept thinking that he was still an incorrect person.

It wasn't until about the year Roseau deserved to be called youth that he realized that all of them were just mistakes.

Around that age, Roseau was finally allowed to dress in a crowd and ordered to be familiar. It's not all the hard work of a whorehouse, it's because I was entrusted with the task of pulling customers.

Nothing. I didn't think anything of it in itself. But only anxiety covered his chest, wondering whether such a job would be performed on him, who was like a dog. Where I spoke to him, I wondered if it was a guest dropping by.

But Roseau's discount was good, as if it were misty and scattered with such anxiety. My mouth turns so well that even the customer who tried to leave me is stopped. It was at this time that he first learned that he had the talent to pinch words.

So, that's not all I found out. Another big thing I've learned.

- I also learned that people didn't see through anything, like the nature of people.

The humans who have been rambling on themselves and throwing mud at them now start smiling and exchanging words just a little bit better. Even though my essence hasn't changed anything, I'm starting to treat myself as a human, not a dog, with one appearance.

It has nothing to do with whether you are right or not.

Roseau thought. At the end of the day, nobody takes anything like correctness or honesty. No one, no one, is just looking at people and judging them, and at the bottom of their minds, they're not thinking about one thing behind their brain marrow. Even so, everyone wonders if they believe they're right.

That's depressing, hateful and abominable to Roseau. Even though I still don't think I'm right, I don't think I'm right. How can the others say, "You are right," in the face of fine weather? That's odd and I can't wait. I wonder what's right, such as justice, which changes the colour of the flag if you stir him up a little in the civil conference hall.

But even for such a Roseau, only a girl named Philos-Trait was heterogeneous. She always seemed to wonder what correctness was.

She doesn't collude with the People's Council as she once was, she doesn't hang her fingers on her personal greed, she just lives what she thinks is right. She has come into conflict with herself, which is a mistake in itself, many times.

Unlike myself, naturally not like any other human being. Foreign body that continues to emit unshakeable correctness. That was the thought that a man named Roseau had on a girl named Philose-Trait, close to scorching.

◇ ◆ ◇ ◆

It stinks, smells like I could, dungeon. A place that doesn't really suit her like that was Philose-Trait's current residence.

There are no provided lights here. The only time the light is lit in the dungeon is when the guard takes Cantera for a few patrols a day. Otherwise, the darkness just dominates the space as if the space itself had subsided.

Among them, Roseau was walking wide without a guard. Only the sound of treading the cantera, clinging, clinging and hard rock slabs echoes around. The only other sound I could hear was precisely the groaning of the prisoner.

Footsteps, in front of the deepest dungeon, stop. A thick iron door was in front of Roseau. It's like I'm even going to suck in the sound, that. Only a few lookout holes open at the height of the gaze pass through the sound.

Roseau leaked his words as he distorted his moustache on his mouth.

"How's it going?"

For a while, nothing returned. When Roseau starts to wonder if the iron door has really stopped the sound, he finally hears his voice.

"... I've never had a hard time getting some air."

For a long time, it was a plundered voice. Did you also suffer a wound to your throat, every breath of which is weak? It's only been a few days since I've been in here, but I guess I'm purely exhausted, too.

Anyway, this is not the kind of prison you would have been allowed in. Rats run on the floor and molds crawl through the ceiling, independently of cleanliness and the like. Perhaps the water and food served are not of very good quality either. From Phyllos-Treit, who was the ruler, it may not make any difference from the filth.

And I'm sure that's the only reason it's debilitating.

"I don't think so, but you're not helping the soldiers, the clerks directly under me."

It sounds like something can be felt from the savages of a plundered voice. It turns into a groan from time to time.

Roseau didn't know and was chewing on the inside of his cheek with his teeth. A guard, or maybe one of the citizens got in. Did you strike her with an iron rod, connected by heavy chains, or did you even torture her? Whatever it is, there's something that hurt her and threatened her.

There will be no one to lay their hands on the disobedient against God, but there must be as many who wield violence in the gloom.

If that's the case, now Philose-Trait's entire body won't be one that could have moved a lot with pain. Still, what is the worry of those who follow themselves? Roseau said, unknowingly narrowing his eyes.

"Don't you wonder? Why didn't the escorts try to protect you when you were surrounded by citizens at the gate? I've been trying to protect you, like a clerk."

They sold you, I tell you so. In fact, some people just couldn't move because they were cowardly. Not all of the soldiers were at the mercy of Roseau and the Civil Society.

But in the end it's the same thing. As one person, I couldn't save her. Without just one resistance.

What's the difference between selling her to us? Roseau meshes his teeth slightly.

I was just waiting to hear what you think of the betrayal of the soldiers, the words that would come back from Philose-Trait. After a while, the plunder again, and the occasional cough-mixed voice echoes into the dungeon.

"Yes, I see. - So what are you going to do from here, Roseau?"

Philose-Trait spoke of the soldiers, I see, and that was one word. Is that word packed with sadness and outrage? Or did the emotions that come to mind otherwise not exist?

Roseau took her relaxed words silently, which were spoken in a way that allowed her to live with the pain.

"Though I don't know if your wishes are power or gold coins. If you use all city soldiers for a thorough anti-war, you can fight your crest army opponents a little. But then I can't go beyond the cold. We'll lose everything and the city itself will dry up."

Next to next, from behind the iron door, Phyllos-Treit tells his thoughts. People's congregations will listen to what you say, but there are limits to that. Neither is rescue from the Catholic Church likely. Sooner or later, a city called Philos will die if we wage a battle with the creed religion.

Listen to that voice. Roseau loosened his mouth, which was biting hard. Close your eyes and nod quietly.

Absolutely everything she says is true. Everything is right. I'm sure she didn't do anything to put that skull to rest in this dungeon. Rather than being dominated by resentment and hatred in the way of betrayal, I guess I kept thinking about the city.

Yeah, everywhere, she's the right ruler of the city of Philos. I'm sure she loves this city all the way here, the citizens.

After all, she must be the opposite of herself. Roseau said, placing a grip in front of his chest.

"My wishes are and always have been the same. I just hate this city. You and the Civil Society are everything."

It was the first time in a long time that Roseau had let it leak straight out of the depths of his chest, an uncharacterized voice. As it is, Roseau continues his voice.

"Dear Philose-Trait, Just one piece of advice. You must be right everywhere. The correctness is so much in love. though."

Philos listened silently to Roseau's words. Roseau seemed to me, not willing to argue or pinch anything in my mouth. A lofty voice that doesn't resemble jail sounds.

"There are also people in the world who cannot live in their righteousness. Weak, strong, not, can only live by mistake, and people of that nature."

Like myself, Roseau didn't say.

Throw only that word at the iron door, and without waiting for a reply, Roseau returns his heel. There was no turning around the dungeon.

- Drive Philose-Trait away from himself and sharpen the power of the city Philos.

Most of the work entrusted to me was done. All you have to do later is exhaust the crest army with precision and moderation.

Roseau brought the secret book he had received from the Kingdom of Garrist to the fire of Cantera, shaking his moustache slightly.