A Wish to Grab Happiness

Everyone who was on the spot would not move one fingertip. Philos, city soldiers, crest soldiers. Everyone was shadowed by their own shadows, but they didn't move their bodies, they just kept leaking their quiet, hot breaths.

Maybe everyone, couldn't move.

- So, who was going to kill me, huh?

A raw breeze strokes my cheeks. It's like it's going to chill your gut itself, that voice. Everyone felt something crawling around the ground go up from the toe to the spine as a tremor.

Only one of them, Roseau's twilight, is burned by a green flame, but like, in an instant. Everyone who stood under his eyes was given a drink of spirit by that vicious monster. No, not just the spirit, but even the soul. That's how I finally can't move one finger.

What do you mean? Is this possible? That my voice will be cancelled, etc.

Roseau's heart whimpers and tells her. Right, that's not evil, that's not evil. Enemy. You must be a blazing enemy of your own.

Roseau burns Rugis' figure into his eyes as he opens his eyes and dries up his eyelids. What was gushing in my chest was an ugly emotion that I could even say to my mouth. Not very much, but not what I could put out in my mouth. It's not something anyone can tell you. I have something I can call an aesthetic, even though it's as sharp as a shard.

Roseau instead gained enough momentum to emit heat from his lips, he said. Keep your teeth peeled out, your hands trembling, but only the color of your eyes calm.

"- Birth and death are duties imposed on men. There can be no more immortality than a person being a person. Gentlemen, move the spear forward!

Spear forward. That was one signal that had been told by the Philos city soldiers.

If all the soldiers of the crest do not respond to the mercy of the other side in any way, and give it to the wicked, they will no longer have to give it their final mercy with spears. We can only redeem ourselves with that death.

So kill them all. I'll tell you what, signal.

As a matter of fact, the number of Philos city soldiers far exceeds that of the crest instructors. As Rozo said, if you stick the spear just forward, that should put a piece on most of the fight. You can't say without any damage, but there's no great difficulty in killing them all.

The number easily exceeds the strength of the individual. No matter how vicious the Rugis were, they cannot resist the overwhelming majority. That would be a reason for a child to understand.

But the world must move more simply if people can move their crooked feet with such reasoning.

Listening to Roseau's signal and his voice, Philos City Soldier's legs will not move. Everyone has frozen their whole bodies with a look like a beast with their fangs removed in front of them. The head, which was supposed to have the fever of faith until earlier, was sadly cut off.

Philos Urban Soldiers, it is indisputable that they are moaning in their hearts, fighting pure terror.

Indeed, there is no doubt that we have the advantage. Fully surround the enemy, and if you take a step further, the tip of the spear will devour into the enemy's flesh. Even life must be easy to take. Well, it should be.

But deep in my heart, there is still something stained. That gets bigger and that's how thicker over time. That stain is one suspicion.

Is it not true that we cannot kill him who is Rugis?

His men could not be killed by the great army of the Catholic Church. Or even with the armies of God. Then where is the proof that we can kill? Maybe it's really an incarnation of evil dragons or something. Then is it a terrible and stupid act to put a spear at it and stick a sword up?

Once sprouted in the chest, the seed of suspicion, fear, gathers its nourishment itself. Facts turn into delusions, and possibilities become impossible to transform. There is nothing easier to flow than the heart of a man who once fled. No matter how much you try to push, something that will gently roll down the cliff.

Not everyone can be brave. Rather, it is those who cannot fight who make up much of the world. It would be terror itself, such as a world where many can fight by killing their own fears.

It is therefore for the majority of humans that what can push and kill fear is nothing more than another fear.

"Autonomous people. Do you want to be a traitor? Of course, I don't mind either way."

The voice of Roseau, spoken in a relaxed tone for a long time. The spine of the Philos Urban Soldier pops in a voice color that sticks to his ear hole.

The treacherous. That's more stigma than death. It is only raw to be trampled before its filthy name is given. In the head of the city soldier emerges the figure of Phyllos-Treit, who continued to be struck with a stick until he passed out tied to a chain.

Now that Philose-Trait has lost his legs, Roseau is no longer an exaggeration when it comes to those with the greatest authority in the city. Besides, if he also exchanges covenants with the Archdiocesan priest, the stigma of the treacherous is given as his fingertips wield.

That's how the Roseau says it. He who opposes the crest religion himself and does not take the spear must be unlike the treacherous.

Everyone in the Philos City Soldier blinks his eyes. We've come to a point where we can't go back. Everyone finally realized that while they were late.

In the burning heart, the city soldiers decided what they were ready for. For the sake of crushing the wicked. That's how you protect yourself. He gripped his hand so hard that he stuck his spear out and took his leg, half a step.

- The, the moment. One head, which was unluckily in the lead, blew up with a blood splash.

Something hard and heavy chooses the skull, bites the meat, and as it is, it also takes its life. Sprayed warm blood was rocking white exhalation as the cold wind gushed.

The identity of the city soldier who took his life is what is called a throwing axe. An axe thrown at an audacious speed whilst ripping the soldier's skull, sounds heavy with a decoy and slaps the ground.

While city soldiers, crest instructors, and even Roseau opened their eyes and stopped their voices. Only the hissing of the horse and one voice sank through the hollow.

"Oh, was your aim too good"

It was a woman with armor made of steel all over her body who showed up off the street, even though she said it was meant to be intimidating. There were a few other throwing axes at his fingertips. Behind that, I see him carrying a cavalry and a few carriages.

Seeing that look, everyone in the Philos Urban Soldier thought it might be some mistake.

Perhaps they are not crest soldiers to see that steel-wrapped figure or that of those who took them. Rather, it would be more like a mercenary than a regular soldier.

If so, naturally they should be on our archdiocesan side. A mercenary always pays well and is on the side of the strong. If you ride a winning horse, it's like there's no payment for gold, and if you help the First Crest teachings, it's more likely that you won't be able to do business later.

That's normal. It should be universal reason. But why are those mercenaries on the side of the crest? And by extension, when a place like this is bad.

Is it still some kind of mistake?

Such as to dispel even a slight caged suspicion of hope, the steel cavalry - Vestalinu-Guerla - opens its mouth and releases its voice.

"Our Federation of Belfein Mercenaries. I put it under the crest teachings. Will you forgive me, Lord Rugis?"

It was a crystal clear voice under the cold sky.