A Wish to Grab Happiness

The Great Temple of Flimsrat. The magician's brace covered the interior. The ultimate one, the species of man, can be drawn through.

The braces dwell in flames as they wrap and shape the air. The flaming snake thus created crawled through the universe, drawing a curve. As the spark makes its heels and sounds, it blinks as the black eyes of Fialert-la-Borgograd blink.

Fialert did not know for a moment what had happened to the flash in his sight. It also took a few seconds to realize that the presence of its flaming snake was something that popped out of its own fingertips.

Therefore, they were all reflections. He's screaming like his spinal cord is twitching, moving his entire fialert body.

The throat is thirsty as if it was packed with even a large amount of sand, and it is very unlikely to heal where it swallowed a lot of spit. Only the inexplicable impatience and turbidity of emotions filled all over his chest.

Cold exhalation, leaking. Over and over again, when the breath is born at the mouth, it falls zero in the air.

A black eye looked only at the golden Virgin at the end of her still untidy sight. Yes, she did.

- Myself and Rugis say it's childhood taming since birth.

It was almost at the same time that words were rebelled in the skull and flaming snakes crawling out of their fingers stood fangs at the Virgin. The heat and its sparks kill and blaspheme the holy woman.

In the meantime, the unspeakable, inexperienced storm of emotion surrounds the heart is felt by the fialert. My cheeks swayed and my back teeth bitten hard.

What to say and what to think.

That's what the Virgin told him, that she was familiar with him. So what's the matter, so the thought of what it is, I do.

Do you mean that just being together from an early age can even give birth to possession where it is? Fools. I don't care. There's no point in remembering. Such seemingly rational, thoughts.

But as in conflict with it, there are also thoughts that spring up from the bottom of the leg with the mundane.

That's so ugly, something that very people can't talk about.

Clogging is jealousy and envy. I've known him since I didn't know myself and spent time with him. That's how I shared my thoughts with him. The thought of being jealous of the matter and the thought of being jealous. That mixes around in the back of the chest, and I think I'll even learn to nauseate.

I think Fialert thinks this is what makes your guts cramp.

But now I had another thing in my chest, just like that emotion. I think that would be even uglier than other emotions.

It tastes like relief that it struck down the object of its jealousy and envy, beneath its own magic. Fialert lets his dark hair jump, while he unloads his teeth. The rough breath did not yet attempt to return. But there's just a little calm back in my chest.

Unlike adventurers with swords and spears, the race of sorcerers and wizards does not imitate each other as if they were meant to do that. Because of the lack of such numbers from the beginning, and the majority of people with identities and status, there was a reason, but above all a great reason.

Because if one deals with demonization at least one of them dies.

Demons are never cheap things. Miracles like saving lost lives cannot happen, nor can they be imitated like surely paying for danger. Sorcerers and wizards are like walking on top of each other.

Therefore, there naturally existed a nation or race that hated the sorcerer's kind, and on the other hand, some countries possessed them aggressively as force.

The settlement of a duel where such threats confront each other and take their lives is at times instantaneous. Which emits the demon first, and which eats off the other's throat first. That's all.

That's why magician duels can sometimes start with conversations. To find a gap between them, to disturb, distort and gain an advantage in that spirit at all.

Fialert grates his chest as he manages to get his rough cut exhale done. My shoulders were still shaken up and down.

When I calmed down, I thought all the words Arueno had spoken might have been meant to upset me. No, I should probably have thought so. Because it is not possible that the hero of the crest and the Virgin of the Catholic Church have an ancient edge.

This is not a knight's story. Even the rumors told by the common people would be a little more full of faith. I'm sure those words were meant to shake your feet and spit out confusion.

Besides, even if the Virgin Arueno and Rugis were childhood friendly, why would Arueno talk about it?

Fialert shakes long lashes and narrows eyes. At the end of his sight he could see the flames converging in turmoil.

Such as the Virgin and the Great Evil had an edge over childhood, that should be the event that we want to cover up above all for the Catholic Church. Isn't it possible that the Virgin, who is the person of the day, should be happy to speak of it?

So, that was still a lie. It should be. Fialert concluded, yes, with his own chest. It's like telling yourself.

Besides, the facts have already disappeared into flames. So I don't even need to think about it anymore. The fialert slowly stands teeth on his lips as he brilliantly captures the spark at the edge of his sight.

That, it was a moment.

- In the flames, I saw gold. It was brilliant with its hellish beauty, gleaming around.

At the same time, a very indescribable substitute strikes the ear of a fialert. It's just like the sound is ringing, that.

"- Great talent. But I want you to stop, because I'm a coward. I'm not afraid of this kind of violence."

Sounding like that, the whole thing was as delicate as touching a vitreous workmanship, touching a storm of blazing flames. A fiery serpent created by Fialert and thus fully worked out his magic. Its neck is tightened to thin fingers that even appear weak.

It was a bizarre sight. The glossy black eyes of the fialert reflect its sight as solidified.

Something in the form of a human being named the Virgin lightly grabs the snake of magic and flashes it in his hand.

Very, I don't think it's real. Magic isn't supposed to be that easy.

I know that even young children can no longer do it, such as put the magic of others into their own hands.

Before I knew it, there was a sweat on the forehead of the fialert. It licks its cheeks as it feels cold.

"Besides, I can't do this. This would be formal magic. The things I've created can't hurt me. Wouldn't you?

In front of what can be described as such an effortless sound, the fialert distorts the lips.

Why, what, why. Those words, they don't come as if in the head of a fialert. There is only one word that is now floating in the cranium of the fialert.

Clear death.

The magician's duel with each other, the root of it, is how not to make the opponent's magic work.

Now the enemy devoured his witchcraft before his eyes, and he became a bare hand. If this happens, the battle will end between blinks. With the result that you die and your opponent survives.

At any rate, there's no time to work out the magic again, or between spitting braces. Even if they try to make it happen, the enemy will never forgive them.

Clogged, over. There's an inescapable death out there. My reaper is standing in front of me now.

The only event Fialert has captured is that. The poor head could no longer think of anything more. A white finger named Death is stroking his skull.

Reaper said, "Let's go.

"I told you, Fialert-la-Borgograd. I hope you feel safe. I'll give you salvation. [M] I'll make sure I fill you up."

My eyes cramped just listening, a line of sounds that seemed to turn my throat upside down. The fear of fear seemed to stain out of my whole body.

Thus, the fialert had an intuition at the same time. This one in front of me, it's not the Virgin.

I'm not the woman you named Arueno. Something completely different. Something about it approaches this way as we take a step forward.

Both legs of the fialert are not going to move. It's not that I can't move in fear, or that I'm losing my strength.

Really, it just didn't work. It's as if it's frozen.

"It doesn't make sense, you can never go against your destiny. Even if you were a hero."

And in the meantime, one step, and another step, and all of them come nigh. The golden eye, its hair, even its expression belongs to the Virgin who names it Arueno.

But only the voice and atmosphere were different, as if they had been anointed with something else. That makes me feel strange and uncomfortable.

"Oh, speaking of which, it was a pleasure to meet you. Let's introduce ourselves, Fialert-la-Borgograd"

Sounds fun. Fialert felt something tangle in his ear. If you don't want to hear it, if you shouldn't, your brain marrow intuits.

"- I am the Spirit of God, Artius, and I will grant you absolute happiness"

Thus, Fialert saw that even its fine looking fingers touched her cheeks.

Moment after moment, something shook up the atmosphere ran, I see.