A Wish to Grab Happiness

The two names most commonly used to refer to Warden Paloma-Bashar were freaks.

Someone who is suspicious and believes that it is right not to believe in everything. A follower of skepticism. I'm sure I don't believe in God or even demons myself, of course. That's how he is told.

That was not a mistake. From the edge, that's who Paloma is. Paloma also hears those reputations and doesn't even intend to correct them.

Relationships in the aristocratic class exist for someone to use someone. Sounds good when it comes to mutual assistance, but the essence is to use someone and kick it down sooner or later.

Of course, a substantial part of it would not be entirely speakable in one word. At least the Bashar family has looked closely at those aspects. Mainly on the side used.

My father, my grandfather, and my ancestors until then, I think honesty was the best gain. Honestly, honesty can be described as virtue, but virtue is a term for shortcomings.

I believe in people, and that's how they betray me. On the battlefield, in the political arena. How many times has that happened? How could I not know that there was no such thing as true friendship among the aristocratic classes?

Because of that appearance, the Bashar family has been disconnected from the mainstream of politics a long time ago and forced to sweat as a local nobleman.

From such a past, Paloma no longer believed in something called a relationship. Weird. Nature and people don't come close if they have such a reputation. If people don't come near me, I can avoid trouble for that matter.

Besides, even if that hadn't happened, Paloma wouldn't try to stop suspecting anything. More so, he was of that nature, and Paloma thinks that's the only way to find the truth.

Seeing the intruder pierced by the magic ice and lying down on the floor - Vestalinu-Guerla - Paloma nodded satisfactorily.

I decided enough meat to see the amount of blood flooding out of my limbs. If it works, the bones will be crushed, too.

From the point of throwing a grand battle axe down the floor, perhaps that inference is close to the truth. But I don't think Paloma is necessarily true.

So look at that. Paloma will not break the magical circle. I didn't even think of approaching Vestalinu, who fell down again.

Even if we didn't, we had plenty of chances. All sorcery ceremonies of all kinds and formats. Paloma stretches throughout the room.

They do not produce any effect. But a full magic mechanism just takes away a person's health. Because it's no different than being exposed to the curse of a warcraft.

That's why I'm not letting soldiers in here. Because it would be a wasted leg clump. Paloma saw that being alone was more than winning enough.

Regardless, it is impossible to avoid the influence of the magic mechanism with Paloma, the magician. I still feel something like twitching and paralysis on my skin tip.

However, it is also true that they have more resistance than ordinary people. If you spend the same amount of time, your enemies will certainly make a sound.

That's why Paloma doesn't move. Just waiting for the enemy to weaken. The gaze of seeing an enemy falling and laying down with its nose ringing was exactly that of a hunter. Although I may not be comfortable with it as a paloma.

At the end of his gaze, Vestalinu sticks his fingertips to the floor. I heard it even when my rough breath was away. Paloma sees his hand stretched to a battle axe that has been dropped zero on the floor. To see that happen, I guess that's no longer the only weapon I can believe. Besides, she doesn't have enough room to pull the sword out of her waist.

But what obsession? Paloma bit his teeth as he distorted his eyes.

As far as I can tell, the intruder in front of me is still young. Adults will be, but still less than half their own age, Paloma thinks.

How was it when I was the same age? No, I don't even have to remind you, it was just a kid. The suspicious sexual roots remain the same, but I still don't remember trying to make something so obsessive.

What the hell is poking and moving her? That was the question for Paloma.

What is her background? What she aspires to be. What is it that a young woman like this tries to become by giving up her life? I don't know anything about that.

But I knew I was wrong about one thing. She is not the kind of night thief to despise. An enemy to be respected. An honorable enemy.

That is why I will not tolerate any alarm or chronic heart.

When that thought licked Paloma's chest around. I heard a groaning voice. Vestalinu, who stays down, trembles his voice.

"… won't the Garrist let his enemies do the same?"

His eyes are still wide open as he spits blood out of his limbs. Not the eyes that throw everything away and something I wanted to get easier quickly.

Is it in that hand? Paloma stroked his mustache as he protruded his jaw.

"There's no need for that. The guardians will be back soon. With the neck of your people."

Using another magic trick while maintaining the magic juncture is not easy to guide. Just as it is difficult to simultaneously have two thoughts in your brain, magic also neglects one if you try to activate both at the same time.

Earlier it was a complete ambush. But this time, she's bound to foresee the occasion, too. The moment you activate the magic ice, you may push the battle axe into a magical junction that sounded brittle in your hand.

You think too much. No, she's not. She'll do it for sure, even if her limbs get pierced. Paloma does not believe in his incompetence, but not in the incompetence of his enemies.

If it is, it is best to wait for the Protector. That demonization is not believable, but I still can't imagine that defeat in this prison.

Vestalinu groaned, as he had reacted to the words of Paloma.

"... my people could kill your men, right?

Paloma shook her head as she narrowed her eyes. Its eyes are sharp everywhere.

"Do you think people can resist the floods? [M] Is there a house that won't be blown away by the storm? That's what it is."

When he heard it, Vestallinu moaned.

"- For a long time, you're believed. his men."

◇ ◆ ◇ ◆

Heroic Killer. The treasure sword so inscribed had a fever, sighing in so much depression that if he were a human, he would let his teeth be called teeth. Every passion is shaking its blade.

At the same time, the blade had strange restlessness.

The discomfort of not being where you are supposed to be. The sadness that there is no being near me that should be my half body.

It is strange to use such a word against the sword, but should I even call it behavioral suspicion? All sorts of emotions, such as anger, grief, and agitation, are swirling in the treasure sword.

- Oh, Lord. Terrible, this one. Isn't it terrible?

Unexpectedly, the treasure sword even wants to be such a fool. The Lord Rugis bounced himself off his waist and threw him into an elephant.

That's it, or another blade that's not me - even waving that white sword.

It's not something I can forgive. Can you forgive me? I am the sword of the Lord. Even though I couldn't suppress the frustration of being raised on my lower back in the same way. Now, take yourself off your hips, etc. The treasure sword shakes the blade to express dissatisfaction.

Yeah, I should have sued the Lord for this. We should have taken some form and told the Lord. You don't have to believe anything but yourself.

It was an indisputable outrage for the treasure sword and an irresistible frustration. The blade has heat and is trembling like a rampage.

But at the same time, the treasure sword named Heroic Killer was giving birth to another, emotional one. That's close to anxiety when it comes to people. Purple electricity gets cold and brilliant.

- Maybe I was removed from my hips because the Lord had decided that I was no longer needed.

It is comforting to be told that it is similar to life, but is it true?

I understand very well that the Lord admired the hero who was the bearer of that white sword. If so, with that vision, there is no wonder that the White Sword is the weapon of its own.

The treasure sword has never had such anxiety before. Whatever the Lord treats the weapon as free, and as it was being thrown into the arsenal, that's casual.

If you are abandoned, wait for the next hero to make his rounds. I've never broken those thoughts in the past.

But now, no. Is it the act of irreversible assimilation in the spirit and the flesh? Lately, it feels terrible. I don't even want to imagine being separated from the Lord.

I want to get rid of this anxiety quickly. I want to get back to the Lord as soon as possible. All those thoughts go around the blade.

I wonder what this woman is doing when she says so. The treasure sword sounds a blade and shows dissatisfaction against Vestalinu, who was entangled in sorcery and crawled to the floor.

This stuff, if it's the Lord, doesn't even make it difficult. No, I won't let you. I didn't expect to expose that to ugliness that could easily be hunted down by the enemy.

I think the treasure sword. A man of this Vestallinu-Guerla is a warrior. But it's not a hero's vessel. There is no such thing as a name in history.

Therefore, even if the treasure sword was only a little, there was no point in lending a hand. I'm not interested in the predicament either. However, swirling in a treasure sword is all about your Lord.

I dare you, speaking of one thing that bothers me.

Apparently, the only thing that happened here was that this woman hadn't given up one thing.