A Wish to Grab Happiness

From the territory of the Volvato morning, the days of smoke continued for a time.

That is a testament to the burning of the village. A mark of deference to witchcraft.

You can't fight or run. Old men and children die first. The woman was murdered while the fierce soldiers treated her indiscriminately, and at the end of the day the men who fought also died.

To my mind, if this were the result of the war, there would still have been salvation. The act has a purpose, and there is a new era ahead of death. Compared to this, I'd say it's still a meaningful death.

"No, hey, hey, hey!

An army of magicians burns down the besieged village. It wasn't a war, it was just a massacre, and there was no lot of resistance. There is no way the villagers, unarmed and untrained, can rival a group of magicians and soldiers.

A woman's scream rings and the sound of someone's skull crushing. And the body was burned, and turned to black dust, and scattered in the dead snow.

That happened many times a day. Green smoke blows up from all over Volvato territory, boasting of its existence. The raven danced through the universe to repel.

Smoke was just a pledge of allegiance to demonization. A voice that burns and kills its own compatriots and tells them that it is on your side. A sorcerer who cannot do so is executed as a traitor.

We no longer even know what is true and what is behind it. The magician's country keeps changing its shape. More distorted, more demonic.

Seeing the columns of smoke going up to that heaven, said the demon Rabul. As always, an emotionless look sticks to my face.

"Junelba. Why do you use people like that so heavily? If you want to use it, you should use the talented - he has no talent. Answer now."

Rabul sits back on the couch looking like a doll made in. This lounge for her in the palace of Volvato is decorated with luxury to the point of strangeness.

The demon Junelba shut his mouth gently to Rabul's inquiry and opened it as he had finally thought of it.

"Kuhaha, oh, are you alle...... ma. I'd rather have a guy who can use it if he's a subordinate. But he's not my man."

Junelba blinks his mouth as he puts the expensive magic flowers he brought in for Laboure indoors. His voice seemed flat and without much emotion.

"Besides, I'm talented. I can easily kill my own people in our mood. I'm not even quite demonic. There are many warcraft who surrender and show their bellies, but how many of them fang their fellow necks to live."

To the words emanating from his mouth, Rabul strangely widened his eyes. I wasn't sure what Junelba was talking about.

The person who talks to that keel said he sympathized with Junelba's idea. Isn't that why you're surrounded by killing humans yourself?

When asked that, Junelba laughed strangely. That's not for laughing at Rabul, it's some kind of grin. Rabul must be the only person who has ever seen such a look on Junelba's face.

If you take it to Junelba, you don't even think the guy sympathized with his ideas or anything.

The man is just drunk. You can call it intoxication. To the point of creating a burnt body, Junelba gave the man status and authority. That would have kept him safe enough, but Sang that man keeps making burnt bodies.

It wasn't just a good hey man. If you know that's the way to go through demonization, everyone kills others for their own good. Repeat that over and over again.

Yeah, and Junelba still strokes that mouth. Human beings do not change. He is weak and humble and has a soul that can easily sell off his body.

Anyway, I hear that Altier and his people killed him in the end. What a fool.

After all, humans are incomplete creatures. It is only a miracle that such a presence was, even temporarily, a champion of the continent. Only a miracle called Altia kept them alive.

- But miracles don't last forever, which is why we call them miracles.

Junelba says with a cunning grin on his bird's head.

"Rabul. How's the heart? Our king has fallen asleep at all times. Then I won't be dressed. Zebrelilith doesn't know what time he's gonna wake up either."

Their king now drops himself off at Mount Befims, overlooking the capital of Volvato, and wakes up once every few days to sleep again.

The Heavenly Castle Giant Beast, the Great Demon Vrilligant, after collapsing the city several times, is now just not going to stretch one of its wings to rest its giant.

We already know the factors. Vrilligant's heart once taken by Altia. Now that we've been deprived of the nucleus that was meant to indulge and create enormous magic, it's only a few moments before Vrilligant can move.

Well, if not. There was no need to take away one of these countries.

Just blow up the human dwellings and so on so that you can pay for them with a shovel. Junelba understands that our king has so much power.

Compared to Rabul and Junelba, the difference in force as isolated beings.

Junelba was too rude to have to step on such a place when he said he had the king. On the other hand, Rabul says in a very calm way.

"Immediately, don't worry. A brunette magician deserves the nucleus of his heart in twelve minutes. For now, it will take some time to transform."

To Rabul's words, Junelba nodded in dissatisfaction.

If Rabul can do it, it can really do it. She doesn't lie. I'll just tell you the truth. That's why Junelba believed in Labourg and loved it. I don't believe anything. The only thing he could believe was Rabul.

"And"

To the words that went on, Junelba accidentally opens the eyes of the bird. Because I found out that Rabul used the original.

Gear Rabour. Its beauty that can easily be disturbed, such as the gear of another's destiny. Rabul said with a rare, thin grin on his cheek.

"What the hell. There was a person in question. That one, though, was more demonic. You'll be here any minute. So instant, reassuring."

◇ ◆ ◇ ◆

Keel-Bazarov was out of the magician's house, but it never meant that he was blessed with that talent.

The house itself was not a famous house, and to be precise, I should have just said that magic can be used rather than magicians. It is impossible to say that you can unearth magic yourself or use it freely, like the magicians of famous households.

And in this Volvato morning, only witchcraft determines the status of that person, its significance, its value.

Those who are not magicians cannot even be put on their teeth, but those who are magicians but are not intelligent may be more miserable than some.

They have the enlarged self-esteem of being magicians, and are then looked down on by magicians far better than themselves.

Famous magicians who pour madness into their blood and transform the very fabric of the body to make the mystery of witchcraft extreme. La-Borgograd, Ray-Lachiador and Luza-Carinomias. Headed by your three families, they continue to be heavenly people in the Volvato morning.

Because I am a mage, I know that the difference can never be overshadowed. All hundreds of them live much the same lives as non-magicians without being able to do much good as magicians. Some of them were zero to the floaters.

The famous magicians don't even try to put people like that in their sights. No, I guess you don't even admit you're the same mage as yourself. Keel remembers being exposed to a contemptuous gaze over and over again.

That's why Keel was now full of trance. Now all he sits on is a round table where only top magicians are allowed to sit down. And the woman spitting blood out in front of him was the one who once sat in this seat.

"... traitor, meh!

"I'd like you to say the guidelines are good. You can't beat a demon anyway. Then you'd be smarter to keep your head down sooner."

Keel peeks at the parchment she was holding as she grabs the woman's hair. I was more interested in the name engraved there than anything else. Keel distorted his expression and said with a grin.

Written there was the name of the Magic General Mastigious-la-Borgograd. Krisha and Keel squeezed the parchment as they slammed the woman on the floor once now.