Amaku Yasashii Sekai de Ikiru ni wa

It blows through as the wind makes a noise as it stirs us up against each other holding the weapon.

That was the signal.

The holy knife and the pitch-black sword combine, and the sound of cracking the world rings in the wilderness.

There is no need to rush into this battle, small work and other meaningless things.

Because we understand each other that we just bump into each other until one of us does our best, we keep even slashing and knocking each other off without Maris creating a family without me using any skills or magic. Each time our bodies bumped into each other, each other's magic rebelled, exploding and shaking the air.

Is it the beginning or the end that this world wants?

Believing that there is its own existential significance ahead of that answer, Maris' sword is sharp and heavy, questioning at the stake of his life.

The earth stains white every time I step in without jumping into its pocket as the earth smoke rises by the spear, twitching and spreading a red and black color as ink seeps every time the lightly avoided maris steps on the frost column covering the ground.

It seemed to be a battle in formation, and I felt like I was piling up a hammer tilting the matching balance toward myself.

- The hammers on the plates are each other's lives?

One person in my heart says that you thought about crap as I turned back the impending sword of Maris.

The knife and sword constantly bumped into each other, and it's supposed to be an annoying and irresistible situation with the blasting sound of unspeakable magic and the sound of slaughter breaking the ground, but strangely, my body felt quiet, and my heart was pounding like a lie when I was listening to the other side of the mountain range.

That's not out there because I could finally understand a man named Maris. I guess it's because there's nothing in Maris' head that I thought I didn't know what she was thinking or staring at, but the flavor that was out of knowing she was just thinking and hoping the same thing as me.

The meaning of living in this world.

With the blessings of the world and the credentials of the brave, it was oddly the same thing that I and Maris the Demon King, the symbol of disaster, who was supposed to be in the opposite position, crazily sought after.

The anxiety, the thirst, the anxiety and the fear that smear Girizilli and herself, and the desire to be free from them at any cost, give such a fate, are painfully well understood.

If we had met in a different way, enough to feel we might have figured it out.

If you dive under the approaching white blade from behind, Maris circles in a kurli as she waved her sword as I expected to avoid. Now I wave the Holy Knife from the blind spot, but it was easily accepted.

Well, I didn't think so.

Even if we try to play the blades with each other and distance ourselves once, the gladiators will resume immediately.

Maybe this feeling, like sharing thoughts and emotions, is because we are brave men and demon kings destined to cut our lives together. Such an idea had deepened every time a blade could be crossed with the certainty that even if we could understand Maris' mood and thoughts, we could not hold hands together.

I can never get used to Maris being very close, either because I know the pain and thirst I have within me is in my hands.

I am the one who deserves to be brave, and Maris has awakened to the power of the Demon King, therefore.

Maris' thirst can only be fulfilled by killing me and becoming the one who leads the world to an end, or by fighting as the demon king and establishing the glory of the brave.

Whether it is the same in terms of what you seek or the existence that guides the world, the destination shown is the opposite. We are very similar, but we stand on this side of the mirror and the other side, and we have to break one side in order to make the world we aspire to come true.

It was sad because I understood that, and the power caged in my hand holding the Holy Knife.

'Cause I know.

Despair of unrewarded reality where lives have been burned and endeavored is also unknown to the bottom.

Something that doesn't comfort anything, such as words that are just gentle.

It also means that dreams eventually wake up and become more miserable where they are soaked in sweet words.

Sympathy and pity are nothing more than exasperation.

The tireless thirst never heals the world or where you have cursed your destiny.

All those feelings, I knew them well. I also know well the desire to suffer an unforgettable thirst where I turned away and at the end of despair.

I want you to teach me how to give up on anyone.

If you can't.

Just let me finish everything.

If you've come to this battle to hold the same thoughts I had on your day, it must be hell for Maris not to settle here. I also know exactly how that feels when I told him I didn't need a halfway answer or anything.

Maris must have the same weakness as me.

What I want is for you to prove that it's worth being in this world, there's only one thing.

It is the only thing you can find for yourself. No matter how much status or honor you earn and how much love or hatred you are given, it cannot be proven if you are not convinced.

But I wasn't comfortable enough to self-affirm that I was worth it just to be alive, and I couldn't admit that I didn't have it in a clear way but myself.

All the more so because I have seen the praise, anticipation and envy that grandfathers and fathers receive. Even if I knew I couldn't be a spear brave man, I couldn't be satisfied with what was left. If I hadn't found somewhere as valuable as the Spear Brave, I felt I shouldn't have lived.

It was nothing more than paranoia, a phantom shown by a weak and filthy heart.

I could chew on the gratitude of what was left of remembering a previous life when I lost my life in an instant and everything I had built up until then, but without that event I would never have changed. I can assure you so.

Because I was asked to be a spear brave man from around me, and I had all the conditions and possibilities to be just like my father and grandfather, including my blood. All I didn't have was the credentials to hold the Holy Spear. I couldn't give up forever in the past because it seemed like a dream come true if only I could handle a spear.

Maris is the other way around.

He was awake to his power as king leading the clan, but he did not allow the surrounding environment to be so.

What I recall is the look of Maris whining about abandoning everyone.

I guess the more I learned about the memory of the war and its glory, the more I wanted to be king of my clan every time I saw other species of life that became demon kings. But those to be guarded and led remain seated. Without confronting the king, he did no harm, but therefore could not have enough hatred to recreate from scratch, just the power and talent of the Demon King.

qualifications and environment.

Without either, I would have dreamed and given up, but halfway there was greed because only one of them was in my hand. There was still a faint expectation that maybe I couldn't get rid of the way I wanted to be.

A greedy and weak heart torments itself.

I could not escape the pain until I remembered that I had died and gained a new life.

Therefore, there can be no denying Maris, who wants an existential significance in place of the king of the clan at the stake of his life.

- No. I don't want to, you're more right.

If the imminent sword is slashed with full force, Maris flips herself as if to take steps.

The heartbeat and fever that increased each time the holy knife and the pitch-black sword crossed was letting the hour of destiny that determined the female male approached the moment.

If you wave down the Holy Knife, it will be stopped by a pitch-black sword that moved to cover up.

If you stick out your knife while avoiding the protruding sword, you are avoided by tilting your neck, and Zhu lines run very similar to each other's cheeks.

I flew to the right to escape the flash I stepped in, and when Maris got in shape, she slashed him like a payback, so I flew to the left to avoid it.

It was at the same time that I jumped to fill the distance that had thus become vacant.

The holy knife and the pitch-black sword collide, and the magic of the two explodes.

The blast determined the land stained with each other's colors and broke the clouds covering the heavens.

The flying ground shards and the sunlight that plugs in are moving badly and slowly. Maris' hair lit up fluttering and it was beautiful to see clearly that every single one of them glowed red.

Perhaps Maris feels the same.

Even without exchanging words, my eyes, slightly narrowed, seemed to burn the sight of the holy knife and the pitch-black sword weaving together, seemingly sparing this time.

It felt an end to each other's spare minds gave, the rest between the bundles.

The world moves rapidly as soon as Maris and I set our feet on the ground again, once we've jumped out of the momentum of playing the opponent's gains.

We stood at the shortest distance from the landing as we raised the soil and smoke. When we looked at each other and squeezed the pattern, we put our magic into it.

With a holy knife in my hand that emits white and clean light, Maris kicks the ground with a pitch-black sword that emits red and black light like blood.

It was at the same time that I took the last step and shook my arm out.

The holy knife and the pitch-black sword interact as they call each other, and the sound of the world breaking rings in the wilderness.

Crushed was a pitch-black sword.

The earth, which was divided by each other's colours, was instantly dyed white, and the sunlight falling from the clear sky sparkled the frozen air.

At the end of my gaze, which stands in its midst, is the red blood dyeing up Maris and his surroundings, who look up to heaven in dazzle.

- This world is not nice to me.

It was with a reassuring grin on the face of Pottori and Maris.

My feet moved one by one as I sank into the white earth, and my arms stretched out trying to hold that body.

But my arm won't touch me, and Maris, who lost her shape and became ash-like, is caught by the wind and scattered with sarcasm.

What should I say about the emotions that go into that sight?

Even though the leftover clothes were fluttering on my arms, I could not divert my gaze from Maris, who had become ash, and stood still even as I danced to the wind with the glowing air and could no longer see.

How long has it been since then?

When the sunlit earth regains its original colour and the wind stroking its cheeks warms, Astra, who stood down with her bass and dragon wings ringing to claim existence, looks down at me. Then the golden eyes, reflecting me as I was blind with my clothes without contents in my arms, narrowed softly, and a voice poured out of my head like a slow whisper.

"It would be the effect of the Holy Knife. I hear that the demon slain with the holy weapon of the brave will be purified and returned to the earth."

"... right"

I've never known a holy weapon to have such an effect.

When he took me to the Abyss Forest, my grandfather had already given up his holy spear, and my father, the Kingsguard knight, may have been responsible for it because I don't think he'd ever seen the king's escort fighting the Warcraft because he was the Lord. Or has he decayed without a trace because the demon king was his opponent?

With that in mind, I drop my gaze on the clothes left in my arms.

Respect for the living and scratched Maris, sympathy for the circumstances, empathy for the principles of action and anger involving many, etc. whirled together while triumphant relief and nothingness, and grief for not even leaving a body, were gutsy in my heart.

At least the salvation would have been that Maris was the last one floating around.

- It was a reassuring expression, even as it zeroed dissatisfaction.

I don't know if you were convinced by the relief you finally had over or that you were defeated by me with the Holy Knife, yet again for another reason, but there is more emotional salvation than being able to float a face full of regret and anguish.

"Doyle. All those fierce fights, I know you're tired of your body and your mind, but if you want to rest, put it on my back. We don't seem to have much time left."

"Oh."

I remembered to Astra that I wasn't finished, and I put the holy sword I was holding in my sheath. Then I went on a roundabout to figure out what to do with the rest of my clothes, and first I tried to put them together to bring them home, and then I felt uncomfortable and spread them again.

Something dry hit my finger if I looked for the identity of the feel that wasn't the cloth that touched my hand, so if I picked it softly and carefully removed it, something like a single branch whitened out of my clothes peeked into my face. It was as thin as chopsticks if gently pulled through so as not to break it with a light, dry touch. The tip was shaped like it had been cut off, so if you look further into the cloth, you'll find the other half, and I'll think of the opponent I was fighting earlier.

- Dry ad demon king.

Originally dry ads refer to spirits that dwell in trees. Then something like this white, thin branch would be the body of Maris. It's nicely cut around the middle as if it had been slashed with a sharp blade.

That's what I thought. I would have been Maris. I carefully wrapped it in my clothes with great care not to hurt it any more, and gently punished the subspace.

When I get back to Majesta, I'll build a tomb somewhere with my name engraved on it.

In a fertile land where warm sunlight falls and fresh water flows, as dry ads prefer.

"What's up, Doyle?

"Nothing"

If you say that to Astra, who asked her strangely, and she shook her neck beside her, she wouldn't be questioned any more, and she would lay me down in the wilderness making it easy for me to ride a big black dragon.

But the golden eyes looked sharply in the direction where the mountains were.

"Right. Then hurry up."

"Oh."

If you respond to Astra's words and jump on its back, with a slight shake, the glance rises higher and the big dragon wings clatter.

The next moment, a black dragon danced into the sky.