Because Janitor-san Is Not a Hero

In the snow that accumulated in the bubble, the keeper had one foot tucked into his waist.

The collector leaves to crawl down the slope with a few sighs.

Without putting too much effort into your toes or kakato, you get out of your knees to swim on the snow using the entire top. He was a skilled snowman from Snow Country. What a pity.

What you're wearing is no different than when you're summoned. I wrapped a towel around my neck, tightened my work clothes to the button and wore them tightly, and I had not worn my boots in a long time.

The only salvation was not to have to worry about the snow entering the stabbing coolness of the outside air and work clothes thanks to the fire elf magic that we were putting together.

The slopes of the mountains were exposed with rocks protruding as they pushed snow everywhere.

The snowstorm in this mountain was in minutes at short notice, literally changing the direction of the wind endlessly. For that reason, the snow was blown away by the people, and the rocks were exposed as they protruded the slopes of the snowfield.

At the same time, snow accumulated in rock gaps and so on that were not affected by the wind.

The blizzard, which morphed more frequently than the autumn sky, looked so badly from the cave, but its products, protruding rocks, frozen soil and snow. The slopes of the march were indistinguishable for the keeper, who did not know what the original mountain looked like, and had been taken off his feet many times.

But the collectors are not just bitter about burying everything in the snow.

This is still from Snow Country, strong resistance to snow.

The problem is gaze.

It is also a gaze of pity.

It was the warcraft that frequently sent gaze from behind.

Whenever a treasurer gets caught in the snow, the Warcraft pities him.

It was only when I stepped out of the cave that that gaze was like watching the treasurer, but every time the treasurer stumbled, pity began to mix. He did not have the skills to read signs or gaze at the collector, but he felt it due to the intense presence of the Warcraft.

And I can feel it, so I got angry.

At first I could only breathe in that gaze, but now I wasn't in that mood anymore.

The treasurer looks back in frustration and asks for the warcraft lying on a large rock shelf.

I swore to take a look at it from quite a distance, and one day I would cut that long tail that swayed so gracefully that I was angry.

Deciding to somehow ignore the abominable Warcraft, the Collector was surprised by his own breathing without disturbance as he sat back on an affordable rock.

I don't know how high the altitude is, but I was estimating that a point with a cave might be quite high. It was also grossly similar to the landscape photographs of the alpine areas where I was on Earth when I stared at them and didn't see tall plants.

And more importantly, there was less wind sperm to be felt.

The land was dominated by sperm and ice sperm, and consisted of slight thunder sperm and wind sperm, as well as other and more trace fire sperm of the elephant.

Compared to the common spiritual configuration of the presence of small amounts of thunder and fire sperm and others, mainly sperm, water sperm and wind sperm, found in the exemplified general land of magic books, it is well known that water sperm has significantly less wind sperm, considering it excluded from its relationship with ice sperm.

Less wind concentrate means that the air is thin when replaced by the earth. When it comes to thin air, it is a highland. And this is a mountain.

If so, it was not strange that the collector, who repeatedly acted in the snow in thin air with no physical training whatsoever, was already constantly breathing and had alpine disease.

That's not even shortness of breath, so the collector was twisting his neck.

I also felt like getting out of the snow was a lot easier than it used to be.

Maybe, the collector bounces on the spot.

Hit the ground.

Dash.

Everything was improving as expected. Flying about two meters perpendicular, fist marks firmly on the ground and ran up the slopes with ease.

The collector had been twisting his neck for a while, but there was no comparable opponent, and judgment material was scarce, and he gave up his thoughts because he didn't know what caused it.

The collector did not know, but it was the effect of something called the body that adapts to this world given by the voice of the example, or precisely where it arrived in this world.

With its effect it had obtained a body adapted to the alpine zone.

The collector walked away cautiously telling him not to fit in this time.

At any rate, the shadow of the caveman returning to the cave in heavy footsteps was stretched out to a large slope.

It was snow. The only harvest was when they stopped taking their legs.

I didn't even see that much trace of a small animal that was going to be food, and as I imagined, I couldn't tell if I could eat the weed.

Food was still over six months away, but it was dark ahead.

But it was only the first day, and the possessor inspired himself.

At last, the caveman reaches the cave.

I tried to put a lid on the cave to get some sleep.

Who said mutual non-interference?

Whose tail did you wind up catching?

The collector couldn't move. He had a knife handcuffed to his belt, but instead of his arms, his fingers, and his throat were unlikely to move.

A black speckled giant on white hair stepped down silently to trap the treasurer in a cave.

The collector realizes that the body length he assumed from a distance was a complete error of sight.

There was a warcraft face in the position of the possessor's face.