Because Janitor-san Is Not a Hero

Jamsid was defeated.

Now to heal the wounds, neither the chief nor Laro lean against the tent.

But it doesn't matter to Laro.

I'm no longer dying in one of Jamshid's moods, but if Snow White wins, I'm not free from slavery either.

Rallo's fuckin 'days go on.

And Laro's hatred was just getting more and more recruited too.

The morning after the collector found out about Maryam's political marriage. In the desert, on the outskirts of Nihafa, was the figure of Maryam, with his keeper and snow white, Azrona, and his tooth cat.

Maryam clings to Azlona's back wearing "Red Bone Assault Armor".

Mary was sticking out of Azrona's back and a little, no, quite impossible, but this was Mary's wish. If it really doesn't work, there's a hand called Snow White, but Maryam wants to ride Azlona.

I want to get on Azlona's back and fly in the sky.

This was Maryam's first wish.

"Well, don't worry about falling"

Down there is the desert, not the sandstream, which can be taken by the collectors at any time. Plus Snow and White are on alert, so the dangerous Warcraft was ready to be slaughtered immediately.

- Geez.

Putting the collector on his back is the Azlona of his dreams, but he regarded this as a preliminary exercise and was in the mood.

"Hehe, nice to meet you"

Azlona waves her buckwheat and winged arms. I winged a few times and took off first.

"Uh-huh."

Maryam sounds happy that Bhasari, Bhasari and Azrona are winged and fluttering but flying.

Azlona swelled her cheeks slightly, winging even more with her full strength.

Fluffy, keep going up, Azlona slowly but diagonally. Fortunately, Maryam is a woman and light, and something like that. From the edge, it's likely to crash now.

That's how Azlona continues to flutter, flutter, and ascend into the sky in an unpredictable way.

Maryam, clinging to Azrona's neck, became stunned by the ever-expanding vision.

It was a familiar and strange landscape.

Maryam saw into the landscape, remembering the strange sensation of nostalgia and novelty.

Endless, truly endless expanses of desert and sand streams. If you do this, you won't be able to tell the border.

Looking back, I can see cities and sandboats at slightly different angles.

I realized that you were born in that sandboat, thinking that you went on that sand stream, that you shopped with Nirufal and Farood in that city.

Azrona feels something cold and flicks Maryam on her back.

Maryam was pounding, pounding and weeping.

I didn't know if there was anything sad going on or if Azlona still didn't understand much about the political marriage etc.

Maryam, who felt such Azrona's gaze, wiped his tears and told Azrona.

"Can we fly a little faster?

- Geez.

Azlona is serious. I've taken care of myself before, and I've been adored, so I had the desire to make people's wishes come true, whenever I could.

So it's activated.

Suddenly, the skeletons emerge from "Red Bone Assault Armor," and Maryam giggles.

But when he realizes from the skeletons that he feels neither malice nor hostility, now he stares with interest.

While the skeletons showed their illumination in their gaze, Azlona doubled their power for each wing.

At first, it was a little early.

But accelerate in no time. There was no time to stop.

Azlona flying through the desert sky, like cutting the wind.

Maryam was surprised by the impetus that was about to be pulled off. Had it not been for the Buryeag's monstrosity, he might have been the first to be shaken off.

At an unexpected rate, Maryam thought a little sooner, but the hour was already late. As I glanced in my face to speak to Azlona, the big one was in tears.

Azlona flew in a straight line.

- Gayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

"-N 'kiah, no, no, no."

Oddly a flying dragon-like growl, no screaming azrona. And Maryam screaming.

I stare at it with swallowing thought that the collector I was looking at from below was like a missile, and Snow White decides on his next training to heart that he's not trained enough.

After that, the collector tracked across to the snow and white, manipulating the sand in the likely crash site of Azlona, slowing Azlona down in stages with a cushion with many layers of sand to get her out of time.

The sandy Azlona and Maryam all turn their eyes and lie in the desert.

But therefore the tears of Mary were not known to the treasurers.

A tooth cat who was left on the ground all bullied and caught on the tail of a snow white and came this far with him tries to bite the keeper, but can't just break the keeper's barrier.

The collector pinched up depressingly with a tooth cat tucked against the barrier and threw it at Maryam, who was turning his eyes.

By the way, this tooth cat is nostalgic for Maryam and is supposed to go under the Alwala clan with him. There seems to be a stranger everywhere who follows whomever he likes without thinking about reproduction or tribe.

The truth is that the Tooth Cats were so lightly accepted because their father, the chief of the kingdom, wanted to do the wish of Maryam, who would actually have a nearby political marriage?

Maryam, who was turning his eyes while clinging to Azlona, and his fang cat licking its cheeks worryingly, were feeling impotently nasty.

Then more than a dozen days later, Maryam married under the Arwala tribe.

There was one ritual in dowry to other tribes.

Therefore the Buryeags were a little far from Nihafa, mooring the convoys. In the constantly flowing sand currents it is extremely difficult to dock against the currents, but the Buryeag men were doing it easily.

Beside its moored convoy, there is a small sandboat.

There sat Maryam in a colorful bridesmaid costume, with Nirufal standing as a literal bow on its bow.

Nirufal pierces the sword into the sand stream and rows out the boat.

The sand boat slowly circles the flotilla and is blessed by the men and women lining the fringe. At the end of the day, Anahita and the chief dropped him off, and Maryam left the flotilla.

The Buryeags dropped off a small boat headed for Nihafa away from the convoy in a general outing.

The convoys then land in Nihafa again and the grand wedding begins.

The tribe of Alwarah, and especially the family of Haitham, who married Mary, Avagan, will hold a feast for five days from this day to show their wealth and power.

One tribe is accompanied by a caravan, one tribe is transported on a tumour lizard and some of them are transported by sandboats separated from the flotilla to participate, and all this day is busy with a clan outing, without causing any mourning for the Alwara or Bahyeg tribes. As far as the other flotillas of the Buryeag tribe are concerned, they are scattered deep in the desert, so they did not make it to this wedding.

In the meantime, the collectors had left a message in a convoy that had become completely small.

There are only a few wary people besides the collectors, and usually some lively boat regiments are quiet. But Nihafa in front of him, on the other hand, despite the setting of the sun, the city was lit with bonfires and the feast was about to reach its culmination.

The collector continued to paint, as he always did, as he fought his surroundings.

I am not persuaded by Maryam's political marriage, so I am not stubbornly drawn to the boat regiment.

In the first place, the collector is the leftover. Besides, I didn't like the gorgeous seats originally and preferred to watch from afar like this.

No, I still haven't, maybe I'm just not convinced.

The collector continued to paint as he pervaded himself at all times with his bad predecessors.

After a while, the collector puts the coal down and stands up.

Someone came, the Dark Fairy Magic said.

The collector sends a signal to the few remaining Buryeag men and leaves them to us.

The men accepted it lightly and went back to their vigilance.

In case anything happens, there is a snow white that beat Jamshid, there are enough collectors to be too cautious. That was the great trust.

"Find out if there's anyone around. It would help if anyone would let me sleep intact."

It was a vague enemy result from the Spirit, but the Collector had some sense of who his opponent was. I therefore asked Snow White to do so.

Azlona hovers when she hears it, flies herself, but it's too late, but she's probably going to enjoy it soon, as Snow White captured that tail with her own and jumped into the darkness with Azlona in the air, hovering and dragging.

- It's troublesome being a man in the desert.

That's what the collector said as he jumped off the boat and stood in front of the shadows approaching the convoy.

"... were you here? I looked for him."

What emerged from the darkness was a muffled mood with a face like a possession had fallen. Looks like he got out of the city at the wedding banquet.

But slightly, there are signs of little blood.

Mahmoud is already the largest Avagan clan in the Alwala clan, not its candidate for chief. There is nothing to be punished publicly, but all that remains is to be kept and killed for the rest of his life. If Haitham were ever to remain a chief, he would either be sent out to the son-in-law of some sideline clan, or assassinated.

Jamside, badly wounded physically and mentally, has been pulling off since then. He hung on the tent, didn't lean on anyone, and sometimes heard a frightening roar, but never appeared on the surface, and naturally never sheltered the muffled mood.

"So, what are you asking me for?"

Mahmoud is fully armed and has already set up a shield and sword. There's nothing but that I'm here to fight.

"I'm no longer a desert man. Only a warrior can hold his hand."

Danced by jamsids, Mahmoud was seriously ashamed of himself in the desert man. To the intense force and voice of Jamsid fascinated and believed.

If you kidnap Maryam and marry him, the First Lady's seat will be empty. You can make a difference to Highsome if you marry the wives of other leading tribes there. Even after you become a chief, that marriage means a lot. I therefore tried to take Maryam. In itself, there is no remorse.

But it shall not be the result of being danced to Jamshid by another.

If the tribe is the way to go, it does neither justice nor evil.

Everything is for the tribe. It should have been done with the conviction that the tribe would be bigger and stronger if he stood at the head of the tribe. Turn it down, it must not be the will of another. Leave judgment to someone other than the tribe, rely, rely. That was the most disgraceful thing.

I suspected him of being abandoned by Jamshid and woke up with Jamshid defeated. Jamsid didn't realize he was a guardian warcraft.

I just have to laugh at my stupidity.

I have no desire to deny my actions. I am still convinced that if I stand as chief, the tribe will be greater and stronger.

But the process was wrong. Then we will not get the faith of our compatriots. There is no way to be abandoned.

So now Mahmoud stood here with his last remaining warrior.

"... No, I'm not sure anymore. But I felt like I had to do this. So fight me."

Mahmoud was born with simplicity and made a decision. I don't care about the hard stuff. You can fight, you can win. First of all, it is. After that, I decided not to think about it anymore.

Originally, there's no point in a fodder receiving such a battle.

"Did you tell anyone you were coming here?

"Talk and you won't fight me. That's why I haven't told anyone. Nobody's watching me anymore."

There's no point in fighting, but the collector stood here alone.

Already fully equipped, both of those arms are firmly gripped with the newly reborn shield, "Ice s (Narda) Double Shield (Kimaira)", just named by Dark Dwarf's Douglas.

Overall, it gets a little longer and the surface is rough as dragon scales, but at first glance it doesn't look as different to the name.

As a matter of fact, Douglas initially tried to make a long name for it, such as "The (Manticore) Two Shields of the Frozen (Dalsh) Chaotic Beast", but the collector demanded it be shorter.

Since the name is also included in the ritual for modifying the monster's weaponry, it doesn't mean that he won't name it, and Douglas reluctantly gave it his current name. Still, I pulled out old words and Black Wise King-related materials 10,000 years ago and twisted my name around for hours.

"... you guys seem sweet inside"

For the sake of the tribe, if that is the principle of action, it is not surprising that the response to the same tribe is naturally slower.

"... that's why I'm not willing to stand under his wind"

It was Mahmoud's feeling that an elder son exposed to shame could not be taken care of by a second son who would be the next chief.

But the collectors wouldn't consider that. When it comes to cultural differences, it is not acceptable to take them away from those who have no looting, kidnapping or flaws of any kind.

But this is how the Zodiac stands in front of the Mahmoud.

Maybe the collector just wanted to hit an irresolvable frustration.

If there are any other reasons, can it be done without anyone knowing? I didn't mean to attack you from here, but if the other person is going to attack you, take this opportunity to sneak off the chain of retaliation.

If we don't end it here, a grudge is exploited outside of the Mahmoud, and the will of the Mahmoud. The inheritance and expansion of hatred, that seems to be the fate of this desert.

That's why we have Snow White alerting us to our surroundings. Don't let anyone see you.

I can win, not so much. But I was hardly willing to lose either.

That was more a matter of compatibility than confidence.

"- Yuku."

Mahmoud kicked the sand.

"Colour."

but slows down quickly.

It was the collectors who messed with the sand around the progression of the Mahmoud. It's not so much about pitfalls, it's just about changing the ups and downs of the sand or moving the sand under the feet of the muffled mood.

If we deal with spiritual magic in the same way, we can easily prevent it, but not to the extent of 'heroes', no 'quasi-heroes', who do not know spiritual magic.

If it wasn't about Farood in the first place, you couldn't beat a spellman, no, a spiritual magician. Fight squarely from the front with that farood, and some twenty mid-level spiritual magicians will be defeated. Otherwise, spiritual magic can't even sweep the world on the Mid Continent.

Natural spiritual magicians exist, of course, in the desert. But it is nothing more than a gifted man of nature who has been planted with an elusive and superstitious technique that is passed down to the clan, and who has extremed only one attribute. Moreover, because I am not learning systematically, I am also inefficient in magic, and it was only because of the power that a few shots were the limit that I could withstand, even to the extent of "hero" but "quasi-hero".

Not so good with spiritual magicians and warriors. That's why I could afford a collector, too.

Said he was still out of time, but the collector puts his right shield in the void.

The muffled mood, which was out of balance, ignored the incomprehensible behaviour of the laissez-passer, escaped the soft sand with all his might, and now it was time to try to trump the laissez-passer. but the hand holding the sword is bitten by something hard.

It's not like it would be a scratch, but I was so close to being dragged away that I hurried to let go of the sword pattern.

- What did you do?

But naturally, there is no way the collector will respond.

This is the invisible "The Great Claw", which resulted from the incorporation of the former Great Claw into the double shield of Ice . It boasts the same strength as the spike shield that occurs on the surface of the shield, leading to the same invisible and even invisible thread as the big nail when gripped in.

The collector draws the sword abandoned by Mahmoud and throws it backwards as it is. The sword, which fell into the desert with a sledge, was chilled by the great sledge, and frozen white.

Clear large nails, which the collector could arbitrarily generate, could also wrap around cold air.

Muffmood is so incomprehensible that he pulls out his hips dagger and advances with his shield. Be not as good as Farood, he is a natural life-enhancer. Its power and speed are not the ratio of the bodily strengthening of the treasurer.

But the collector only shakes his right arm up to intercept. All that is in its hands is the double shield of ice .

Mahmoud ignored the behavior of the unintelligible collector, leaving it to speed to flesh at once, but felt murderous and stood his shield overhead.

At that moment, the shield erected is pushed in an instant, hitting the head of the muffled mood hard.

Mahmoud flies his consciousness for a moment to a blow that may also be comparable to that of the monstrous Buryeag tribe, but when the blood flowing from his head froze around his forehead, the color of his eyes completely changed.

Like the Buryeags, who once became like mad warriors, awakened by blood, full of beast spirit.

"-Oh, wow, wow, wow."

The roar rises and the muffled mood accelerates.

When the collector sets up a shield against him, Mumhood's dagger pierces him there.

The transparent spike shield formed on the surface of the shield, on the contrary, cuts and pierces the muffled hand, regardless of such scratches.

It was an attack abandoned as if it were a defense or something, but it did not reach the double shield or mixed leather armor of Iceor even the collector overlapping the barrier magic or barrier magic, but rather the foolish fist food of the collector holding his shield in the gloves of the giant.

No technique, nothing, just an attack stacked with a positive fist thrust, but powerful enough. Sometimes the muffled that received it had thrown away their defenses and penetrated them, leaving momentum a few meters later.

Still, he didn't want to leave, so he tried to penetrate again.

Then the collector shakes up his right arm holding his shield again.

Obviously the distance was far.

Mahmoud jumped to the side, wondering if he'd found out, either from previous experience or with a beastly inquiry.

Just in the sand that Mahmoud avoided, a straight sand groove gave birth to momentum.

I rubbed Mahmoud's cheek. Besides, Mahmoud stopped his legs and watched the collector still as the blood flowing froze into the night air, and saw his own blood floating in the void.

"... invisible sword, no axe"

It is precisely the sharpened, invisible three-moon axe of the tip, the Battle Axe (Axe). This was the result of using it in Azrona's armor to capture the remaining part of "The Axe of the Mad Warrior," and it was possible to wrap up the elastic and even cold air from about the actual Halvard to about the one-handed axe.

A muffled mood peeks at the collector as he moves around. With all the fights I didn't get, my vigilance just stood first.

The collector holds the shield in front of him without moving from the spot.

A shock that vigilantly holds hands with shields on it, but betrays the expectations of Mahmoud.

Small but strong, persistent attacks are repeated on the shields erected. The time is far away, and it can't even arrive. It's not even in time for an invisible axe to arrive. Mahmoud's confusion deepened further.

The small-cut punch continues to make uninterrupted attacks on the shield, scattered at the foot of the Mahmoud with bullets of stone unleashed by the collector, but he doesn't notice.

This was also the product of the result of the incorporation of a triple demon gun into the shield. The demon gun was only structurally taken in, the same way that the collector had to use spiritual magic, but it also eliminated the need to straighten out the demon gun, allowing him to shoot with his shield in place. Furthermore, it was advantageous not to know from the outside that he had a demon gun, etc.

Additionally, the overall strength of the shield has also increased. The collector does not know, but the triple demon gun is made of the bones of the undead dragon in the first place. Though undead, the dragon is a dragon. Its strength is immeasurable. Furthermore, the addition of a robust material called the armor of a double-headed iron tortoise, and the use of the best medium, pure gold, had transformed it into a shield beyond that assumed by the collector and Douglas.

Most importantly, the use of cold air is greatly influenced by external factors, as there is no enhancement in the area where ice sperm resides. Nevertheless, now is the time when the ice sperm becomes most active. The cold air was impeccably exerted.

"... about time"

To the squeal of the zodiac, the muffled mood, watching how it was, tilted his neck, and knelt.

"Become... poison"

The poison, the usual means of the collector, was of course usable and could be poured into all invisible armaments. Of course it was also planted in the 'Battle Axe', which plundered the cheeks of the Mahmoud.

I didn't dare use much spiritual magic, which is an advantage, because it's inconspicuous. I wanted to quietly defeat Mahmoud for reasons such as not being able to rely only on spiritual magic or to try new armaments, but more poisonous than that.

But Mahmoud didn't call it cowardice.

Not a praiseworthy means. But now we just have to win. It is sweeter not to use poison.

"... lost. Do as you please."

Mahmoud admitted to losing.

The collector sets up the 'Battle Axe'. And -.

The collector continued to paint until the last day of the wedding ritual. Many times at night he took a lower painting with coal and moved his brush sweating in the hot and bitter flames of the ink.

Just along the way, just a little, there was never happiness in the look on Maryam's face when he peered from afar. But there is no despair. There was the face of a resolute warrior who went to the battlefield.

- I sent them safely to the boat on the way home.

Nirufal, who had slipped through only a few breaks during the wedding, told the back of the collector.

"Couldn't you?

"Whatever. You won't be able to come back on your own anymore."

The collector did not kill Mahmoud.

After that, I secretly consulted Nirufal and island the Mahmoud to a desert island that would not have been able to enter or exit unless it was a Bahyeag tribe. It is a small settlement inhabited by only a few races, and life is tough. Maybe it won't be a year.

I mean, even though I just didn't kill him.

I imitated the Buryeag tribe's fashion. I couldn't have dyed the importance of Maryam's wedding with blood. I don't have to kill him to leave a grudge because he's unknown to the Arwala tribe in the first place. There were several reasons.

I can't say I'm not anxious, but I didn't regret this decision.

I don't like killing originally. But I have no hesitation in killing him. Still, if there's a way you don't have to kill me, I've never been over it. That was the current stance of the Founders.

Had it not been for the Nirufals, the collectors would not have hesitated to sneak up on them and flush them down the sand stream.

"Thank you for respecting our way of doing things."

The collector nodded lightly at Nirufal's words and again dropped his eyes on the painting.

It was, as usual, a painting painted in dark light of ink and white.

"- One, will you?

Nirufal, who was glancing at the collector's painting from behind, said hesitantly.

When the collector accepts, Nirufal pulls one out all the time.

Despite several paintings, such as those seen from the side, those seen from before, and those overlooked, Nirufal chose what the collector thought was capable of meeting.

Before dawn, the dim desert was spreading.

There, there's a little sandboat floating around.

There was a bow that stood with a sword in the sand, and a back of a sitting bride.

The sandboat had a faint tail on the sand and was headed towards the great city ahead.

I painted Maryam's back, in hindsight, because I really wanted to paint a reality beyond my reach. Even though I didn't show it to anyone, the collector wanted to poke it at someone.

Reality, including myself.

There's nothing I can do about it, I'm driven by bad luck.

Nirufal's choice of this painting was possibly for the same reason as the keeper.

Nirufal stared at the painting.

Seeing such a niroufal, a tooth cat ran up his body and rubbed his face against its cheek.

Nirufal strokes one of those tooth cats and paints them.

"... I didn't know it wasn't a single tear at a time like this"

It was a small grunt, unconscious even in person.

It was the thought of Maryam, who had repaired his broken heart again and yet had leaked it.

A political marriage is exactly a battle. It was born to the Buryeags. It is not something I am prepared for.

But I entrust my body to a man I don't even like, and I conceive a child. In other words, it is an action inconsistent with the ethics that we have: rape, inviting rape into 'ourselves'.

My mother, who once drops off her father who goes to battle, only showed no tears in front of him, but hid and wept.

Nirufal mocks herself for how thin she is without a drop of tears when she thinks of it.

Forgiveness, and when I lost my parents, I decided I would never cry again and went for the bow. Being a bowman meant being a man, albeit hypothetically, and I needed to get a tattoo on it.

So I decided not to cry anymore and put in a tear-shaped tattoo. Instead of the tears that shed on the three dead.

That strong determination still did not allow Nirufal to cry at this time.

"... you're like crying all the time. I think she's a very emotional woman."

The collector thought the same was true of the tears at the beginning of the tentative.

Hearing it or not, Nirufal turned his back pretentiously without saying anything and walked away.

Wipe one of your eye tattoos with your fingertips.

The collector had made another wish to Maryam.

It was a collective photograph-like painting that depicted all of the Buryeag tribe.

The collector managed to hold back the habit of not drawing men, drawing them, giving them away. I also hated self-portraits that naturally fell into the category of Snow White and Azrona, and men, but I also drew them myself. That was what Maryam wanted.

Maryam even received it with joy.

And they showed that to Anahita when she said goodbye.

Then he wants that too, Anahita.

So now the collector was giving Anahita the painting.

Anahita stared at it, painted on a very large canvas, in that thin, juicy light.

"... sounds like you're in love with everyone"

And when he saw the part of the women, Anahita said,

As a collector, I'm not even willing to deny it. I was once told something similar to Nadala, a runaway woman of a small race, but that was true in a way.

Dark Elves look great and feel good. That's what unmarried women, wives, widows and collectors can be for at a certain age, and nothing more than pictures to step into. Like any other woman, I looked and drew with the same eyes as an eternal yearning, even so.

Anahita didn't blame it because she also perceives it.

No, it was rather distressing.

The deeper our emotions, the harder it becomes to relate to ourselves, the Buryeags.

The Buryeags will continue to live on their own. Take care of the distorted code for the rest of your life.

I was painfully aware that Anahita was one of the reasons for this.

Otherwise, however, the tribe of the Sandboat could have perished. Back in the last 10,000 years, some used Anahita with ambition and led the Buryeag tribe, but only temporarily lumped, reducing its number to less than half at the end, and fleeing lifelessly. It had been completely sheltered, but the blood thickened because of it, cutting its life span.

In order not to be taken away, there is a distorted code, which keeps the peace at the margins of a political marriage.

By meditating on pillage and habits in accordance with skirmishes and customs, it is difficult to say complete peace, but it remained at peace. As a result, the number of the Buryeags maintains a certain number, as well as a life expectancy of about 300 years.

Anahita stared at the painting, pompous and zero.

"... I was hoping to give Marya her next son of water. Do you despise us like this?"

Did you tell the collector that, or Maryam? Or to the women who have been politically married before?

Power as the Son of Water can give way at death. When you cannot do so under any circumstances, dwell in the son of the next Buryeag tribe. Only once, in the children of a Buryeag woman who married her outside, lived her strength as a son of water, and that was what caused the havoc.

But that was why it was ironic that there were those who wished to marry politically.

The Buryeags, who were married to the most other species, do not give birth to dark elves. In other words, the son of the water, who was once born outside only once, was a dark elf, and was finally already pregnant at the time of the political marriage.

That fact is already a weathered history, but other races who do not know that, in case they want to, enter into a political marriage.

This seemingly distorted stability, on the blood of the Baryeag men and the women's tears, and on the countless corpses, maintained a dangerous balance.

Anahita doesn't have freedom either, but she can still live surrounded by blood clans. Therefore, there was strong resistance to saying it was stable, but I didn't know how to do it otherwise.

"... I've told Nirufal a lot, but I don't know. I'm just not convinced either. It's irresponsible what I say to outsiders."

Still, I couldn't help but say.

"... yes. Are you leaving?

Anahita asked the collector that with a sinking face.

It's not like there's no part of me that counts on you as a force of war. But then it is probably best to work with the collectors to unify this desert without a political marriage or anything. But then, if Snow White dies, everything will collapse. Like this jamside. For there is no one to live forever.

It is simply that the parting is sad.

Even if we know it's gonna be hard together, it's sad to say goodbye. contradiction, but all that stuff. The Founders and the Buryeags have stacked up. We have come this far through clashes and reconciliation.

Although Anahita had nothing to say about it directly.

Thus Maryam was married to the Arwala.

The collector, as usual since the day after that, was on night alert.

The other Buryeags did the same, and began their routine again.

Enemy, paint, and dawn.

It was the usual thing, but it had become the daily routine of a collector who didn't change anything anymore.

Maryam's dowry is the routine of this desert. It was still the routine of this desert that we could not help while watching the looting, and that one day the Buryeag men died in the battle against the Pavilions.

There seems to be a collector, but the everyday life of the desert remains the same. Harsh reality is rolling unconstitutionally.

The Buryeags lived such a desert routine in denial that they would be like the Alwala.

That is why the heart of the collector was leaning towards the Buryeag tribe. Pure men and shitty women. And Maryam, Farood, and Nirufal. And an incredible tooth cat.

They push and kill hatred and live patiently, embracing the destiny of the desert.

In a sense, the Collector has survived this world by affirming hatred and vengeance.

The opposite is true.

He was therefore irritated by the appearance of such a Buryeag tribe and collided with Nirufal.

Quite the opposite, therefore, frustrating. But at the same time, it's itchy because it's just a little bit alike.

The Buryeag way of life reminded me of when I lived in Japan.

Back then, it wasn't just the collectors, there were plenty of people in society with similar circumstances. I've never seen him or seen him, but I can't say he wasn't there or anything. It was such a social situation.

Those who push something to death, and often realize that they will live in the status quo, but in fact slowly descend. Those who put their lives and pride on the balance and still couldn't kick the others off. Just a little from normal, spilled ones. Still trying to live, I was scratching my feet.

Those who endure, sneak, and resist the brutal reality of the desert overlapped only a little with them and with themselves. Things are different. I know it's incomparable, but I couldn't help but overlap it.

Just a little bit. It's not bad to live here and die here. The collector was beginning to think so.

There are bad habits in any country, and the law doesn't make a big difference if you peel it off. So was the continent of Mid, and so was Lesiharm.

Sure, it's hard to be with the Buryeags. Culture was too different.

But I felt I could see it from afar.

You can start with your neighbors, just like the Livkas in Lesiharm.

If you're a neighbor, you can beat him up at your own risk. Freedom to obstruct plunder or assemble it on someone. There is no fear of a nation coming out like the Mid Continent, nor of its shadows.

So I couldn't answer Anahita clearly either.

We're not together, but we're not breaking up.

What an ambiguous answer.

The sailor sat at the stern and stared into the desert.

Endless expanses of deep, blue and dark skies and deserts.

Sleek dunes and wind stripes running into the sand.

Then a main line of gold was drawn in the distant sky, and white mixed in with a swarm of blue skies, and the sun appeared.

It's a view I've seen many times since I came to Sauran continent, but I liked this view.

It was a landscape similar to the one seen from the boundary between the desert and the wilderness, but more oddly snug than that, a landscape I even thought I'd miss for some reason.

So, as usual, I was holding the paintbrush and starting to draw.

That is the daily life of the safekeeper.

Many times I came and went with paintings and scenery.

I found the ship far away, how repetitive it was.

The closer we get, the collector unconsciously frowns.

That's not the other boat regiment you listen to, the red-brown sandboat you're used to seeing. It was a silver boat.

The closer I get, the clearer I get.

It was the ship of the brave men, of the summoners.

There were brave men on the deck of the ship who looked familiar.

And there, for some reason, were the appearances of Elida and Yobi.