Dungeon+Harem+Master

It was a dark night, as melted ink. A pair of men and women are running hand in hand through the deep woodland belt. In the night sky, heavy clouds of lead cover and no fine dust moonlight.

The two exhaling breaths wetted the tip of a cold, sharpened dead tree, pulling their white, fluffy tails, long and everywhere. It is a steep slope. On the map, that place, which is only a line, was also, in fact, a pain in the ass if it were to pass.

Man, twenty there. As for the woman, she was still less than a teenager. The man is a light outfit that, no matter how he sees it, is not worthy of withstanding travel dust. It was just a thin, dirty outfit for a woman. I don't even have anything that looks like baggage with me. It was utterly handless.

Deeper, without lights, it is impossible to go beyond the rugged mass of mountains where the beast is said to be innumerable without any preparation. On the contrary, it was a truly ignorant act that only seemed to be good as a suicide applicant.

"Young master. No more."

As the woman bounced her shoulder off, she petitioned the man who pulled her hand.

"What are you talking about? You two decided to run away. If you stay like this, you'll be taken to buy horrible people. There's no need to support it even by selling it because it's a shop I've been serving since I was a kid."

"But then there's the store"

"I have nothing untrained about that. I told you all about this. Besides, letting go of the store doesn't mean they're having trouble eating. Why, but I have to sell you as a slave to protect the name of a store less than a hundred years old. Understand. I love you. One man, whatever you do, I'll try to eat you. Come on, let's not make a weak noise. It should be over soon. If you go to the next city, they won't come after you, no matter how much."

The man scolded the woman with a voice in her still immature face. The woman, compared to the man, was somewhat awake.

Even when you're young, you're not like a bum who grew up in a nanny sun umbrella. We know how unsuccessful our escape is. It was such an objective look.

The woman put her ears growing over dark hair that assimilated to the darkness, behind her with Petan.

It is subhuman.

Big eyes, dwelling in nothingness, had some dolled inorganicity.

"Again, let's go back. There's no way we can get away with this. Besides, I apologize to your gracious husband. With common sense, we should be able to cross the line."

"Also, you do such a weak thing. You don't love me?

"No, don't say that"

As the man was impressed, when he pinched the woman's thin jaw, he drew forcefully and mouthed. The two shadows, for some time, were united, but eventually untrained, softly separated. Phew, only the rising white breath is intermittently rising into darkness.

Not so much, the barking voice of the dog and the anger of the people from afar began to woodspirits all cracked.

Close when it collapses. A woman held by a man shook her body as she fluttered. I would have instinctively felt the moment of parting looming. How much more power was put into a man's arms.

"Hey, promise me. Whatever happens, we live together."

"Young master. Is this...?

"It's our family heirloom. Now you're going to open up your destiny. Like."

The man stood silently as he let the woman hold her own knife taken out of her nostrils.

Dressed to leave a woman stunned and immobile, she rushes through a small run. The man is trying to attract a chaser. Whether that's a wasted effort or not.

The clouds cleared up unexpectedly, and a moonlight shone into the deep trees. When the woman gently pulled the knife out of her sheath, she looked at her cold, frozen face with a white light on her blade.

After eating breakfast that day, the collector was out of town without telling his family where he was going.

Recently, there have been restrictions on pennies, especially if the evil has passed. Soon, if we plan to dive into the dungeon, all we have to do is wait for the day when we can raise supplies.

but I have to worry about the contents of my wallet to use a little rest area because it is not good at hand.

At such times, when it came to the place where he would stop, it could not have been other than the Redemption of the Poor, the Church of the Romless Cathedral.

Walking down the cobblestone streets in a pompous way, I came across a mass of crowds after a while. When I asked him if there was anything going on, the wild horse said that he was just in the middle of carrying the sacred relics that arrived in the city to the church.

When I look up at the beginning of the line, a group of giant paintings are walking in serpentine. It's like a little festival. Nature and cheeks are dull. The collector was hungry for everyday change.

and then the intensity of curiosity is double that of a person. I want to see it. I want to know, I want to hear everything.

He scratched the crowd and swam as he was forced to push the wild horse over. I heard him tap on the shoulder of a merchandiser with his arm next door.

"Hey, old man. What the hell is that? What are you carrying?

"Well, saint Jonas slipped through his sleeve and said it was an obvious wreckage."

To the man's translated face, what the Cathedral Knights were neatly protecting and carrying was a relic of a saint, itchy in this silver villago.

Jonas Citurco.

By the Romless Church, he is a virtuous great man listed to saints about three hundred and fifty years ago.

It was preached to me as a great man with a record of destroying evil dragons, stopping strife with different peoples and spreading the teachings of Romless religion to all nations.

"Ho, that's a lot of splendid hearth."

The calf was in the shape of a rectangle with blue and black paint, and it was plain.

If we pushed the remarkable people and gazed into the line of solemnity, there were the well-known White Cross Knights (Sanctus Knights) who corrected their prestige.

How precious it is, there is tension similar to killing. The spear, which was supposed to be ritual, was also full of ear sheaths, and the white, shining eartips, like polished mirrors, were catastrophically illuminated by the sun.

The front row of the crowd is overwhelmed by the vivid atmosphere of the knights, lurking their voices.

When the collector saw Artemisia riding a horse with a serious look near the head, he finally remembered he was talking about that last night.

Watching with an idiotic face, the queue enters the cathedral through the main door. The collector turned to the back door, away from the wild horse. That's a cathedral church I know on my own. I greeted the guard knight, said, and entered with grandeur on a free pass.

Good inclusion in the bishop Marco, the knight wrapped around the grey surcoat has not changed a single expression, but has only moved his gaze to convey his willingness to grant. The keeper had a bit of respect for the coolness that didn't make him feel like a reptile.

Something hard hit my shoe toe as I walked down the crossing.

"What is this?

When picked up with cancer, it was "perfect" the size that would fit perfectly in the palm of his hand.

Pi, is a kind of ornament with holes in a disc-shaped central area.

Numerous people enter and leave the church at all times. Gazing into his eyes, the pale green perfection was infinitely finely floated and seemed to be of considerable value.

"It is. You got mud on you..."

I pampered and dusted and threw it into my chest. Even if you put it in your inner pocket, it won't be particularly loaded.

I skipped around whistling as I tried to give it to Marco later.

Shortly after, when you are put through to the reception room, you naturally sit deeply on the couch. tonnes and, modestly, the door slammed, and it was Ilse, a familiar sister, who came in with a tea vessel.

"Hey, long time no see. You look good, Ilse."

"It doesn't change, does it, Mr. Klando?"

Ilse chuckles and softens her tea in a teacup. At first, she felt somewhat distanced, but as the collector went to church with prosperous feet, she gradually broke down and showed a familiar bare gesture. Women don't open their minds unless they make a mame. I have a sense of seclusion when I think that I was treated like an abnormal person at first sight.

"That sounds like something tough. Was today the day the treasure came in?

"Kohon. Many of the fears that were carried to this cathedral are sacred relics of Saint Jonas. Please refrain."

She looked inward and occasionally showed tea glance at her open-minded opponent. That would also be due to the fact that the collector is an external person, but Ilse is originally of this character. Turning deliberately toward her, who lifted up one hand to proclaim, the possessor let her lie flat all the time hehe.

Almost an extension of playtime. When they looked at each other, they even laughed strangely.

"Sounds like a lot of fun. My stomach's going to flip because I'm nervous."

"Oh, this is the bishop. Excuse me -!"

When Marco looked blue and looked, Ilse made her face pull and stiff. The authority of the bishop is absolute in the Church. As the collector twisted his nose, he played a pin against Marco's forehead.

"Ugh. What are you doing? Ah. Hido, Lord Klund, Hido!

"Ugh. Because you bully my Ilse. You lokdenashi."

"Shidori. Awkward monk, I just wanted to relieve the stress of wearing authority on Kasashi."

"What the hell is that? So. Nah, old man. I've been thinking about this for a long time, okay?"

When the collector put his legs together, not even long with half eyes, he removed the burnt brown fragments from the confectionery barrel on the table and threw them into his mouth. Anyway, it tasted interesting because of the sourness.

Ilse gave me a backward look. It's okay. My belly won't break with a few things. When he took a punchy gep, Marco waved hard in front of his face when he was hit with a face.

"Kusa! Lord Klund! What are you eating? Seriously, it sucks."

"Leave me alone. Can I ask you something more?"

"What. What is it? I won't tell you the color of Awkward Monk's pants."

"It's so disgusting. Who would listen? I mean, you unmatched lady lover, why are you so tough when it comes to church sisters? Could it be within foreplay in S play?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Lord Klund is also looking at the middle-awkward monk. Ha......!? No way, love? Yes, you shouldn't. I don't know how awkward monks are, but they don't have that kind of hobby."

"Seriously, I think I'm gonna throw up. What's so sad, I have to gladly and bravely grab or let go of the sleepy Frankfurt? Now, give me a reason."

"Actually. The parents of the awkward monk were also officials of the church. My father is a priest. My mother is Sister. The two young men learned God's way together in the Church, and became acquainted with nature, naturally."

"- Hey, I don't care, is the Romless Doctrine okay with marriage?

"Give birth. Increase it, for it is the most honorable thing in God's teachings. But if you're a Sister, you'll be at home when you lose your virginity."

"Ah. Something convincing."

"So, right? Even though the mother of the awkward monk has returned to secularism, it is a long-standing custom to spend every day wearing monastic clothes. Well, Father naturally wore a permanently sitting monk, dressed all year round, couldn't even give up his place, he was close, that's already friendly... Ugh."

"Aha. So, well, he said he witnessed exactly where his parents were getting along. So, but that's the old man talking about when he was a kid. There's nothing wrong with getting along."

"But because of that, seventeen awkward monks have brothers and sisters. Plus, they're all same-bellied."

"Ah, haha. Well, rather than cheating. Hey, hey."

"Yes, my bishop. Shouldn't it be said that what your parents get along with is not mourning, but rather embodying God's teachings?

"- In fact, during this time, I went back to my parents' house for a long time, and I witnessed my old parents getting along in the mansion's crossing. Oh, Awkward Monk, this is going to be a bad year. By the way, the awkward monk was the son of my father when he was thirty-six, and my mother was two below my father."

"Sorry, I'm gonna use the bathroom for a second."

When the collector took his seat, he headed early enough for the door. Tears thrive on my eyeballs. I'm not kidding, I'm getting serious vomiting. Ilse reaches out with a crying face, but decides to ignore it.

"Oh, hey. It's sloppy, it's sloppy, Mr. Klund...!

"That's no longer worthy of being plucked and old, echoing a squeaky cry. I saw it, the awkward monk and sister raced ahead and ran over to the sink" with a comatose eye, the story goes on.

Forgive me......

It was a terrible new fact to imagine. And, I mean, my brain line is going to burn out. The collector asked inadvertently about the crap, wanting to time slip and slaughter himself a few minutes ago.

"Ha. Also, I heard something nasty. I haven't heard anything from you lately. Shall I worship Mr. Sister in disgrace? If you're lucky, you might be able to see your thanksgiving."

A young man's cloth is the sacred carcass of St. Jonas, which was carried earlier by the religious knights. Unknown to the collectors, this time the sacred relic, recommended from the Far King's Capital to Silver Villago, was of interminable value in religious terms. Otherwise, there will be no escorts from a hundred people, and Marco, the bishop with only five in the Romles, will not bother to greet him. In fact, it was originally decided that this sacred relic would be transferred to "Goldenboro”, the second most prosperous Romeless man at last year's twilight, but it was when Victoria, in her prime age, activated her power and forcibly took it away to her own territory. Beginning last year, wars with different ethnic groups and territorial disruptions caused unusual damage and, in fact, security and industry within Andrew State were on the way to deterioration.

Then let's reclaim the bustle here with the help of one shot God.

And all that, in the way that he made the side of Count Stombage, the lord of the neighbouring state, say things to gold like slapping them with gold coins, he changed the tip of the sacred relic.

In the kingdom the followers of the Romles are more than 90%. If worship and politics were the same, it was not so much off the record to think about multiplying this period by events that raised the city to make it worse. As far as religion was concerned, it was a ritual that took into account the underlying divine authority for the Romles, difficult to understand by the collectors, the Japanese of "Burritoud".

That's not the most I've ever heard of. For the collectors, the divinity they're raising their blood paths also just seems to be to the extent of a festival.

"Maybe something. - I don't know."

We proceeded to the chapel through a swept, dust-free hallway. The entrance door was open and the words of prayer of the cool maidens were heard. The vast entrance hall brings together numerous priests and sisters to pray on the altar. Speaking of which, it was in this place that I reunited with Artemisia after killing Vritra, the evil dragon king. As the collector immersed himself in his emotions, he slowly descended and stiffened when he saw the shadow of one group talking quietly in the back row.

(Hey, hey, what, what's this situation? Hey, I don't quite know what that means.)

There was an Artemisia figure staring at each other with one young priest in hand.

Moments later, the possessor's brain paused, reluctant to look directly at reality. Emotions freeze. Because Artemisia is wearing armor, I can imagine that the reason she is here today was as part of the work of the White Cross Knights (Sanctus Knights), guarding the sacred relics in the matter, but that didn't really connect to the fact that she was holding hands with the young man in front of her.

The collector has good eyes. The young man would be a church official because he was wearing monk clothes, but he was roughly a noticeable, well-nosed man. I know because I lived with him for a long time. Artemisia is slightly out of sight of the man in a disgraceful way somewhere.

I can't grasp the situation back and forth, but it's not very much up to me to be able to see it as my husband. My chest is painful as if my heart had been squeezed tight. From the core of his body, cold, thin, black, cloudy emotions push him like a tsunami.

Jealous! I'm jealous! Anyway, I thought I needed to speak up about something, but my body doesn't move forward. When I once heard about a bedridden man, I'd be busting him before I thought about it, but when I had to happen to him, he wouldn't move like his body was golden.

Shit, something's going to cry. When I struggled to force my lips to move in despair of nerves that were weaker than I thought, a fiery rage broke from behind me.

"Come on! Get your hands off my Al!

"Captain? And, Klando!

"What, what, you there! Yes. Fucking kid with a niggered face. You."

A tough guy with skinny glasses with short gray hair pruning. He was head of the Knights of the White Cross (Sanctus Knights), Antoine.

The yelling scattered man was certainly a beautiful young man with an excellent appearance, like Antoine in a sense of crisis. Her eyelashes were long enough to see if she was a woman, and her lips were red as red. His eyes were blue and clear as the sky, and clear. Standing alongside the long Antoine isn't that bad. The back was surely nearly one hundred and ninety, and a magnificent body.

"Huh. Is it me? I'm very unhappy, but have you met the knight somewhere?"

"I just met him. And die here!

When a man asks in a stuck manner, Antoine is beaten with or without. And then, a little bit, a huge shadow held Antoine from behind.

"Hey. If you think it's noisy, this is the kind of situation. Antoine, everyone in the church is surprised. Let's just think about the situation and act."

Plenty of shadows. He was Knight Royck, a colleague of Antoine's. He puffs his saggy double jaw and sighs like a fright. It would be quite an auspicious arm as it seems. He was disappointed to hold onto the rambling Antoine from behind and managed to stop the outrage in front of him.

"Roycoo, this young man, this young man, my, Al's, my hand, my hand, my gizzard."

"Uh, so just take a deep breath. Oh. Yes, come on, come on. My heart goes out because Antoine and I are friends. You made a scene because Mr. Al and Father Raffaello seemed flirtatious. Understanding. Oops, and Mr. Klund. Long time no see. I hope you don't suddenly bore your belly skin."

"I'm keeping your spiritual equilibrium with your saggy belly skin."

The collector lost the drop of his shaken fist and acted strangely.

"Aruu! My Aruu!

"No, because it has absolutely nothing to do with Antoine. Calm down."

"This is disrespectful. Greetings delayed. Your Eminence is the Knight Commander of the prestigious Knights of the White Cross (Sanctus Knights), Lord Antoine Bodwan. I heard from Lord Loyk earlier about Lord Antoine, but I didn't expect to see you in person so soon. I, this time, am a young man named Raffaello, seconded to the parish of Silver Villago. Ha..."

"What's wrong? I'm gonna pull that sucker out, you son of a bitch!

"No. This is rude. Lord Artemisia means that I happen to have a fever for the story of hand-to-hand martial arts, and it is also the flow of the story that held my hand. No, if I knew I had a great lover like you, it would depend on me not even joking about imitating something like that. Forgive me in peace."

"Ah, that's not what I was talking about, Father Raffaello."

"Mmm. Well, if that's what you know, don't forgive me or not. Mm. Raffaello. You have eyes for people inside. We're coming out. Whatever, you can have my mouth shut."

"Ugh. There is also a great deal of factual misidentification. No matter how many friends you have, you can't watch any more."

"Royk. If Al's in attendance, why would he bother to deflect my work?"

"I knew it would be an extra fuss, so I deliberately shifted to make sure the two of you didn't fit in. Oh."

"Hey. Oh, my God...!

"No, I'm glad your suspicions cleared up. I don't want to buy the frustrations of the Cathedral's mighty early on in my assignment."

"Ma'am, Al and I are colleagues of the same White Cross Knights, brothers who have crossed the dead line. No, brothers and sisters. Or is it just like family anymore? If I punish you for this, inadvertently, approaching Al is, well, stop. If you want to live in the city for a long time."

"Ha. It's stained my skeleton. By the way, I'd like to ask you a favor."

"Yeah. You can say anything!

I let Antoine slap him in the chest with his hand, wearing a thick plate with momentum. The treasurer only kept an eye on what was going on as he quipped his eyeballs.

"Well, all of a sudden, you're comparing arms."

The collectors had left the chapel and moved the place to the church's courtyard. For one reason. It was because Father Raffaello had applied to stand against Antoine.

The sisters are yellow cheering as they surround the two beautiful and sturdy. Among the teachings of the Romles is a passage about loving martial arts and keeping the body strong, and among priests there is a loud voice praising martial arts such as caning and martial arts.

The new Raffaello was probably interested in the arms of the head of the prestigious White Cross Knights (Sanctus Knights). The two were officially allowed to be present, although unusual, also by helping to create a festive atmosphere due to early morning rituals. Marco said, "Because it looks interesting".

Antoine basically doesn't like Raffaello from the core, who was casually touching Artemisia he was obsessed with. I'm in the mood to screw up a nose column here. The opposing Raffaello could afford it, such as smiling and waving at the young Sisters raising their yellow voices.

"Hey, Klando. That was a misunderstanding. Listen to me for a second."

"Mon."

"Tell the story..."

"Lord Klund, it's not very popular. What, as much as they held my hand. I wonder if Artemisia also had a gap in her heart with her husband. Heh, heh, heh."

Man's misfortune tastes like honey. When Marco giggled in his inferior face, Artemisia, who was in tears, gave off her murderous glance.

When Marco was frightened, he hid in the garment of the keeper, but quickly, he was kicked with Pawn.

Hine, and a pitiful voice popped out of Marco's mouth.

"Why do you get stuck? I'm not supposed to betray you."

"Shh. Quiet. Here we go."

The match between Antoine and Raffaello began.

They both chose sticks. The length is three meters. Materials are made of wood, but it is a contract that even if they do not die in some places, they will be seriously injured. In this sense, death is naturally included as a possibility.

In particular, it is only an unparalleled consolation for the young Sisters, who confine most of their daily lives within the Church.

Originally a religious knight and single Antoine is highly popular. Besides, you can see new, beautiful priests. I can't find any more reason not to thrive on this.

It is normal that the average age of priests is high and even Marco, the bishop, falls into the youngest category. It is the young men of beauty who die together, exhausting their dying power and spreading the smell of the male. It was an event that the women couldn't help but run wild.

"Antoine, sama. Ahhh. Hang in there. Huh?"

"Raffaello, you too. Oops. Don't lose."

Shake the monk's coat, the kink and the tall sound of the tree spirit. In the eyes of the women, the more the heartmark seemed to be visionary, the more amazing it was the way in. The long Artemisia pulled the bottom of the collector's jacket so that he could sit back. At the same time, two men started a clash.

The stick has the simplest shape in terms of structure, but it is clear how powerful it is.

Antoine and Raffaello began the meeting masterfully manipulating their gains.

Raffaello was only challenging from himself and a medium user. He manipulates the long weapon as freely as an extension of his hand, and continues to twist, pay, poke, and punch as the textbook suggests. It's all about how to make an intermission, where to step in, and how to use force.

Most importantly, Antoine, who has traveled through many training grounds, is in charge of battle. To some extent, I thought I was turning to take it, and suddenly began to fight back.

It is precisely a skilled move. Antoine thrust a long score into Raffaello's steep spot without a clue. Bo, crack the atmosphere and the tip runs. Gradually, Raffaello began to step back several times, unable to support the attack.

"Oh ho. That's right, it's Antoine. There are no socks in the way you attack. No, Awkward Monk, Martial Arts is a Tonto Gatekeeper."

"No, the bishop is right. This, however you look at it, is hard for Antoine to loosen up. Are you, Klando?

"Mon."

"Clandoh."

"Happy birthday. It's time for Raffaello to leave."

The sisters' screams overlapped as they wore over Marco's voice. Raffaello, who was falling back, broke his balance to the right and slipped the stick out of his finger.

The collector glued at Artemisia's face clinging to his side, only for a moment, capturing something gleaming in the retina.

What the fuck?

"Whoa."

Antoine's posture slightly collapsed when he was fighting for his advantage. Specifically, the right ankle that was stepping in looked strangely twisted. In the eyes of the treasurer, Raffaello's slice-length eyes seemed to sink as if, in an instant, he had a chilly, freezing coma.

Raffaello's gripping stick ran at a terrible speed licking the ground like a buzzing snake.

The sliced tip hit Antoine's mistletoe.

Yeah, and a strange groan leaked, and Antoine peeled off her white eyes.

Raffaello beat him so hard as he pounded his butt as he cheered. I gave my right arm over my head with a stick with such a tired face. Leuc, the judge who quickly confirmed the winner, rushes over to Antoine, boiling and loosening his meat.

uncomfortable as the needle scratched the back of the shoe faintly.

"Wait. It's not over yet."

The treasurer shouted an amazingly murderous, loving voice on Raphaelo's back, welcomed by the Sisters, with a thin grin.