Dungeon+Harem+Master

The collector stared incredibly small at Raffaello's man.

"Boy. One thing, why don't you give me an audition, too?"

"Excuse me, bishop. Who is this Mitsuhito?

Raffaello asked Marco, as he had stayed. What else? For him, the man named Zao was precisely a foreign object in itself, because it was an event that he had not imagined would speak to himself, etc.

"This is Lord Klund, a friend of Awkward Monk's who is at ease."

"It is. This has been disrespectful. If you're a friend of the bishop, I thought you were in a precious capacity. Excuse me, which one are you from?

"I'm from Great Justice Japan, you bastard"

The Sisters are all over the place. "Really?" "I wonder where that barbaric land is." "Well, I heard there's no place for that guy to live." "Why are you here," he whispers. The collector cursed the ignorance of the otherworlds as he cramped his eyebrows.

"Hon. Excuse me, I was born in which part of the world I was not studying. What if you're a guest outside the country? With a place name I can't hear. Is it Etria, or League Hilde bordering east? I don't think it's much more like a distant wangaseek."

"None of that. Probably farther than any of the countries I've just mentioned."

"Really?

Artemisia would be the same for the first time I heard of it. He peeks into the collector's face in a dazed manner.

"So, what kind of benevolence are you?"

"I'm an adventurer."

"Ha."

Raffaello is tilting his neck tightly when he doesn't come in the pin. If he came all the way from the king's capital, the fact is that there is a wild dog of such inferior status in the friendship between a man of his profession who is within the knowledge of Raffaello and Marco, a high priest, would not in itself be firm.

Adventurers are otherwise synonymous with outlaws. A bastard creature who stands up to monsters and bandits with one arm and gets daily food in a primitive way. As the collector loosely approached his shoulder as a chimp, the accusation flew like a rapid-fire cannon from the field.

"What are you talking about! There's no way Father is going to work with someone like you."

"That's right. That's right! What's shallow?"

"Don't get too worked up."

"And Raffaello, who was there after the game, expected to be present in anticipation of his tired time."

"First of all, isn't it the same inferior outlaw degree that an adventurer like you generates? Know what it's like to confront a knight or a noble man who embodies God's teachings."

"Shut up -"

No, the sisters, completely insane by Raffaello's masculinity, all set up to hold down the roots of the treasurer. Did Marco have a single hair that severely blocked group violence when the collector was on the verge of losing his mind while stripping his white eyes?

"Now, what cursed Lord Klund, go forward. Annabella, Kozima, and Chlorinda. Hurry up."

"Oh, that. Bishop, we didn't mean that."

"Previous"

Marco did not yell, but, with a low, calm voice, told him pale. The young Sisters, whose names had been called, no longer had a bright white face like paper, and when they went out in front of the fluttering rows, they were weeping with pitiful eyes like sheep on the verge of being slaughtered.

"Awkward monks should have preached that at no time should people be discriminated against in their identities or professions. Did you always think of such things again when you prayed before God? For it is all the work of an awkward monk. Lord Klund. As bishops, I also apologize for their share. Have mercy."

"Hey, stop it. Old man, no problem. I don't give a shit. By and large, it is true that their daughters are here. I'm not going to get angry."

"Sorry for your loss"

"The misconceptions we have made in the service of God."

"Forgive me, Bishop."

"No, it's not the awkward monks who apologize, but to Lord Klund. Come on."

The Sisters, turning their backs on Marco, thanked the collectors for their mouths. but why do I have to apologize for such a lowly Lord Ete style on that face, chip. As such, discontent appeared on his face in colour. Inside, he's got his tongue full of grandeur.

(Maggie)

Blaming them here is a little harsh. Because, in anticipation of Marco's ill-eyed gap, the collector was speaking from one end to the other to the dizzying Sister.

The daughters in the convent had a large number of so-called "boxed daughters" who were deliberately depositing them from afar in order to teach the basic nobles courtesy before their dowry, and the collectors continued to sexually harass themselves by focusing on a clear system of feelings unfamiliar to men among them.

The odds of winning were low, but not zero. Some of them even brought it to oral sex in honor of light skinship, although they were rooted in an overly forceful collector's method and did not even give it purity.

In a closed space like a monastery, there's no way you can stop hiding it. The maidens who gave their throats and mouth virgins to the collector were hundreds of times more hateful than cute. Uniting his will, he basically made the collector abhorrent as a serpent scorpion.

However, some of the daughters who have dedicated their bodies have not secretly thought of the keepers. Among the Sisters, in a sense, the collectors were like mountain fires that could not be handled.

(Chlorinda, your ferratech was excellent. Ah, do it. When I think of it, I'm getting cocksuckers.)

"I'm not good enough to put on an archery though. If that's what you want..."

Raffaello went.

"Reason is good. I just wanted to give it a try. Come on, let's go!

"Wait a minute. Klund. What's the plan?"

The collector made a kime face when he set up the stick he had picked up properly. Instantly a scratch comes in from Artemisia.

What, is it bad? I mean, I've hardly ever fought with a stick.

Well, there's a nice spirit at the root that we'll figure it out. Probably, I can.

"Hmm. Is something wrong?"

"Something's wrong, it's a mess. And you've never used a stick or anything."

"Hmm. This stuff is filling, filling. So, I'm going to yuki."

"I won't give you a break."

"That's right. I don't care if they do."

The treasurer stood to hold a stick. but if it comes from someone who has learned some martial arts, it's not a setup or anything. I just have a stick. Artemisia's fear was that she had no choice. Still have to do it. I really wanted to find out who the discomfort I sniffed out earlier was.

A stick. It is just a stick without a different philosophy.

It is simple everywhere without any embellishments, but the strength difference is so clear that it is easy to get out.

Two across the street. I can't move with my stick in place. Something like an invisible radio wave is rolling between the two. The Sisters have the same career-carrier metallic cheers as they did earlier.

Raffaello.

It is long. I found that some of them wrapped in monk clothes were packed with well-forged.

Distances shrink with the jirries. No, in fact, neither of them had moved a single step, but the struggle to wrap each body had begun to push each other silently.

Slightly mucus perspiration creases into the palm of the hand holding the stick. Ku, my lower stomach rattled.

Shit. Something hurts. It's creepy. Oh, shit. My ass hole is hot.

An earlier pinch of confectionery appeared on the back of my brain.

You mean that hit me! More so at a time like this!

Sweat drips down my forehead.

I'm uncomfortable sticking up perfectly with the cold sweat of my back shirt flowing like a waterfall.

The equilibrium tore in an instant. Raffaello. I'm swinging the stick down from the front. I couldn't help but avoid it.

A violent wind passes with the momentum that takes the forehead away.

It weighs quite a bit, though it's made of wood. Whether it will hurt if you hit it.

I stuck the stick in my hand forward. It was taken lightly.

A return blow almost simultaneously.

A shock runs on my shoulder like a fire ran. I got hit. The pain is not so much. Raffaello is putting a thin grin on his lips. The bottom of my belly roared like a beast.

Hold the stick with both arms and stand horizontally. Raffaello has hit it down hard again.

Gosh, and the sound of my skull blurring. The screams of the women flowed. My forehead burned hot like it had been shredded off. He took a decent blow from the swing. Gu, groaning, his stomach barked violently and there was no hot stuff left from his anus to erupt. A strong skatol odor is scattered irresistibly.

Sisters, who noticed the anomaly, screamed and turned away.

But the treasurer did not understand the plan.

He is wrinkled between his eyebrows with his stick sticking out to the front with both hands.

The collector rushed out unintentionally through the desiccation. I squeezed the stick in my hand strong, hard, and jumped.

The gaze is at Raffaello's disposal by the time it is strong.

Chirali, and. The white light seemed to run. My ankle was pulled down with an invisible arm. It's no longer my fault. At the same time, the shaking posture collapsed only slightly.

Like a snake twirling and flying. Raffaello's penetration was imminent.

A stick entered the throat decently perpendicular. My vision stains bright red. Severe pains, like breathing stops and destroying the cranium, push me like a black wave. It was a blow enough to prune consciousness.

I flew away so that I could be pushed back.

Landing with both legs poked. More loose diarrhea stools flow sheer through the butthole in shock.

My stomach hurts like it was ripped out by giant hands. The blue and white stars are blinding in front of you.

Stand by. The battle is not over yet. The man in front of me standing up gave me a slight expression.

"This is no match!

Antoine, who was watching the end of the battle in silence, ran out unexpectedly and slammed his cape over his head.

Not yet. The battle has just begun. Don't imitate anything unnecessary.

It's a lot harder to see the front with the blood tide flowing from the cracked forehead, but I don't care about that.

I got my neck out as I stood back. I felt a contemptuous, frightened, innumerable gaze.

Artemisia jumps at me with a crying face.

Was Raffaello's blow in a pretty good place? When the treasurer brought him to Antoine to fall, he threw blood bubbles out of his throat and let go of consciousness.

Father Raffaello's skill was strongly burned by those who watched and heard him. He quickly destroyed Antoine, the leader of the Knights of the White Cross (Sanctus Knights), known for his bravery, and a man who seemed to be a jumping but powerful adventurer. Not only is she beautiful, but her martial arts arms are also picky. This can't keep the women from making a scene.

"That's Father Raffaello. I can't believe you're not even close to that Antoine."

"Compared to that, it's no big deal for a guy named that Klund. What an adventurer."

"Raffaello, be gentle with me. Besides, you know what? I'm not sympathetic, but I'm a little disappointed..."

"You. Shit. That's what makes a serious battle for a human being!

I was standing up with a blue face, Sister Cordura of the church barked. Sisters wandered furiously in the midst of a burning fiery rage.

Anyway, if it's the strength of your mind and the speed of your hands, you can call it Church One. It was a well-known fact that she was described as a Romless rabid dog and, in the skill of hand-to-hand combat, far outnumbered the religious knight in office.

Besides, it was the Sisters who stained their skeletons and knew all that Cordura was in danger of not knowing what to do if it was for honor and justice.

"What. It's not Bakka. This is about it, getting mucky......!

Let's go. Let's go.

"Hmm. I can't keep up with you with all this crap. Bye."

"You guys. Eh!

"Cordura. No, no more."

Even when it came to colleagues, there was a historical difference in status between them, children of the great nobility, and Cordura, who was a child without parents.

Some had a bitter look because they still knew they were doing something dark behind them, but eventually made sure they were pushed away by their peers and left the front yard with a bunch of people surrounding Raffaello.

"Ahhh. Ooh, I'm angry, too! Oh, my God. Those guys! Ilse had to stop. I pulled him off one end and made him cry so damn bad......!

"If you do that, they'll put you in the punishment chamber again. too."

"But the meaning of the current battle. How far is he who understood?"

"Right."

The beloved giant of the Knights of the White Cross (Sanctus Knights), Lloyd, and the bishop, Marco, sighed even more impressively.

"Bishops. You must be a friend of Klund's! Shit, why don't you scold those kids? Ahh. That would be disrespectful. Whoa!

"Hiya. But it's a strict fact that Lord Klund lost. If a man loses, why not?"

"Chit. Sister. Mr. Krund is a big man. Oh. We were impressed with that."

"Shut up, you fucking fat fuck"

"Hey, Cordura! You're rude!

"Ooh. This painful greeting hurts. But Mr. Klund didn't throw away his score until the end, even if he scattered diarrhoeal stools. This is the right attitude as a samurai."

"You're kidding me! Don't make a fool of Klando!

"Ugh. I want you to stop kicking my belly. Whoa. I'll be a habit! It's good to have a wife and kids. No!

"Die!"

"Cordura, why are you so pretty, already!

"Fair enough, gentlemen. You don't mind as much as leaking shit, do you? Lord Klund doesn't care about Jen for such details. I'm sure he's been singing his nose song all right these days. Anyway, that man isn't as light as he gets to crush."

What was the Bishop's word? The Collector was sinking deeply and deeply behind his back. It is a lonely bar. I don't feel like a woman.

The collector was throwing alcohol into the back of his throat with a faint eye. Empty liquor bottles are arranged innumerably over a candy dull counter.

In the store, dark purple smoke stood without a thousand times to smoke the drinkers.

And it came to pass, when the keeper lifted up his hand like a damp flower, that the sixty year-old shopkeeper, who was wearing a glass, made a noise with Gotri, and put the dish on a plate.

Eat muscha muscha with a clue. I don't know what kind of meat. No, you don't need to know. I am drunk without my identity. The chewing, pulling and cutting are also mechanical. I eat it when I drink it. I'm even repeating that.

It was unusual. After losing, I drooled the faeces. It is a shock. You won't be able to get any closer to the church for the time being. More than the bishops and corduras could have imagined, the collectors had been struck. My eyes are trodden. He had the shitty eye of a loser.

There was not a single commotion in the store when it was said that this was all packed with men's customers.

Most of them are drugged and tranced. Everyone has cloudy eyes and falls into oblivion with the eye lid half-closed. The drugs are downer based, so the junkies were as quiet as sheep.

I'll leave the money here.

When the collector grabbed the bare copper coin out of the leather bag, he let it go to the counter and left the store.

The clothes are only soaked with water. but I rubbed it gossip like my parents' enemies, so there's no more smell. Should be.

I'm in shock. I saw this defeat bigger than I thought myself.

In myself, I shouldn't have been aware of Artemisia or anything, but was the truth different? The gaze of pity, of Artemisia and Antoine, seen in the Church's ambulance. I couldn't stop, I ran away.

It's as good as shit. No, there's no way!

"Damn. After all, I lost. Looks like we lost..."

The neat face of a priest named Raffaello blinked violently behind the eye lid. At the same time, anger like a fireball exploded at the bottom of his belly and his groin suddenly stirred up.

Is this love? Is there a reason?

"A woman. I need a woman."

I felt something different about going back to the mansion and getting my wives to have sex comfortably. Walking on a thousand feet through the dark darkness, looking for whores.

You have to regain the sense of male conquest by holding an irrelevant woman roughly in your life. Odd, but that was the raison d 'être of the hoarder.

No, I'm a drunk head in the first place, and I can't go around thinking that was lineage. Now, he needed a sacrifice that could hit Mushaksha as much as he wanted.

Locate the whore as he roars.

- That's no good. Something's too badass.

- And this. No. My tits are a little unnatural. That one's stuffed.

- Hey, what's with that Acerboard looking Bakemon? You're too free damned.

- An old man? An old man with a chest?

"We're in trouble. I don't have a woman who wants to hold me even if I pay her."

The collectors were so delicious, but the quality of the women they met on a daily basis was too high and the minimum standards were raised.

Once upon a time, if only I could close my eyes and shake my hips... the level would stop accepting. Is this an alarm for modern culture that if you continue to eat, you will not be able to live long? With that in mind, and subtly avoiding the roadside diarrhea, I continued to wander, and came across an idiotic quarrel of my choosing.

"Stop, please"

"Okay, then."

"You've come here to fish for men."

"Be quiet and make yourself comfortable with the three of you."

"Have you ever been blamed for your upper and lower mouths in three places at the same time? Makes you feel like you've gone extremely easy."

"I'll satisfy you. Hehe, what do you say, little girl? I can't stop thinking about this white skin. Just watching it freaks me out."

"Shit. Somebody help me..."

In the dark, the men are squeezing on the little woman. I think the collector. I don't think she's such a tough bitch to seem to be flirting with in a backstreet like this. Among them, wrapped in white robes, would be roughly a night-loving slut. A little concerned about a voice too young, but I wasn't in the mood to help people today. Then, as she passed by, the woman slipped through the men's arms and jumped into her chest.

"Come on, what are you going to do? Je!

"The girls were found first by the oilers. Embezzlement is benevolence."

"I'm a lot known around here, the Cradle Three brothers of the Dmitri family! Don't tell me you don't know.

"I don't know. Shit."

The collector was rolling his elbows out quickly as he shook off the arm of the man he had put his hand on his shoulder.

"Ngoh."

The blow quickly entered the man's mouth. The cradle and crushed teeth scattered across the road.

"What the fuck? I got cancer. Whoa."

Grabbing the screaming man's throat with one hand, he caught it. It's nothing to be drunk about this. The man is agonizing, moving his legs hard in the air. Looks like a dying spider.

Like a rubber clump, when he threw with Pawn, the man stopped moving with his face stuck in the trash can in the street.

One of the remaining ones is beating me healthy. The collector swirled his legs like a whole tooth to the man's chest and kicked him. The feeling of vertigo and tapping on the ribs. The man, like a scrap of paper, when he flew quite a distance, struck his back of his head hard on the ground and passed out.

The scent of a woman clinging to me spread all over her nasal cavity. When I dared to press the raised one, I took a trick for the woman to let go of her body to understand what it was.

Do you mind? If you keep flirting with it anyway, other wild dogs will just eat you. The collector sucked on the woman's lips without even looking at her face. Forced to screw his tongue and ravage his mouth. A woman hates herself but doesn't let her get away with it. Hold your hips with one hand holding them in. At the same time, he slanted his neck against his chest, but not much response.

I brutally peeled off my hood and looked at my face. Try hard to remember with a drunk head. Thoughts rebelled the past, video linked to memory. The girl in front of me was once a girl named Claire, whom Marco took to church when she fought with a lake thief.

"Well, what's going on?"

The collector took Claire and evacuated the scene. I just happen to hear the noise and if the freaks get together, it's an extra hassle. If we were to talk calmly at this hour, we would no longer only have been close to the Bring-in Inn or so.

"Bring an innocent nun into the inn. I'm going to hell."

"No, Mr. Krander is not the one to do that."

Ugh, Claire's innocent eyes are blinding.

She stared at Barbaros, a lake thief who was the enemy of her brother, with wet eyes, had been told by her bishop Marco that he was the treasurer.

The way Marco teaches is close to brainwashing. If asked, Marco said he told me stories about the collector more than once as he watched Claire suffer in a tough nigger life.

A hero who took over a thief with his only brother in his hand. In a life without moisture other than faith, the fictional statue of the treasurer in her swelled up as much as it swelled, and the earlier forceful kiss was also, to her, like a blessing from the knight of a painting story.

"Hey, I don't know what that old man did to me. Buy it."

"No, the bishop must not have told you a lie. Now, when Claire asked me for help, she came."

"So it just so happens."

Claire was a beautiful girl with beautiful wavy hair and blue eyes.

But I would be twelve or three years old, no matter what you think. The collector wasn't clearly Lori, he was completely out of defensive range. His proud filial son, who was so sudden, is also completely silent. It was pretty hard for a collector to lust Claire.

"Hey, what, I was rolling down the platter at that hour. Sure, the Sisters live in dorms, don't they? You got out so well."

According to stories I once heard from Hilda, in a monastic dorm with a large number of good family children, a ghostly monastic dean is eyeing, and security has a constant, dozen monastic knights, the lack of which seems to be more than a prison.

"It's..."

"If you don't want to, you don't have to talk about it."

When the collector sat next to Claire, frightened and trembling like a jean dog, he put her on his knees a little so that he could always hold Lucille, the toddler. I often notice. She's not that young.

"Ah. Wally. Like always, in habit."

"No, it's fine. If you don't mind, Mr. Klander. Please hold Claire like this."

Claire has been clutching to her arms. Her loneliness, her sadness, comes from her thin, cracked palms.

As she took her little hand and stared, Claire lay down her face embarrassed. It reminded me of the days of harsh training, reduced by the work of extremely practical days, reminding me of the time of struggle.

She spoke of her days in church in a pale way. It was bullying from the Sisters living in the same dorm that led her to wander around the city. Claire was welcomed as an orphan without any back shield, having murdered her brother. If that's all, then there's no problem. But how Claire entered the church was not spoken of by anyone but was known as nature.

Last summer on Crystal Lake, a gloomy incident on the luxury passenger ship, the Red Phalanx, was instantly known to those involved.

(Speaking of. Were there any other passengers and survivors!

Claire was raped at the behest of a lake thief by an oak of passengers in a funny half. On top of that, Claire had been witnessed as a weak woman's sex performing an obscene service to an orc who had offended herself all over the ship.

The people whose lives had been prolonged by the work of the collector blow their own bad luck, but as much as they did, they turned amused and bragged about Claire's misfortune in the alley.

I guess that was not very much, but I couldn't even imagine, what would happen if the church officials knew that it left a lot of clean parts. It's like second rape. Claire's days of hardship spanning nearly six months began here.