Hitsugi no Maou

"I hear you noticed. A bunch of mourning bastards are coming at me like ghosts. Can you sing in prayer, kid?"

"Hate (unfortunately) and no religion."

There are two figures standing on the moss bridge. I relaxed and exchanged my voice.

One is a middle-aged man with brown hair and a mustache (beard) beneath his nose.

The other is a young man with a slightly long, thin silhouette who cut his grey hair short.

The two are tightly muscled arms, whatever the difference in quantity, or sticking in their trouser pockets.

A middle-aged man spoke first to the man and girl coming up the bridge.

"Be careful! There's a lot of stone in there! Come walk where the moss isn't growing!

After confirming that there is no reply, the middle-aged man clasps his nose (two places) and takes out a jar (bin) filled with bright red wood. "Arya strong," he said with a mouthful like talking about the weather as he threw a couple of them into his mouth.

"Isn't it bad for them? I don't care what you think."

"You're a loud man. Sweet, sympathetic to horses and animals, is second-class here, no matter how strong you are. You know that too, Mr. Raymond."

A middle-aged man, called Raymond, twisted his neck as he ate a wooden jar looking important. "I don't know much about second-rate third-rate," he said, vomiting sweetly.

"I have the Gentiles basically settle their affairs by talking and beating each other. Just be nice because you're the head of the settlement, keep order, I'm not going to say anything. As long as you don't hurt me or offend me, you're perfectly free to go."

"He's a terrible village chief. Hey, uh-huh."

"So, Oren. If you get killed by that angry sweetheart, I won't take your revenge. Forget about you early, I'll figure out a way to say hello to him."

By the time Raymond stretched out his thick index finger, the man and the girl were walking right over the bridge to get there.

Next to (become) Raymond, who can pull his finger into the other person's phase, Oren spreads his long arm and says, "Hey!" and make a white smile. A man with ceramic chin bones turned a horrible voice to Oren, "You're the thief."

His luggage bag was rolling at Raymond's feet, but Oren was (was) carrying a horseback riding trouser with the body hair of a horse. To Raymond messing with his beard, the man doesn't even give me a glance.

Oren shook her body wrapped in horseback trousers and a jacket, sounding her usual insensitive laughter.

"A thief is a greeting (greeting). For the newbie you've come the most late. Don't call me Mr. Oren, junior."