If It’s for My Daughter, I’d Even Defeat a Demon Lord (WN)

Latina caught a cold.

"Kuchi."

She's kind of cute even the way she sneezes. But it seems kind of like she's the one whose accent is weird somewhere.

I've lived with this child for a few years now, but I've never had a stubborn race, or almost been sick, etc.

I guess it still means I'm tired.

Later, it is conceivable that

"... it's raining, but it's shaggy, right?

"... yeah. Right.... I'm sorry..."

It was a trip in the rain yesterday.

I couldn't wait for it to stop because it was raining. I don't want to force you too much, but it's a less populated countryside. It was also necessary to avoid rain and travel to places where the camp could be.

The coat Dale always wears is made to play water.

Better than his ex, he was accustomed to the journey itself during rough weather, so if he wore a hood and fastened the belt around his neck, the rain control was over.

Latina's hooded cape also starts to play water with magic props, so it doesn't matter if it's about light rain. However, since it was a trip in full rain, he was forced to wear the rain gear provided.

Latina even seemed to enjoy walking in the rain.

I looked up as I walked down the mountain path and there was a gray sky and heavy clouds peering through the gaps in the deep forest trees.

Even the rain grain on her face, she seemed not to suffer, sometimes purposefully pointing up.

I try to avoid the build-up of water and go through it, sometimes deliberately going in and letting the mud come off, and the face that it's gone.

"... Latina, be careful. It's slippery."

"Yeah. Bullshit."

That was the moment I answered.

Latina sprayed.

Slip your feet in the water buildup at your feet, behave. It was brilliant.

"Huh!!

"……………… I want to be…"

He twisted his ankle the moment he slipped his leg, and Latina, with a troubled face, was sitting in the mud unable to stand up.

"Wow... so don't tell me..."

Dale immediately reaches out and uses healing magic on her ankle.

So the injury was fixed, but there was nothing I could do about the clothes that were drenched in mud and sucked in rainwater. It is also difficult to make them change in this condition in the rain.

When Dale put Latina on the horse, he increased the speed of the move.

It's a journey home.

Dale is quite familiar with the geography around here. The location of the hut used by hunters and others as well as the location of the small village dotted. I also have some idea of naturally made caves and other places.

The closest place you can get a rain shelter from here would be a small cave a little further from the street.

I was just thinking of it as a camp place today.

I just have to hurry up a little bit.

This is in the mountains, though.

Cold air, albeit spring tips, takes away body temperature.

You can't blame Dale for hurrying down a bad scaffolding path but didn't notice Latina trembling small. And even if I had noticed, there were no specifications for dealing with it.

Latina was shaking and bluishing her complexion when she reached the cave of purpose.

"Oh... I'm going to find something that I can do with firewood. Take off your wet clothes and wipe your body and you'll be wrapped around a blanket!

"Yeah."

Latina answered that, but after dropping off Dale heading into the rain again, approaching the side of the horse (Blao), he began to unpack in the first place. As Dale always does, he follows through on his actions to lighten the burden on the horse (him).

Later, when I finally took off my clothes and changed my wet underwear, I twirled it into a blanket. When the rain is taken care of and wrapped up in it that stays dry, I am relieved. I could not block the cold air coming from the ground, but I thought I would have to put up with it.

"Huh..."

I shall be pontificated. Latina lay down, by the way.

By the time Dale came back and managed to serve as firewood by magically paying off the surface layer of moisture with the 'water' attribute, she was already hot.

This series of actions caused her to catch a cold.

"Not a very good place to stay... but I'm taking a day off tomorrow... there's a lot of distance to the next village"

That's what Dale says and watches the rain.

As soon as he returned, when he laid the waterproof cloth that had wrapped the blanket and other things on the ground, he laid his change of clothes and other luggage on top of it, and moved the latina that wrapped around the blanket there.

Burn a fire nearby, wash dirty latina clothes outside, and wash them in big messes by magically hitting water balls.

I took Latina's clothes out of her luggage and put them on. Latina usually tries to do everything herself, but was left with a blurry look.

He began to fall asleep shortly afterwards. Latina, who is not very ill, can also be said to be less intolerant of the fact that, conversely, she is ill.

That's already yesterday's story.

Today, the next day, the rain is still falling, Latina still seems to have caught a cold, and Dale, who doesn't want to force her, chose to be stopped.

"Dale... sorry..."

"If you have failed with a shake, you should be aware of it next time. Don't apologize for catching a cold. Don't you?"

"Yeah......"

"I hope it gets better soon"

Dale smiles and slips his palm down Latina's forehead.

Yesterday I learned a hot sensation, but I'm relieved by how calm I am until flat fever. In this state, you won't be able to take care of it unless you make it impossible.

"Dinner... even though it's every Latina..."

"It's good to be sweet when you're sick."

If a soggy latina shrugged on Dale, who boiled porridge in a pan, he blew it out small, overwhelmed.

In this state, it is a bit off, albeit feminine, to regret not being able to work rather than being sweet.

The bread porridge, which unfortunately does not look very good, was the meal of the day, in a soup that also used the salted meat obtained in the village of the Beasts, simmered in crushed dried vegetables, with cheese and hard-baked bread.

"It's good to eat warm when you have a cold, rest well, and be full of sweetness"

Meanwhile, Dale mouths his own meal and makes a slightly more subtle face.

It's not unsavory, and it's classy even if it's supposed to be a camp meal or something like that. But subtly something feels missing.

(…… at some point…… my mouth was fat…)

He was used to the 'fine meal for the camp' that Latina makes.

Even if I use the same ingredients, I feel that Latina would cook a little better.

Yet Latina smiled as she carried a spoonful of porridge into her mouth.

"Yummy."

"No... I don't know if it tastes good... sorry..."

"Delicious."

I know how to evaluate what I have made. Such Dale laughs bitterly, but Latina shakes her head and denies it.

"Dale made it for me... it's so good"

Her face lit by the burning red light was a happy gentle smile.

"... but this is not good..."

"The medicine doesn't taste good."

Latina looks clearly disappointed in the medicinal water fried by Dale offered after the meal.

Take a sip and frown.

"Dirty......"

(... at one time, I think it would be easier if I drank it all in one breath... is this an occupational disease too...?)

Dale tilted his neck inside to Latina's appearance as she proceeded to drink with a little taste.

I asked him later, and he said it was just a habit. If you recommend drinking in one breath, say, "Did you have that hand! 'Cause you looked like you were.

The next morning I woke up when I noticed the light of day creeping through the entrance to the cave.

"It's raining."

"Right. But you still have bad scaffolding, so be careful."

"Ugh."

Latina, who looks up at the thin, sunny pale blue sky and laughs, seems to have recovered by the time she could move, though not to full speed.

(In the next village…… give it a little rest…)

Dale prepares to leave with that in mind.

Horses that seem to enjoy walking (Blao) are light because they were stopped yesterday.

He looked a little dissatisfied when he put Latina on her back with a little thickness.

Apparently, he was willing to walk himself.

Dale smiled relieved that Latina's appearance as usual was returning, returning to the muddy and muddy path.