It's all one flower.

In a missile attack by the Artel Army, one Nemoralis Army air defense ship sank.

At the hands of the Nemoralist aspiring guerrillas, this report on the Artel side was delivered to the islands of Negna and Nemoralis.

Lost the Devil's Asthma cannon of the Pledge of Request, an upset ran to the Nemoralis Republic.

In the Kingdom of Lacrimaris, news organizations headquartered in neutral countries, such as the Hunan Economic Newspapers, report similar content. The Nemoralis government jumped to extinguish the fire, but propagation to the public through support groups could not be prevented.

The Nemoralis army admitted damage to the ship five days after the example attack.

The Artel Government has not commented on this matter. He says he sank a defensive ship equipped with a demonic asthma cannon, and remains silent after announcing a report on the army's results.

The public opinion of the Artel people was inclined to the hard opinion that evil nemoralis, never (ever) should be discussed.

Unless we destroy the wizard who weaponized the magical creatures, the concern and fear that the second and third demonic asthma cannons will be created, and the resentment of the activities of the Nemoralis aspiring guerrillas, are fuelling the will of the Arteles.

"Isn't it time for the tide?

Spelldoctor Septentorio says with a tired face. Funeral house Agoni nodded beside it as well.

The lobby of the lair brings together magical warriors, including guard Oriole, Ultr and Par Little on the caution stick, and Journitol on the people of the lake. Silva, the old lady who helped, refrained at the door.

"The state of affairs of the people of the Autonomous Communities, which was used as a pretext for war, is pretty much better now," Hanashi said.

Agoni said by showing the Hunan Economic Newspaper. The guerrilla soldier Klube brought it to me from the Kingdom of Lacrimalis.

"This is nothing more than inciting the hatred of the Artelites and prolonging the war in captivity"

No one agreed with the words of Septentorio.

The Magic Warriors shake their heads sideways with a rocky look.

"Now that the demon asthma cannon is mourned, it is time to strike directly at the base of the Artel army."

"If they hit the missile into Nenia or Nemoralis, what are we going to do!

What Oriol and Journitol said sounded like Yo (more), but isn't such a big operation a regular army job?

There are only a few magical warriors in the willing guerrillas who can fight properly. No guard or caution stick participating in the guerrilla had the same magic power as a demon soldier.

"If it's magic, there's a [sorcerer's tear] of a comrade who passed away in Shi Han (coronation)."

Ultr saw the funeral home Agoni. Agoni preaches in a voice that seeped sorrow.

"Even if you add magic to a monster like that, it won't be as powerful as the demon soldiers use it."

Those who were driven by revenge and died throwing themselves into battle without knowing the art of fighting do not originally possess great magic. The magic left in [the sorcerer's tears] was known to be high.

"If war continues again for decades, the children of the everlasting race will end their lives without knowing the times of peace. Do not repeat this and overlap the history of hatred..."

"Spelldoctor, how many years did it take you, the whole clan, to be killed and forgiven?

Careful stick Ultr asks in a voice crawling through the ground. Septentorio was cramped with answers.

I didn't forgive you.

During half a century of civil unrest, the Lacus Lacrimalis Republic was divided into several factions, bleeding from each other.

There are too many enemies in which faction do not know who took the life of the clan. I just gave up, losing sight of someone to hit hate, and hating doesn't make them come back to life.

Many threw themselves at vengeance, as curse doctors to kill each other, feeling powerless. It even took decades to recover from it.

The captain trio leans down without an answer. And Ultr cast away the eyes of the colour of the earth, and threw up.

"Me, unlike you, I grow old every year. The rest of your life, even if you use it all, won't come a day when you can forgive me."

"But hey, the way you do it now, you don't have a bad minute. Why don't you join the Regular Army just because you can fight?

To Agoni's suggestion, the people of the lake, Journitol, laid their green eyes down. Scratch up your dark hair, Par Little says.

"The Regular Army is now taking a leap in retrieving demon asthma cannons. Besides, we have to turn the crowd around for air defense. I can't hit the mainland of Artel."

Security guard Oriol said, giving up on his face.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Doctor Spell. We will not stop resisting Artel until the last one dies."

Other magical warriors strongly agree. Even the old lady nodded small at the door.

Since then, the hideout on the mainland of Artel had been devastated by military raids, leaving one spot behind.

There are only four places left, including this treatment base and food and other supply sites, as well as the nursing home used by the old lady, Silva, to help gather information.

"Tearing weapons from the Artel army is dangerous. You'd better join the Nemoralis army and get a spell or something"

Only the people of the lake, Journitol, agreed to this proposal by Agoni.

Olyor shakes his head to the side.

"You won't be wacky enough to have it divided"

"I heard that the curse stores are full of demons that have occurred in the country. We don't have enough supplies, we don't have enough materials."

Par Little also tells me that Agoni scratches his cheek.

Septentorio looked up and squeezed out the words.

"I won't stop cooperating, but I don't want you all to die in vain. If possible, go home alive..."

"I came home alive, and I have no home, no family, nothing. I left, and no one waited..."

Blocked Ultr clogs your voice. Uncut tears wet his fist gripping so hard that it grew white. Silva at the door holds her eyeballs in front of her.

We spent half a day discussing it, but ended up on a parallel line.

The magic warriors [jump] to their strongholds on the mainland of Artel, and here, as always, only the wounded and the spelldoctors are left behind.

Septentorio turned to the hospital room to convince the patient that the Magic Warrior had the power to fight but did not respond to the late (hence) persuasion.

While examining him, he preaches him to return to Nemoralis, but no one shook his head vertically.

"Doctor of Spells, is that enough?"

I turn to Silva's voice in surprise. The helping old lady smiled sadly and looked around at the wounded lying in bed.

"These people are all losing hope of living. I mourn everything over and over, but I can't do anything because I don't have much power."

"Go home, help rebuild, take the orphans and raise them, there's a way of life."

Funeral home Agoni argues.

Silva shook her head and laughed lightly.

"Losing everything, being poor, taking other children and bringing them up."

"No, but, so, the bureau handles things..."

"These people came here looking for a place to die.... Hey?

To the voice of the old lady who blocked the story of the funeral parlor, the patients draw their jaws slightly.

Silva turned a proud eye on both of them and said away.

"If you die here, even after you become [a sorcerer's tear], you can use it for revenge. Who's going back to the island now?"

"You guys, really..."

"Grandma's right."

"I can't live anymore."

"If you don't do anything and go home and end up slimming the rest of your life with regret, you don't have to spare this life"

Conscious patients do not let the people of the lake, Septentorio, say it to everyone, but say it orally. Its lips distort into a dreary grin.

The spelldoctor Septentorio didn't know how to wipe away their deep darkness.

The [Blue One-Winged] school technique he repaired can heal body wounds, but not soul wounds.

A funeral home, Agoni, who leads the soul of the dead to the underworld, grabbed the badge (today) of the [White Butterfly to Lead] raised from his neck.

Those who have lost hope are as good as dead, but they are still alive and have their own will. Closed to the darkness of despair, the eyes show nothing but a vengeful enemy, and no voice of persuasion can be heard.

Home, family, friends, jobs, property, home town. Those who mourn will never return.

Only the number of important things that mourned, abandoning their potential for the future, they had lost sight of any purpose other than vengeance in the dark.

No matter how much we heal the wounds of our bodies, we take our weapons as many times as we can and produce the same avengers as ourselves in Artel.

This stronghold in the forest of Lanterna Island never falls in an attack by the Artel army.

As long as this place is safe, the day will not come when the resistance of the Nemoralist aspiring guerrillas will stop.

The curse doctor and the funeral parlor had no material to persuade them to go to the dead, bound by hatred and sorrow.