It's all one flower.

"So, what happened to these people?

Funeral home Agoni pointed to a leather bag placed on the low table in the dossier room. The contents are salt and the [sorcerer's tears] of the guerrillas that were cremated three days ago.

Because he died of resentment, he sealed it strictly with the [comfort] technique of the [white butterfly] school of [leading], so as not to call the demons.

The spelldoctor Septentorio and guard Oriole, the spellmaker and the weapons maker sat around the bag, piercing silence.

Oriol insists that we should unseal it and sprinkle it all over the mainland of Artel, but it was held back by two artisans who wanted it to be material and could not be transferred to execution.

The spelldoctor just keeps a sad eye on their argument and doesn't pinch their mouth.

Remaining on a parallel line, the plump conversation broke off and the day was already tilting.

This barren thing has been going on for three days now.

The funeral parlor Agoni, who is not the wacko I signed up for, but joins the story as an arbiter, and the spelldoctor Septentorio, the most magical and neutral of these, were hanging [keys] in the dossier room to prevent a runaway.

The militant guerrilla died, except for guard Oriol and the people of the lake, Journitol, the faint Cleve.

... I can't believe I got my hands on my comrade.

The spelldoctor Septentorio rebuked what had happened three days earlier and looked at Oriol. The youth of the powerful land people do not take their gaze off the leather bag.

Journitol and Cleve are away in the procurement of food. The old lady, Silva, came a long time ago yesterday, but when Agoni and Oriole explained the situation, she left a small amount of food and went somewhere. Perhaps we will scratch the guerrilla applicants from the island of Nenia again.

... I can't believe this is happening.

The spelldoctor Septentorio now regretted the recruitment of the truck of the mobile dealership into this villa hidden in the woods.

The decisive thing seems to have been prevented thanks to Oriol, Juvenile Soldier Morph and Cruello, but it left a deep wound in their hearts and gave Oriol a reason to “end” the guerrilla's survival.

I don't know where the truck from the moving dealership went, and I can't even make amends.

That morning, I was distracted by the treatment of the wounded, and I cannot regret not being able to find out what happened to them. I should have hung it without leaving the slightly injured [anesthesia], but now I can't help thinking about it, my mind is captured, and my thoughts go around in grandeur.

Security guard Oriole “ended” up with guerrillas who had lost blood and had not regained consciousness even after treatment because these guys were alike.

Journitle and Cleve were removed from the target, he says, because they were passive in battle and did not reach out to the average person when they raided the city of Artel.

The spelldoctor Septentorio remembered the day he was persuaded by Oriol in the Forest of Resalub.

The bright earthy eyes of the young land people dwell in the same luminosity as that day, but their actions are greatly distorted. Instead of acting with rough guerrillas and not sinking into the same dark starch as them, I began to wave (fluff) the sword of benevolent absolution.

During half a century of civil strife, the spelldoctor Septentorio has witnessed people as serious (and pure) in their faith as Oriol, relying on their own justice to kill each other.

Again in this war, the same thing is happening everywhere, and I guess there are a lot of people who fight with the same thoughts as Oriol.

A strong blade of justice cannot be broken into anyone's words.

I never stopped killing until the day my life ran out waving it.

"So, what happened to these people?

To say fellow militant guerrillas. The subtle position septentorio is silent because he feels unqualified to answer Agoni's question, but the other three say nothing either.

Their opinions were parallel lines, and this, too, conceived the danger that could develop into a killing.

I hear a slight door opening and closing, footsteps approaching the hallway.

The spelldoctor Septentorio stiffened himself and concentrated his consciousness on footsteps.

The nasty knock is followed by no response, and the door opens with momentum.

"Hello, Dr. Spellman.... What? What's the matter with you? Oh, there's someone I've never met. Me, Razornik. Information Store"

A spellmaker and a weapons maker return their gaze to the leather bag by saying only their profession, respectively.

When the funeral parlor Agoni explained the situation, Razornik grabbed up the leather bag and said.

"It's a simple story. You can have it cleaned up in the temple. That's why you're a priest."

He doesn't tell the curse doctor what to do, and he just leaves while the five of them are taken aback.

Returning to me, the armorer grabbed and pressed Oriole's shoulder with his hips floating.

"You thought you were so filthy that you shouldn't have kept them in the world, so you did, didn't you? If you use that [tear] to fight as you go, you're gonna spread the filth, right? Are you sure?

"You guys processed into weapons and tools, didn't you? Is that good?

The same contention began again, and Septentorio left the dossier room. The voice of Agoni taking the two together became deafening when he closed the door.

When I went out into the garden, the sky was totally stained with cedar. Sheep clouds shine red high. I looked around, but intelligence agent Razornik was no longer there, and it caught my eye that a vegetable that had lost its vitality in a small field would drool.

... With that said, you haven't been watering since those kids left.

Looking around the garden again, the weeds were stretching all over in just a few days. The garden and the villa are as quiet as the fire has gone out, all they hear is the sound of lonely bugs and the voices of those who remain to argue.

I can't remember how it was before the truck at the mobile dealership escaped in.

In the first place, even I had vague memories of what I had said and responded to Oriol's persuasion, and I didn't know what I had come here for.

At some point, I had begun to persuade the Orioles militant guerrillas to stop their terrorist activities on Artel territory, but I don't think that was the original purpose.

To say that he had begun to persuade the guerrillas before hearing clearly from Oriol about their barbarity would have felt something thin.

The spelldoctor Septentorio stopped at the well end and sprinkled water on the fields and flower beds with the technique of [manipulative water]. Water stains the completely dry ground and the smell of wet soil rises.

Two, I remember the kids picking the herbs, pulling out the weeds and catching the earthworms.

The days that lasted until just a few days ago are farther than they were hundreds of years ago.

Beyond the open gate is the forest of illusions, with walls that no powerless people can cross. The intention to hide those children from the Artel soldiers made it hard for me to reject them.

Should I have taken you to Chernoknyjnik, not here? Had I known Chloenier was there, I would have done so without hesitation.

Regret and guilt were rare, and it seemed like there was no place for me anywhere.

... I wonder where those kids went.

Now that the Artel army has crossed the North Vieetfi Bridge, it is impossible to forcibly break through that bridge and return to the island of Nainia.

I realize, as usual now, that I must have relied on Kroenier and other counterparty stores to make my way to Chernoknijnik.

Is there a place where I can park the truck safely?

Are you involved in fraud, other crimes, or star attacks?

What about the cost of living, such as the cost of food for that number of people?

How do we get the consideration of [endless bags]?

Once (once) I started worrying about them, anxiety poured out later and I couldn't stop.

With strong magic, [Blue One-Winged] I can't save anyone, even if I complete my scholastic medicine and have military doctors' experience.

… what is a "powerful people”. We...

A figure appeared in the garden where the edge of dusk stained dark blue and the stars began to blink.