It's all one flower.

The wind was lukewarm, and the street trees softened the stiff winter buds and spread new leaves.

Roark and Skinum were completely used to living on the island of Lanterna and were asked to use them today. Walk shoulder-to-shoulder along the sidewalk in the city of Kardafstovaux, where the young leaves are luscious, looking at the map given to the curse shop owner.

I've been busy getting large orders in the last few days and have been caged in a curse shop in Chernoknyjnik, the underground town. The city on earth, which went out for a few days, is filled with spring colors, and I feel like everything I see is shining.

"Good morning. I'm a spellmaker. We're here to deliver your order."

"Oh, thank you."

A curse is delivered to the company on the third floor of the Miscellaneous Buildings and Roark receives the consideration and documents. Skinum handed the receipt to the clerk.

"Thank you. See you soon."

Quit trading partners and go down the narrow stairs.

On the upstairs dance floor, I bowled it to the face I saw.

We stare silently at each other like time has stopped.

It was the other person who returned it to me first.

"Oh, hey, Mr. Roark, long time no see. What happened to the rest of you?

My head turns bright white, and I cannot answer, nor leave the spot.

Sleeves were gently pulled by Skinum, and Roark managed to squeeze out a reply.

"I'm in a hurry right now..."

"I don't know when I'll see you again. Maybe a little bit."

Skinum reacts with extreme common sense when she sees an elegant old lady talking intimately.

"Nice to meet you. Do you know Mr. Roark?

"Yes, Mr. Rourke was evacuated to my relatives' villa last year with all the mobile retailers."

"Were you?"

Skinum nods normally.

Silva stood in the form of blocking a narrow staircase.

An old woman is a wizard who gives to a militant guerrilla.

... It's easy to poke it down, but if they magically fight back, they won't win.

The old lady's clothes are embroidered with a [shock-resistant] spell. Roark is a spellmaker's job, allowing him to read a few powerful words. Given Silva's magic and the efficacy of her surgery, to the extent that she dropped it off the stairs, she didn't feel she could escape.

While Roark is having trouble reacting, the two unobstructed ordinary conversations continue.

"I just thought I'd left the villa in the summer and left the island."

"Was it? I met Mr. Roark last fall, so I don't know what happened before that."

"Oh, if you don't mind the time, why don't you have a little tea there? I'll treat you to a treat, so why don't you take your time?

"No, I'm in the middle of an errand right now..."

Roark managed to say no and tried to make it through this place in peace.

The collection bag hung on the shoulder contains expensive material for the consideration of the spell.

Skinum also seemed to disagree with the stopover, turning to the troubled old lady.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you, so maybe twenty or thirty minutes."

No, I'm really in a hurry.

Roark never turned his body to the side, trying to slip through the side of the old lady.

"Ah..."

A small body of the old lady floated in the universe at the same time as a faint voice.

Silva's lips move small.

For a moment, it looks terribly slow.

The old lady fell on her back and was beaten to the dance floor below one.

"Grandma!

Skinum runs down the stairs and wakes Silva up.

... No, no, I'm not hitting it right now. I kicked myself in the stairs and flew back.

I don't have the momentum or anything on Roark's body trying to get out of his side. If it really hit you, you'd fall for the back and slide down the stairs.

There was no sound from his back and he "landed" on the dance floor.

In the eyes of Skinum looking up at Roark, there is much to be desired and criticism caged.

... Oh, my God.

Roark has no means to prove that "Silva flew herself".

To tell the truth, you'll be tailored to the extreme evil man who excuses you.

Silva stood up with a shoulder to Skinum and rubbed her body all over with a big gesture.

"Thanks for the clothes, but you're hurting my back a little"

"Ahh! Ahh! Excuse me, excuse me!

Skinum apologizes for some reason.

Silva looked up at Roark and made a cat stroke.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with the boys. I was in a hurry, but I was standing in the way. I shouldn't. My back just hurts a little, and I'm not hurt anywhere, so never mind."

"Excuse me, excuse me"

Silva speaks gently to Skinum, who lays low.

"It's okay, never mind. Mr. Roark seems too surprised to have a voice, but I'm fine. 'Cause my back just hurts a little."

...... fucking baba. After all, won't you die as long as you fell down the stairs?

Roark hung the collection bag back on his shoulder and slowly went down the stairs.

Skinum is moving and completely swallowed by Silva.

Whatever Roark says to him now, he won't get the word.

"My back hurts too, I think it would be better if I took a little rest. Could you escort me to the store just in case?

"Yes. Excuse me. Um, don't you have to be at the hospital?

"Yep. It's okay, 'cause when I get home, I have magic pills."

… Nested (c).

It was entangled in a non-magical operation, and Roark had no other technique to follow.

"Oh, it's been a while."

"Hi, I'd like to slow down a bit today."

"Oh, back there, I'm free."

In the deepest part of the coffee shop, he was put through to a seat like a half private room sandwiched against a wall.

"Let me treat you to an apology that surprised me."

"No, on the boulder, that's me..."

... Will they ever sell their favors like this?

Roark became more vigilant, but Skinum frightened frequently.

The old lady, Silva, had a generous grin.

"It's okay. I'm really glad to see Mr. Roark's cheerful face."

... you want to pull out information on mobile distributors?

"Have you decided?

"I'm a milk tea. Hot."

"Two Townhouse Teas"

Roark didn't ask for his intentions and just ordered.

At least it's resistance.

I wanted Skinum to calm down so he wouldn't be taken in by Silva any more.

... or what Mr. Silva is doing, Fiarlka tells me... hmm? Ahh!

Silva is not named.

Roark pronounced the unique noun even more clearly.

"Mr. Silva, how are the Orioles?

"Yep. Everyone's fine. Although the only people Mr. Roark knows are Mr. Oriole and Mr. Cleve, and the little curse shop."

"What happened to the curse doctor and the funeral parlor and, uh, the other craftsman?

As always, the spellmaker doesn't seem to reveal his name to anyone.

Fiarlka tells me where the curse doctor and the funeral parlor are doing and I know it. The only one who doesn't know the news is the weapons maker.

Roark glanced at Skinum on the side. He stares at the old lady across the street with a faceless face. I didn't know if you noticed the intention you dared to ask.

"All three of you, after you left, went somewhere without saying anything."

Old lady Silva says, throwing her gaze in the distance and hiccups.

Roark asked clearly if there were any guests in the nearby seats.

"Is Mr. Journitol...?

Fiarlka was also taught that a guard of the people of the lake had escaped the militant guerrilla Nemoralis Grief Squad and turned himself into a refugee camp.

"Well, take your time."

The coffee shop owner lovingly says, put the tea in front of the three of them.

Silva answered waiting for him to pull into the counter.

"We've had a lot more friends since then. A lot of people can really divide opinions."

"Did you get into a fight?

"No. It's not a fight. We split our opinions and missed Mr. Journitol and a few others."

I'm not saying the Nemoralis Grief Squad split.

Roark didn't even give a yawn of what he knew and gave it a try.

"Mr. Journitol, you're doing well somewhere, aren't you?

"Maybe. I haven't heard where he went, but he said his parents are in Kulbunika..."

Silva makes me worry.

To the best of Roark's knowledge, Journitol, who completed the [plummeting eagle (eagle)] school, was the next strongest in Oriol.

Cup over lip to take in sweet aroma of Zhenhua tea. Occasionally upset and nervous.

Strongly conscious not to let down too much, he watched the way out of the guerrilla solicitors sending people trapped in despair to their dead places.