It's all one flower.

When Aviace, the people of the lake, told the matter, the door of the village chief's house opened immediately.

The same green-haired young man as the fisherman's grandfather stops his gaze at Morph and rounds his green eyes. Medvege followed his gaze and explained.

"Oh, he fought as a member of the vigilante."

"What? Um... no, but..."

The village chief's son pours an anxious glance at the boy soldier Morph.

"I know how to handle guns. If I were you, I'd let you just take care of the shotgun."

Morph strained his chest.

"Don't worry. If it was before the war, we'd be on our side no matter how many times."

"I'm not worried about misfiring, I'm worried about you. You're a junior high school student of a powerless people, right?

… treat me like a child again.

He glanced at the green eyes that were far above him, but the village chief's son never looked like he had. On the contrary, I turned to Medvege and the fisherman's grandfather for criticism.

"Yeah, well, as I said earlier, I'm relieved to take care of the gun. You haven't used it in a long time, have you?

"That's... yes"

The village chief's son is reluctant.

The old mother also shows her face and looks over her son's shoulder at the other person who offered her a helper knife. The fisherman's grandfather glances in the back and asks the anxious village chief lady.

"Is the village chief at home?

"No, it's my neighbor village about tomorrow."

"Then you can take the cannon and ask the hunter and the village chief. If I can't do it to both of you, I'll give up."

When the boy soldier Morph said in a particularly brighter voice, the village chief's family thought in a difficult face.

He shut up like a stone for a while, but sighed (sighs) at the same time, chanting [leaping] in a given up voice, taking the three of them.

Summer days are long.

Even when it was tea time, the neighboring village was still hot.

People gathered at the school gymnasium consult in circles on the floor.

"Mr. Village Chief, I'm sorry I'm late. I can get three people out of us."

"Then we procured weapons, too."

When the fisherman's grandfather showed him a bunch of magical arrows without saying he had them for a long time, a vigilante gathered from the three villages went out of his way. About half of it focuses on the old kingdom-era sword that Medvege has.

The boy soldier Morph pointed to an elongated crate held by the village chief's son.

"Me, I know how to handle guns, and I know how to handle monsters in action."

The type of vigilante blurring changes and grows larger.

The village chief's wife looked around and said to everyone.

"I disagree that little kids fight. Adults have to do something about it."

"But there's no one in this village who can handle guns, right?

When Morph said in frustration, the village chief nodded with a troubled face and saw the hunter in the village next to him to the east.

"I've always been a bowman."

"You really have such a little girl?

"What the hell is going on in the city of Zerneau?

"This guy brushed his arms in the vigilante trying to protect his mother and her sister, who had lost her father early. If you think I'm lying, you can let me take care of the gun. I've been working for a while now."

When Medvege mixed a slight lie in the explanation, the green-haired villagers looked at each other in silence.

"Mechanical oil and bolo cloth are right there."

Morph said, one got up.

"If you could just do maintenance, I think we could do as much as threatening shooting, what do you think?

"Well."

"I'll get it."

Another pops out of the gym, and the village chief's wife drops him off with her crying eyes.

His son placed an elongated crate with a handshake at the center of the ring and lowered his back next to the village chief.

Rust floated on the clasp, and the boy soldier Morph, for a moment, became anxious, but was somehow opened, although the response was stiff. Behind the lid fits perfectly with tools for care, a decaying borough cloth and a bullet case.

... I know him.

The main unit is a mass-produced rifle during the civil unrest of half a century. It's a common type, and I've dealt with it in the training of Star Road Prostitutes.

Morph was horrified to see how many bullets he had. Twenty-one ordinary bullets. Not a single shot of silver bullets or powerful words engraved.

The rifle body is clean without rust, even if it hasn't touched it for a long time.

"Is this [rust control]?"

The fisherman's grandfather, peering from the side, looks at the inscribed letter on the barrel with his finger and looks complicated.

"I used to hang up hitting accuracy."

"Well, I guess I should."

In training, empty cans were thrown high from the side. Morphs were hit once every few times, even at targets moving at heights. A warcraft on the ground would be a little easier to guess.

It's like trying to disassemble it but checking how pretty it is it doesn't need to be taken care of. Once, the cloth and oil are received from the villagers, wiped all the way through, inspected and reassembled.

As Morph loaded the bullet, a surprise was raised by the vigilante on the familiar hand.

"I was able to procure thirteen [Devil's Arrow] and three [Wall of True Water] spells, and a few others. If we protect it with [walls], we'll figure it out."

A fisherman's grandfather looks around at a vigilante gathered from nearby villages.

"If you have to, you can let them get away with [jumping], right?"

"Right."

"But such a little girl..."

"No, this kid's a warrior on the other end."

It was only the wife of the village chief who disagreed, and the participation of the light morph was decided.