Oukoku e Tsuzuku Michi

There are countless finely delimited small rooms in that space with light barely inserted through a dim basement, a small sun window.

I was lying in this jailhouse.

I'm not sleeping just lying there.

Because some noise is interfering with sleep.

She's a loud woman, I wish she'd fucked me quieter.

The sound that sounds is a woman's voice, I can hear a whisper appealing to her that she's trying to sell her femmes or is she getting pleasure.

I guess the usual here, and the watchman, is stumbling on the product of his choice.

Nobody cares, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I just finished wearing a blanket... a cloth full of dandelions.

Eventually the voice disappears and the silence returns.

It's not that long until the morning sun rises, but I'd rather sleep more.

I close my eyes and enjoy a short rest until morning.

I came here when I was still unconscious.

I was here when I realized, I don't know where I was before I came, and I don't know why I came.

I don't know exactly where I was when I said I was 13 or 14 myself. As far as I can tell from the guy who came after growing up to some extent, he said he was sold by his parents or even exposed to bandits.

I can easily explain what "here" is like.

It's where boys and girls are gathered and held or made to kill each other to entertain perverts.

Wake up and jump up with the nasty noise that rings with the janjanjang.

There is only one body to prepare.

Today the battle begins again between living and dying.

Get out of the small room and pour in and wait in the dining room for some diarrhea-like soup.

"Finny, there's a guest waiting for you upstairs. Leave the bather alone!

"Dora! It's your lady! I like paying for it, if you hit it badly, you can't just do it!

"Agil! You're a game, just pick a weapon and get ready!

The watchman yells, and the gathered ones scatter.

Agil is about me, and it seems to be a name that comes up in some myth.

It's the name given to the opponent in a previous match when he was twofold from his brain to his crotch.

I didn't hear the other guys' names very well, and I don't even remember them.

Which way you'll be gone soon, so it's just a hassle to remember.

The man nominated as my opponent, not even fifteen, changes the complexion of the boy.

A game is a serious killing in front of a guest.

Guests bet money, cheer, and enjoy the tragic sight if they settle.

There are not just one-on-one games, but some poor hobby matches that make you fight the Beast, or unilaterally kill a little girl.

I'm the cause of their complexion.

Unlike the rest of them, I'm rarely treated like a guest.

Muscles build up well and are not low in height, so they are not the perverted preference to offend children.

But as a man, there's no love or cuteness in dealing with older women.

My role in "here" is a game.

And defeat in the game is death.

I survived the "here" game, the rest of the 100 fights on the count.

I'm going to the game with my shackles, my shackles off.

The weapon in your hand is a familiar sword.

A thick double-edged two-handed sword that weighs 1.2 m across the blade and weighs 10 kg

It's obviously inappropriate when I hold it, but with this sword full of blade spills and blood and grease, I've survived to this day.

The opponent's gear looks like a single-handed sword and a round shield of skin 60 cm across the blade.

It doesn't seem like it's the first time I've ever held a sword from the motion of waving a sword and making sure I feel it.

I whine in my heart that your gear is the wrong choice.

My two-handed sword cannot be prevented by the shield of the skins.

The only chance I have is a blow in my nostalgia.

Even though it only interferes with shields and other movements and visions.

Of course I don't speak out.

Because it makes it easier for them to move on and die.

The Great Hall... though it's just a place for twenty people at best.

At its center, there's an "arena" surrounded by iron fences.

At the wall, a chair is placed and a dozen guests raise their voices without cursing or cheering.

At their center are watchmen armed with armor and spears and "here" lords, men like fat pigs.

If he's in the audience, it means he's got a lot of customers.

It's quite a thing for that pig to do anything but offend a woman, eat rice, drink, count money.

It's none of my business.

The pig wants to talk about how strong I am and how they can fight it.

It's an exaggerated story, but it's funny because this actually piles up the stakes.

I just face them.

Nothing is difficult.

If we win, the meal will be somewhat extravagant and we will celebrate tomorrow.

If we lose, we die here, that's all we're talking about.

I stand with my left leg forward and my sword on my right shoulder.

The opponent also sets up a shield, opens his sides and sticks his sword out this way.

Come on, let's fight.

I don't know if they'll kill me or not, until I'm done.

Finally, the bet is due and the venue is tight and tense.

This is a genuine killing, and the audience needs to be ready for life to see it outside of "here".

You are about 3m away from your opponent but you hear intense breath.

You won't win anything you can win if you've roughed up your breath before the battle.

Calmly analyze, no tension, no alarm.

I'm not feeling too ill to be a handful.

We won over a hundred fights, just like usual.

Then you can win again this time, if something happens that you don't even think about and you lose... you're just gonna die.

Gurn and cloudless sounds are the bells of the start of the game, while the opponent progresses with a scream.

Rush with the shield sticking forward.

The distance of 3m clogs in an instant, piercing the sword before the slow-moving sword reacts... before that my great sword blew the opponent with every shield.

He didn't let go of his weapon, but he blew it straight to the side, rolling down the ground twice and three times. There is a twist from the audience.

The other person gets up and looks at me like he sees something incredible.

Even though I didn't make any moves until just before.

It's no trick, it's just that I shook off the sword faster than he shoved out a one-handed sword.

This is why I've survived.

Apparently it's an anomaly to be able to wield a 10kg sword at my age.

I've been blown away, but now I can say I'm intact. I run toward the other guy.

No brother-in-law waiting to regain his posture, a sword that stuck out his shield in agony but could be described as a heavy iron mass, cut off his left hand and left leg with a knife for each shield.

"That's settled!!" "Thirty losses!!" "It's still Agil!

Awesome screaming and cheering and the battle was decided.

But the game is settled, but the show isn't over.

The audience speaks up, expecting merciless guidance to the loser.

I don't have a hobby for losing, but there's no chance this guy's gonna get away with it.

Then it would be my last pity for the guy who ate the same meal.

The sword fell and slashed his opponent's neck.

"Whoa!!" "We did it!!" "My neck is flying!!

Try to return to the refrain room amid the cheers that culminate.

That's the end of my job.

Later, the pig's men collect the stakes and just talk about the excitement as the guests look at the splashed blood and the human body.

But two watchmen blocked me from coming back.

And poke it with a spear pattern, prompting it to return to the center.

For a moment, I think, but soon I get the answer.

From here on out, they have another pastime.

It is common for a wolf to be let loose after a one-on-one battle or to be a three-out battle.

You know, another guy comes in the fence.

The man's face is stained with hatred and staring at me with his bloody eyes.

It simply didn't seem like a pre-game intimidation.

Is there anything in the family of the man you just slashed?

I thought today's opponent was oddly weak, but this one's a taste for deliberately letting flesh parents kill in front of you with fate to incite hatred?

"Come on, come on! My next opponent is former Knight Apprentice Doyle! Who bets on his victory burning with hatred!

Doyle and I don't take our eyes off me at all as one gold pile after another.

Eventually, the bet tightens and the two face each other in the center.

The knights and the others who say they mostly use swords well.

I don't know what a knight apprentice is because I don't know the outside world.

But I know that in over a hundred fights, a guy with that kind of title was often quick and accurate in sword judgment.

Doyle's side, on the other hand, was also analyzing Eigil.

It's still a child's body, but it's proven to let that great sword wave around.

If I take it properly, the sword, of course, won't help the iron shield...

But he doesn't have any protective gear, if he puts it in, it's a blow! My brother's revenge, I will definitely let him discuss it.

Doyle's sword is skinny and close to Rapier, and in opponents with protective gear, he has no choice but to aim for gaps.

But in this place, where we fight almost naked, any weapon that enters the steeple is instant death.

Then it may be natural to see a lightly handled Doyle sword as more advantageous than an iron chunk-like sword.

That boy's sword is overkill to wield against naked opponents.

Garn.

At the time when the starting bell rang, I saw a quick blow to the neck as I approached him with my hips dropped.

The boy dodged it on a piece of paper in the backstep.

And he is forced to retreat again by a strong sword slaughter as he lowers.

Fast! Not the speed of those with that great sword!

Until it was evaded, it was assumed, but the counterattack from the evasion, the tactic of wayward disfigurement, was utterly broken.

We're just fighting here, and the sword muscles are dirty, and the shapes are in the air.

Then go around from the boy's side of the arm.

Now he should wave his sword away aggressively, if you like, his side is empty!!??

The prediction was right. The boy shook his sword off to the right with one hand.

What was unexpected was the speed.

It was a tactic with one hand reversing the heavy sword and expecting it to dodge enough to deploy into an attack, but the interception sword speed was truly like a thunderbolt.

And there's a roar.

If I hadn't let go of my shield, I would have been slapped in the face...!!

The shield turns into two pieces, hitting the fence. It sounds like karan karan and metal.

My expression was calm as opposed to Doyle cooling my liver.

I've seen the ramp twice, this guy's not fast, no problem.

I stop with my sword on the upper stage.

That attitude looks too defenseless.

But that's an invitation, a trap you can do because you've cut off your opponent's speed.

The next time I set you up, you'll have a fight.

Doyle, on the other hand, had also found an opportunity to win.

He put it on the top... jump in or... no, even if you can kill him in the lead, if the sword is waved down, I'll be on my way too.

Then let him empty it first and then...

Both thoughts for a moment, Doyle jumps in, and the boy waves his sword down to slap it.

And Doyle anticipates it, slows sharply and dodges the sword.

There is a roar with Zdon and a slightly frightened voice from the audience, but the majority of the audience is obsessed with watching the end of the match.

I pull up my slowly swinging sword.

Doyle had a cut in it that was only 10 cm deep from head to crotch.

From there he slowly collapsed by dropping his guts on the ground with a bump.

The settlement was the last step I took, the one where I tore Doyle apart with a piece of paper that I was going to dodge.

I didn't read his tactics and step in.

It's just that he took a step further "watching him try to dodge it".

This is another reason why I'm connecting my life: motion vision.

Same as always today, fight a winnable opponent to win and survive.

There was no unexpected loss.

Victory and tragic settlement come at the same time, a gushing guest.

With the applause of my satisfied pig husband, I went back to the modem.