Sanzen no Souru Supina

From the water mirror that was placed on the ground, the water that was covered was blown up hard.

Soil Spider Witch: It's what Elma left behind so she could watch the whole operation.

Of course, it would have meant something as a peek window to explore this trend from there.

"Apparently, the Witch of the Worm did as promised."

half-hearted and looking in the flipped water mirror, Weitz said.

He was a careless voice as if he was still half asleep in the world.

"Are you going to get boiled?"

Ernest was the one who clinging to the nudity.

Burning redhead is wet in sweat and affixed to exasperated skin.

I guess the sensual aftertaste inadvertently passes like a different wave over the flesh where the veins look clear. The voice was like a glossy exhale.

Again, Ernest asked. They're going, right?

Oh, and Weitz replied.

Oh, and Ernest said to groan.

I can't stop you, you know.

"But... sometimes we don't have to rush."

Did you perceive the heart of such a woman?

Weitz said, fingering at the redhead.

"Let's take a look at their arrangements. We showed the night before, as much of its strength. If so, they took the deal. Worth putting together. But what about them? Did you show us that? No, isn't it?

Kokuri, Ernest looked up at Weitz and nodded.

It was a clear attitude that I didn't really feel comfortable with this deal.

I really wanted to get comfortable and throw myself at him and push him to flirt.

No, I would have done that had it not been for the contract I had entered into earlier.

For that reason, I was serious about not even throwing down my own dignity.

But the man didn't think so.

That's why Ernest fell in love.

And when I was caught in that arm, I gave up once.

Ernest thought, though.

Maybe, I thought.

"The strength of the princess witches of earthspiders, let's figure out how much, shall we?

shuddering, Ernest asked.

"That's right. Whether or not we deserve to bet. Let me set the rules."

Oh, and Ernest got a faint expectation.

If the plots of the earthspiders were crude, would this human be returning to his country with himself?

But Weitz tells us to smash that pale expectation.

Ernest, was called.

I was told earlier that there was no.

"Oh, no."

I even burst into tears unconsciously.

The demon women at night can't stand to expose themselves to weakness.

It was supposed to be an unforgivable humiliation for those who lived in a country where coeducation was established: Geiserlon, even under an extreme class system.

Weitz's determination, however, draws it out.

Weitz says.

"If it's not even worth the ride, they're the ones to throw away the pawn. Of course, I have insurance over there. If this battle is too late, or if it doesn't, Ismagalum's fortune in the hands of his enemies will take his place."

"That's it, did you read it?

"Whatever. There is nothing more dangerous than trying to undermine the other party's thoughts. Wouldn't you?

As commander, I was disqualified... to Weitz's self-derision, but there is no fine dust, such as dark.

Enlightened renunciation - and there was only readiness by determination.

That's why Ernest takes it.

"Now, the light of His Excellency's foresight is what my Knights Under the Moon need. Please, run away with me! Please, please. For that, I will do anything."

But even the oath of throwing and hitting all of Ernest, as a samurai, could not flip Weitz's resolve as a knight.

Ernesto darkens in front of him, knowing where the pride of making him stand based on a man named Weitz comes from.

Because that was connected to the very history of the demon on a pulsating inherited night.

Weitz said to fold.

You should see.

And the darkness of the ruins was broken by the satchel.

It's Weitz's Shadow Cloak.

Behind it, Ernest saw a strange shadow sitting.

It seemed as if the knight of a giant made of steel was sitting, but also as if a swordswallowing monster adorning his flesh with a hundred blades was nodding.

In that state of kneeling, it was about the height of Ernest's shoulder, so perhaps if he stood up, it would be close to three meters.

For some reason, a chill ran through Ernest's body.

As for knowledge, I knew.

No way, I was scared of my predictions.

You were right.

"Battleghost (Ouga) 's" Slaughter Rim "!"

That was not an instrument for the devil at night.

Heavy armor for a powerful battle race known as Ouga.

In order to speak of its origin, we must first preach about a species called Ouga.

The Ouga clan is not so different from humanity at the moment of its birth.

No, it's a species that should be described as beautiful if it's only about getting out of appearance.

But at the same time, congenital diseases - many of which are born with parts of the hands and feet that are severely damaged by organ loss.

It is said that this is a curse placed on the seed itself, believed to be so, but in fact it is the product of various mating experiments that sought to create an ancient mackerel, a pure battle species.

Regardless, such facts could not be proven at the current level of civilization, and it was common for all of this to be judged to be due to lineage.

Therefore he was a people scorned and persecuted as a filthy man.

However, they compensated by actively replacing their flesh with the legs of a liaison scheme.

No, I have to say it right back.

I didn't make it up to you.

I replaced it with something more than satisfactory.

There was what they sought in the undeveloped land, at the end of the lightless wilderness of civilization, which made up a large part of the Zodiac continent.

Many of the humans do not know, but the civilization of the old world, once full of this world, secretly helped them.

If this is to be accurate too, I'll have to say it again.

There were a number of armaments available to fit them that were produced as battle species.

As if they had taken what they wanted.

Just like you did.

In fact, you're right (...).

And it was only by going to the unknown land - the Terra Incognita - and returning with his own arsenal, that is, the Slater Rim, that they became the rite of adulthood of Ouga.

Born down as a congenital imperfect, they have no hesitation in modifying their own flesh.

If it is beneficial, they go by replacing their physical structures as if they were replacing parts.

Therefore, it is so difficult to spot them at a glance with the same species.

Whatever you do and decide it's “beneficial” is determined by their worldview - especially the outlook on death.

Fighting - it's not for pride, for righteousness, for the nation, either, but purely to live.

That's how they see the world of Ouga.

They fight - as if carnivores capture their prey.

It has nothing to do with good or evil.

Ideology and patriotism are useless prodigies.

Allies who get battle food together and everything else - all prey.

They live in a world divided into two poles.

Therefore the struggle to be pure is beautiful and awesome.

Awesome, is the word to point to their battle.

Legions, even once relative to the battle of the Ouga, will know its meaning, apart from the race.

Unboring obsession with victory.

Obsession that should no longer be called a racial trait.

They don't stick to the battlefield.

Just stick to the fulfilment that the struggle brings.

I am also told that I do not raise my hand to the weak, but that is only a difference of view.

From their point of view, the only beings who don't engage in combat are "worthless" and "uninterested".

Same as roadside stones.

It's just a matter of stomping if you're in the way.

I will not forgive you if you turn to the blade.

Kill (greet) if necessary.

That's how we march forward as we fill the river of blood with paths made of flesh and bones.

It was an unstoppable march until its own flesh was torn, crushed, and literally turned into a wreck.

That was their march in Ouga.

And there was an instrument for that ouga: "Slater Rim" in front of me.

It was a spear, a sword, sometimes a shield, and a prosthetic arm, a prosthetic leg - that is, even flesh - that supported the awesome combat abilities of the Ougas.

If you try Ernesto, it's an evil hobby of savages who can't understand civilization, killers who are only interested in blood odors - nothing more than a vampire object.

But what really frightens Ernest right now is the question of why it's here - I've exhausted that point.

"No way... My lord, this is..."

"I don't think so. This will be our trump card."

Weitz stood up, asking me to keep up with the wearing and adjusting.

Ernesto gets stunned.

Look up at Weitz, and look at Slater Rim.

I knew with my head that I had to obey.

Wearing his clothes and standing up, Weitz was already standing in front of him.

There was noise in the buckwheat, loose, and out, and [Slater Rim] changed its appearance dramatically.

To Ernesto, it was felt as if a bucket of noble night demon bloodlines had opened its various jaw gates and revealed a fang-growing mouth when a knife was used.

And that sentiment isn't often wrong.

Isn't it as if it's time for a punishment instrument to bring to justice the criminals who committed the crime of rape?

Yes, Ernest thought.

Steel virgin.

Inside, the interior of the Slater Rim was very similar.

When the pile is stuck inside the foot, it is inserted into the sockets embedded in the flesh of the original users, the Ougas, via a catheter group, and this [Slater Rim] builds a “relationship” with the wearer.

It connects a circuit that enables neurotransmission, allowing even its fingertips to be handled without any loss of color to the original flesh.

But Weitz doesn't have such sockets.

Not even in the back of his brain, such as such inferior ideas as replacing the noble night devil's flesh with lowly, humble tools when he was a puppet - yes Ernest thought, and trembled at the terrible reasoning he reached.

No way, Weitz, my lord, if you love me, do you mean to wrap this around your life?

You were right.

Ernesto helped, eating up his teeth.

I heard piles eating into the meat.

There was a crack in the bone.

Ernest saw the madness of the various Ougas feed into the flesh of their beloved men, united in a fragile bond.

The flesh of a beloved man was taken over by the nightmare that manifested itself in this world, and I saw him go deformed.

Weitz roared each time.

Awesome pain, and disgust.

But I never ran away.

By the time it was finally complete, it needed more than a moment.

"How could... how could... something like this... something like this"

Ernest stroked Weitz's cheek over all the steps and said.

"I think, then, that our Grand Duke: Scarbelli had already foreseen this"

Leaking from Weitz's lips was not a voice of pain but a mockery, but a sunny grin somewhere.

"Your Majesty Scarbelli, take this?

"I was given to go on an expedition. Might need it any time soon. Help Omae in her attempt."

At that time, I thought it was some kind of research material... I didn't know the day would come to use it.

Weitz laughs.

The "Slotter Rim", powered by Mekiri, Kokiri, makes a noise.

Archduke Geiserlon: Scarbelli also knows that Weitz was once a human being and a man called under the title of King of Medicine, before he was the real father of the Great Revolt: Theonzafir.

The "Throtter Rim" given was "Focus" and, above all, its internal structure had been recreated by the hands of Scarbelli himself.

That is, exclusively for the Night Devil.

Along the spine and relentlessly punched everywhere in the flesh, the catheter sucks up its blood and, as a conductor, synchronizes the Slater Rim with the Night Demon's hands and feet.

So to speak, it's the same mechanism as Weitz's sword: Vallard.

It's just that the scale is so different - so big that it's insane.

"I was comforting myself once. In the future, would it be useful for your research?

Scarbelli said with serenity as if enjoying the beautiful moonlight.

When he was briefed on it, Weitz was impressed by the depth of Scarbelli's quest as a medical scientist, yet snorted at his own monarch with a point of view incompatible with the samurai.

There was a place in Weitz where he insulted Scarbelli, who had continued to distance himself from the Rapid Warriors, who had opinions about humankind and other things under the complete rule of the Night Devil, as some weak-hearted, intelligent, but airborne idealist.

But not now.

Weitz was becoming aware that he had gained tremendous violence.

There is pain. Nor does disgust leave.

But I feel the vitality to double it, more importantly the heightened will to fight until it is more ferocious.

It was nothing more than the consciousness of this moving armor - "Slater Rim": a pure war burned by "Zigabertov" - as a bastard born there.

It is the manifestation of the ideas and thoughts of Scarbelli.

Because a work is the crystal of the will of the maker.

Once again Weitz was struck by his awe of Scarbelli.

So much decadence, so much madness, so much violence.

I pursued it with the utmost serenity, so I understood that he was calm and revealed.

Ultimate power is violence.

The question is useless there.

I mean, words that frighten the other person, etc., are not necessary.

If you think you can do it, just do it.

Scarbelli embodies it.

There is no need to intimidate or demonstrate.

There is no need for verbal intimidation.

"I didn't know you would treat it as if you were going to give it down to a child as if it were a used toy... but only a small part of its function, Vallard, for many years, served as a family heirloom and, without knowing its heart, asked His Majesty to fully govern by the Night Demon, a total war to achieve it, etc., so that we the Heinevail family -"

(Slater Rim) began to drive along with the crisp, dull, winding sound.

Weitz moves his fingers when each of them is a knife to see how he is doing.

Kinky, and every time it sounds like a steel broiled by heat.

"I see, this is great"

Somewhere satisfied Weitz laughs.

It was "Chira" at the price of being prepared to die.

"It feels as if you've been rebuilt and sharpened as a single sword."

Weitz said with an awesome grin.

Ernesto no longer has the words to speak, as the woman who loves him.

But as a comrade to his end, there was.

"You didn't do the test?

of conquest, Ernest said.

"You don't deserve to believe in weapons that don't go through the test."

Needless to say, Weitz responded.

"Do you?

Me, Ernest said.

"Don't let that be a test of precision."

and Weitz replied.

Oh, and Ernest thinks.

With a nod.

I love this man.