Sanzen no Souru Supina

Izma and Rattegart dropped hundreds of mertes at once.

Calculating calmly shouldn't have had ten seconds to land.

That was a strange sight.

I thought Rattegart might have gone crazy because of the couscous and the wear and tear, and the curse of affection imposed on "Ibizus".

The light came from the bottom.

It was bright and I even felt the surrounding walls covered in lichens because of my mind.

The illusion of jumping into the blue light.

I feel rough caressing my bare skin by the wind because of the drugs punched into Dajra.

The hook rope that was entangled in his left foot would have stopped Dajra from holding out shortly after he confirmed that he had dragged Rattegart off.

Stirred by the wind, it is flowing up into the sky like a snake's tail.

And then I found a meteor emitting golden and scarlet light in my spinning vision falling over me.

Izma spent a small amount of energy and energy on acceleration.

Reduce resistance by jumping straight in.

We caught up with the leading Rattegart by gathering the wind in both hands and launching it backwards.

I was held.

Idiot, I think Rattegart.

The worn out Rattegart no longer even has the power to tension one thin defensive film instead of the flight system's heterogeneity.

There is no such thing as a vertebrate that can withstand falls from over hundreds of mertes in this world.

In settling from this distance, it has nothing to do with whether or not directly beneath the water surface.

To clash against a steel floor, that's equal.

Waiting is a sure death, and for Isma, even if she let it go, she should have been someone who didn't hurt her stomach either.

I knew a few days ago that she must have been a true knight's little girl with no cuteness.

Yet Izma jumped out without omitting us.

Lattegart saw the whole thing clearly.

The rock masses that plunder the buckwheat are part of a crumbling rock shelf when Isma flies out to save Rattegart.

Don't you have to protect your darling woman and her sister, who are waiting for your help?

It is a testament to the foolishness to lose sight of the big picture, given the limitless emotions on the spot.

I mean, you're a big idiot.

And yet, when I was hugged, I couldn't stop crying.

Oh, I'm glad, I am.

Rattegart understands.

Isma, knowing stupidity - or not even thinking about it - popped up to help me.

Shortly after all that battle, there was a risk that it would fall out, exhausted flesh, and possibly both.

No, didn't it actually fall off?

It's stupid. I'm an idiot. I can't help but be a fool.

It's just that for Isma, Rattegart was already included in the woman who had to help even if she risked herself.

Don't include it without saying no, idiot.

Rattegart embraces Isma strongly.

They switched bodies to protect them and held them back.

If I could slap him on the ground, it wouldn't have been a relief, but... I'm glad.

Sweetheart.

At the beginning of his life, Rattegart falls in love.

This fall wasn't just physical.

The body wasn't the only one that was falling.

And Isma, who doesn't even know what's in Ratte's chest like that, didn't give up.

The end point of this canyon of Siddhara is the waterhole of Tashtuka.

I clearly remembered the positional relationship that Elma explained to me.

Spread your hands and legs and spread the thin "Spindle" film there.

A bubbly shock absorber surrounds Rattegart.

Air resistance grows, and rock masses chase it through like they sped up directly next to the Ismas due to relative problems.

The light coming from the bottom increased its intensity.

And the shock and freezing cold of the bones all over my body hit me.

I don't know how I could swim to shore.

If you notice, in the strange woods - of lichens and giant mushrooms - in that one painting Rattegart was unconscious.

Bury your face in Isma's chest.

What a good incense, Rattegart thinks.

Like being near a helical (once) and a burning charcoal fire.

Smells like a clean fire.

It was in his childhood that Rattegart found out that the flames smelled.

Everything is due to the fuel that burns.

For one thing, where the coal comes from - peat or tree? If it's peat, what's the surrounding environment? Incense of the tide if the sea is close. How would a tree grow? What about the land you grew up on?

For one thing, the process by which that charcoal was produced - the result of being burned naturally as firewood? is it charcoal made with purpose again?

And the last one is the state of preservation of the charcoal - charcoal stored in a place with bad odor hump purifies the air by inhaling its bad odor, but the bad odor inhaled is reduced externally with combustion.

Also, to suck in moisture, old charcoal swells and bursts inside when it comes to the fire.

Isma's incense is the best of Rattegart's knowledge.

An oak giant tree that endured for many years - a feast carried out, pruning for the purpose of retaining the tree itself, and the branches that came out of it carefully charred by the craftsmen.

So the incense of the flame was made.

A country of true knight maidens with lots of coniferous forests: in Avalon, oaks are a rare piece of wood.

Some trees are hard and heavy and sometimes gain enough hardness to bounce the axe back and make it chip.

And the great flame-bearing oak is a difficult thing to do in the North.

It doesn't even damage the fireplace like coniferous firewood.

So I fell asleep with it.

Even if my head knew I had to wake up, my body refused to do so.

It worked so seductively on Rattegart that it had to use its full willpower to pull itself off.

The inside of my body hurts when I scratch.

Peeping into the unconscious and unconscious Isma, Rattegart strokes the face of the hazy man with his hand.

I can't get my chest palpitations to subside.

You're supposed to be a joke man, but you're supposed to be a mundane man with two strands or more, hands on your sisters at the same time - darling.

No other emotions come to mind.

Many times they saved my life.

Literally, bet yourself that.

It protected my dignity, my purity and my true knight's pride.

It may have been slightly different from Rattegart's brave and legendary revelation of his instrumentality as a hero.

Tie them up with a horrible curse, deceive them, fall into them, and if you think so, skip them, tease them, sometimes with geisha's, or manipulative manipulations that dictate women - and yet save them.

It's not supposed to be Rattegart's hobby at all, really.

"You idiot, you big idiot... what are you gonna do?"

I can't stop crying. I fell in love with Omae.

At a young age, in fact, Rattegart didn't like any of the martial arts.

Only horseback riding was an exception, but I couldn't get used to the training of wearing armor together.

It was in the creation of songs, dances, handicrafts and cookings--that Rattegart at a young age had found his place.

There seemed to be only qualities, unwanted in the depths of my mind but always a top grader in training.

It wasn't until I heard of the loss of my big sister, Brunfroyde, that I really tipped into martial arts.

Latte indulged in the skill of the battle so as to shake off the tea party in the two rooms, the memories of herbal tea - and at the same time the thought of being molested by her for giving me that tip - that she felt betrayed.

I knew it wasn't worth anything to me.

I don't know where it's coming from. Try to slap that anger.

Yet, in his own deeds, Izma showed me through the difficulty in a way that Rattegart despised as crap and broke off as worthless.

On that "Howl Cancer" stone stage, when I really hadn't worn myself in the costume of a victory prayer dancer in a long time, and when it overlapped with Elma's whistle and Celte's song - perhaps the only thing that made me feel saved was Celte, who tried to self-immolate himself with resentment until he crushed himself.

"Listen carefully, Isma - the true knight's maiden can only choose one companion in her lifetime. Reason lies in our ethnicity.

For some reason, we are basically a species with only women. So welcome human heroes into their own clans, perform rituals, and use the giant Focus: Arc to reincarnate them into true knights. Well, that's fine now.

Why, when we say we can only choose one partner, it is for us that marriage is, as a result, a contract between a man and a woman is literally a contract. Only to the man who gave his purity can we grant grace. Valkyrie's Pact. For a few days to a week or so, you can give them enough toughness to dramatically increase their basic abilities and make them seem inexhaustible. "

That's enough to heal the hunger of this nasty (soggy), worn out, and unfulfilled vessel that now strikes you: Ibizus.

"If I were to pour you the spindle that remains in my flesh with Valkyrie's Pact, I would not be able to resist. You won't be able to keep this drug temptation."

With the face of a maiden in love, Rattegart peered into Isma and spoke so.

Pompous, and tears fall.

Tingling, and Isma's eyelids moved into the tears.

Ugh, a bitter voice goes up.

"Isma, have you noticed"

"Yes, and, what, latte, what are you doing, crying? Are you making me cry?

"Idiot, it's nothing. You're the one who's in trouble."

Worried about the reason for the tears by a decent, blind man, Rattegart turned into a crying laugh. No, I can't stop crying.

"Damn, this [Ibizus] body... it has the best output, but it's too fuel-efficient... if there is one, it will release as much"

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Isma's words were not weak sounds, but to convey the facts to Rattegart.