Sanzen no Souru Supina

When gay, heavy metals and hard rock skin collided, loud voices echoed the sandy beach of dawn.

Norman played a blow that shook his neck too far with his purified claw: Arman's armor.

Sparks scatter between rubbed armor and blades.

Suddenly, he chases with open hands, but at that moment, using the recoil successfully, Violeta is out of Norman's attack zone.

Not just a power fighter, Norman analyzes Violeta from a couple of mating offenses.

The blows carried out from the overwhelming body do indeed carry a tremendous weight of all of them.

That's a blow to the point where if you accidentally take it with a sword, you dislocate your shoulder, or you break it, which sword flashes can't be connected to each sword you take, and if it's a shield, it gets smashed in one blow.

Exactly a deadly blow.

But the true horror of Violeta doesn't make her feel the weight coming from her body or the dust on her body.

It follows the exotic Norman movement of Movement of Swiftness, which can completely overcome scaffolding inconvenience, without difficulty.

It's also in this very bad sand.

You should know enough to say no to warriors who have experienced actual combat what kind of difficulty scaffolding disadvantage creates.

I can't help stomping or stepping in.

Many things fall to the battlefield without being able to show their strength.

That is all the more remarkable, especially in such riots.

But Violeta is different.

That move, which rolls down the ground and rolls out the attack and evasion without succession in a cursive motion, may even be described as slutty.

One move after the other while putting together a sand coat, it is fitting to call it a dancing princess who hangs out with a man.

Princess of the Night Devil: If the Sword Dance of Zion were to be the land of Heaven, the Spiritual Peak, but the art of solitude every now and then, of Bioletta, it had the demonic, horny, temporal senses that drew out human desires, captured and kept them apart.

Just because I crawled to the ground, if I accidentally stepped in, there was already a long extended arm planted in there, and the motion as I pulled it back would come straight back to me and hit me.

I'm going to push it off and I can't push it off.

It's a nasty opponent, Norman analyzes.

This procedure can be a terrible setback if you step in believing it is advantageous.

A sense of war was telling.

It's a terrible technique that draws in a good, overconfident opponent and then kills him, skilled in that kind of inviting technique.

That's a whore's move to scorch and lure a man who's convinced he's going to be able to turn it into a thing already.

If the distance is about to be free, the toge grown from the whole body like a restraint - all of which is a swordswallowing blade with spear ears - will be flown and thrust away.

If you think so, the softer in time, the more you try to expose yourself to seemingly defenseless gaps like a woman accepting a man.

A leaning beauty who takes a light man by the hand, her pocket (two places), her heart, and in some cases even her life by the hand.

Brilliant stuff, Norman thinks.

A swarm of Included Beasts and Jiggle Zagles sandwiched with snails that interrupted between turned into pieces of meat and blood smoke from the snails without standing for a second.

Blowing death dance (dance macabre).

If you get crossed in love, if you get in the way of a sword trident love song, you should die if you don't understand that you will be wiped out by reapers, not horses.

Burton, who circled from the water, raided the side of Gameron, a dead man who tried to water from the side further.

With the first knife, "Focus" on the matter, a copy of the dead: Pay off Dead Blue.

I see that Dead Blue, the Focus, cannot be destroyed by mere steel, but it can inhibit the exercise if the user is suppressed.

Burton's ambush was the perfect time.

If Gummeron rushes to pull through the spare weapons, he steps on and moves on to a rifle defense.

A sharp spike rolling out of Burton's arms catches up with Gummeron, the Spindle Talent.

The horror of human skill.

And the horror of steel reason.

This is the battlefield.

Nevertheless.

The claw of purification, which should be the first look: Arman and this response, which instantly discerns the range of effects, properties, and steals the intermission of the moves that are rolled out of it, would be better than calculations, biologically prepared by a species called Ouga, such as the innate survey.

These are the kind of people to watch out for.

Wild, albeit sharpened, techniques that are not obtained from textbooks or training completely outweigh (ginger) theory-stained responses as they are.

A dozen fatalities fall out of a completely unexpected position.

But it doesn't work for Norman, who has dived many battlefields.

Norman didn't miss the blow he came to scratch his neck with his blade tip.

"KIEEEEEEEEEEE!!

Norman aligned himself with the blow that shook him down with the mood of a tear.

Purge Claw: Arman brings out his Max Attack Power by shaking it out loud.

Intentionally, he steps in heavily and enters the target's attacking zone.

And then, scratching the ground, I fell in.

That's an odd way to go over the other person's thoughts.

Along with the determined ground, the trap for capturing the prey on the sprinklers - the long blade tip deliberately left on the beach - disappeared.

The long left arm I've come to scratch my neck muscles is nothing but a feint.

Fate is a blade stretched from the right arm.

Cutting from the lower section.

If you step into the sand to repel the attack from the upper section, the buried blade will stand and strike.

An absolute place of death that even a skilled knight can never say.

But it doesn't go through with Norman.

Eat and break every set trap.

That is the true pinnacle of Norman, who was allowed to name the lead knight, the strongest testament, besides the Knights of Catel Hospital, Commander: Zabelzaft.

The left arm, vibrated in an underslow position as it chewed through the beach, created a space on the battlefield that allowed it all.

When they eat through the trap they set, what appears there is nothing more than an absolute place of death.

A man more cautious than anyone on the battlefield: even Norman, it was a moment of certainty.

That's why I noticed an overwhelming sign of death aimed at my head.

It was a trap.

Norman heard the Death Feather.

It's a killmark painted by a Menace barrel that leaped through a battlefield that extremes bloody chaos and lets Serra dance flirting in her arms.

A silver brilliant blade and a merciless muzzle that brings about prompt death dance a tireless waltz.

It is not the skill of the individual, the battle of the individual, that appears there.

This was met from the beginning, Menace and Violeta, hunting by the two.

A manipulation of hunting that creates an exclusive space that tends to misidentify as a single hit and strikes from outside.

Knight Killer's Excellence.

Impossible, one stab is possible because the surrounding environment determines that no other person thinks it is possible, impossible.

"Goodbye, Knight of the Catel--about you, it wasn't Kira, was it?

Even real pity (renbin) in its eyes, the Emperor of Esperalgo unmercifully squeezed the traction.

Gooon, and the Demon Gun: Gangray's barrel yelled (ho).