The Branded Female Fencer

Change of place, Saru border. There are many places, though the dominated western continent of man, where untapped lands and hands of man have not yet been added. Demons and phantom beasts in such places. Alternatively, death row inmates, arrangers, etc. become obscure.

Such places are generally referred to as' frontiers' and become lands that have been given up and abandoned for development. When it comes to fame, the 'Great Forest' is far south of Groussard. 'Native Territory' in the northeast of Alexandria. 'Desert of Death' in client territory. 'Rock Shelves' and others on the edge of the western continent are known as such places. The northern prairie and marshlands previously stepped in by the Alphilis are also considered as one of these peripheries.

Those borders are often a factor plaguing neighbouring countries, but at the same time there is a perfect equilibrium. That equilibrium, known only to the parties, can shake with a few things, but it can never be enough to completely destroy each other. We understand each other, that if we banish one completely, we will end ourselves.

That's how the periphery around the place is established, depending on the location, but to some extent I remember it in my arms, most of the danger zones were such that I couldn't return alive.

There are pilgrims who prefer such a border as a place of work. More than 30 years have already passed since I served Arnelia, a man who was more famous as a devout priest than anyone else. He is a man inclined to the teachings of Arnelia the Virgin, and thus made no hardship of any kind, diving through every training as far as he could go, and consequently becoming said to be the supreme force of war among pilgrims. I called my name Mason.

He was now confronted by several men in rough land that roughly kept people from stopping by. That's where humans get where they've lost their place to be in every country. Mason, dressed in rare black priestly clothing for Arnelia, and the obviously poorly-resembled men have a conversation about 10 steps away.

"Were you sure Temeer and the others were okay with the Bandits: The Drifters (Floaters)?

"Then what?

"I don't see much. You're dressed like a priest. Have you been seconded by the Alliance?

"Have we become so famous? How much is our prize money now?

A man smiled humbly, but Mason answered without changing his expression.

"No, I'm not from the guild, I am. So I don't even know how much the prize money is, but there's one of Temehe and the others out of the way."

"What the hell, a strange way of talking. You're licking it, Cora."

"... so what makes you say you're off that person's path?

The men ate Mason's strange language, but one, a sober man, asked Mason.

Mason answers.

"It's no problem if you're just a bunch of bandits. Whoever you steal, whoever you kill, such things are trivial before the mercy of Saint Arnelia. But 'cannibalism' is against humanity, right? Besides, I scattered it. Ah, I'm not even stubborn. Don't you think? Don't you think?

"You think it's cannibalism?

The men looked at each other a little. Exactly because the act was a nauseating act for the men who committed roughly all the crimes they could think of. A man considered their summariser stared at his companion.

"Hey, is this guy's word true?

"No way. I don't care how much we're down there. That's not all we do."

"Sure, we're starving too, but still not enough to starve to death. But you've been acting strangely bloody lately, haven't you?

The men looked back at the man who was at the rear. The men were poor, even though they were bandits, and it was still at a glance that they too were in distress in this abandoned land, but only one of them had a strangely luscious man.

Open the distance between everyone and. The man who was stared at had an invincible grin.

"What's up, you guys? Don't look at me like that."

"... let it be. I thought it was weird. You were always foolish and cursed, and you ate twice as much rice as anyone. Even if that's eating the same thing as us these days, you're not complaining. Is that what happened?"

"That's settled."

Mason came forward. A man supposedly a summariser speaks to Mason.

"Hey, you're Arnelia's associate. If I give this to you, do we have any profit?

"What do you want? By that, I suppose."

"I'm not asking you to ask no questions about your sins. Can you at least miss the fact that we like ourselves here? If they kick us out of here, we're in trouble, too. That would bother so many more people."

The man's expression had a thin smile on his face. The word would not be a lie, but it was clearly something that contained threats. Mason answered them when he took out his black round glasses over his chest inner pocket and wore them.

"... the mercy of Arnelia the Virgin is infinite. I wish you luck."

"There is."

"Except"

Mason talks as he opens up in front of his black priest clothes. His priestly clothing was fixed with a metal clasp on the front, and just opening one made a noise with a sense of weight. This is what Mason advised the men.

"We've been talking about this since we survived."

"... Am I?

And in front of Mason and the bandits, the man began to transform into alien. The transformation was instantaneous, with one man with a delayed reaction, devoured of his head and desperate. For the first time since one of them died, the men realized they were in danger.

The man spread his deformed head like a bug plant, intimidating Mason. The arms are transformed like countless plants, shaped like giant plants walking.

"Quiet!"

"He looks ugly. It's an unsaveable life, but at least I'll give you mercy."

Mason inexplicably approached him, squeezing his extended tentacles at close range, eagling his spread head with black gloves, and gripping him forcefully, even if his hands were damaged as they were. When the splashing blood reached the surrounding men, they screamed as if they had forgotten for the first time.

"Hii"

"What the fuck?"

"What the fuck?" It's time to do something. "

As Mason pointed out, many deformities emerged from the building during the collection of waste materials that could not be considered houses. They all look distorted, and come to them with a sleigh and a voice that can be both groaned and odd.

The men asked Mason for salvation as they lagged behind to the unrealistic sight that suddenly appeared.

"What are these guys!? What the hell is going on?

"The village of the Shizuku Demon King, what do you mean? That's a hell of a thing. You didn't notice, did you?

"I don't know!

"Right. Don't lack crisis sensing skills, you guys. Which is destined to die."

When Mason takes out an anchor-like weapon from under his priestly clothes, he attaches a chain to it and starts swinging. At the same time, on his empty left hand, he was magically creating fireballs. And he crushed it with hatred, as he spit out his heart.

"It's a troublesome job, really troublesome. I didn't know there wasn't a whole lot of guys who were going to be my opponents. It's a lot off, isn't it?"

Mason's swinging iron pile struck a herd of aliens as if it reflected his mood.

Continued