The Peerless Kobold (WN)

That little fox, he looks very familiar.

If I remember correctly, I think the fox-mixed cobolt I ran into in the woods about six months ago turned into something. I still remember that time because I was shocked by the behavior of becoming a prey in order to attract prey.

(And greetings with one hand up were also directed at me, right?)

In other words, the young man with the fox on his shoulder carrying an odd pulley bow (compound bow)...

(Could it be?)

Unconsciously, my gaze nails me to a lightly dressed bowman. Feeling a hound-like impression on a forged iron-smelling body goes hand in hand, and once you're concerned, you can't get your eyes off it.

"Hmm, what's wrong?

"Yeah, it's nothing."

Surprised at how I was doing, and if Ares, who brought him in, tilted his neck so vaguely replied, for some reason Mirea in the next seat would be involved.

"Like Mulli's love at first sight, actually? Around that age."

"... I'm only one thing different from Mirea, right?

"I'm curious, sophisticated body made of light hardened alchemy?

Laughing like a prank, it's not him with silver hair that she turns her hot gaze on, it's that awesome metal bow that looks on its back. There were several parts mounted that I had never seen before, drawing a line with mass produced products.

(Uh-huh, the bow is different from before...)

Ares starts introducing herself with a refreshing smile when she is alone without certainty.

"Sorry, you hadn't named me yet, I'm Ares the avant-garde warrior. Your lightweight warrior is injured by your partner, Libert, and that's Mirea, the bowman I was telling you about."

Ares, who first pointed to herself, named herself, and told everyone her name in the order in which she sat at the circular table, and each of them exchanged light meetings.

"And the end is Muriel, our demon."

Slightly accentuated the part of the Wizard, I offer my hand in the guise of a natural shape.

"Nice to meet you, silver-haired archer."

"... oh, nice to meet you, I'm Archer"

……………

………

…

A magician can sense the magic that an individual encloses through physical contact. While on a little tour, he concluded that he wouldn't mind if he slept with him several times, and I shook the white, soft hand he offered me.

Our girlfriend nods somewhat small with a sure look, then pulls an empty chair from the next table by shifting her own chair, prompting her to sit with a pompous slap on the seat.

If you honestly obey me because I have no particular reason to say no, Ares the Chestnut Hair also takes his seat and calls for the service of the Combined Tavern.

"Whatever you want. Ask me."

"I still don't remember saying I'd take it on, okay?

"Fine, I'm just glad you're listening."

"But don't put it on."

Open a menu horizontally with a chestnut-haired warrior jamming words into his buddy's penetration, and ask for a bergamot herbal tea and meal for the service he came to, pointing to his sister on his shoulder and milk in a wood dish.

When I finished my order quickly and raised my gaze from the menu at hand, I gazed at Mirea, the bowman, and for a while I was to hear from her a whole line of upside down in the village of Grau.

In between, she glances at her limbs wrapped around an exceptionally easy-to-move outfit and looks at the painful bandages wrapped around her hands, arms, thighs, etc.

Essentially, healing magic forces the flesh to be activated by magical interference, so that when severe injuries are forced to recover, the flesh cannot tolerate rapid metabolism, and wounds heal in distorted forms, leaving behind sequelae.

In addition, serious injuries consume a great deal of health in recovery, so at worst, there can be debilitating deaths. In the end, if you suffer a fatal wound, you need to take the time to heal it while consulting with your health.

(Take a look, like two full weeks)

It equates to committing suicide, such as going to battlefield in a halfway state, so the decision to find a helper is correct.

"So, what do you think? I'm glad you could help."

Muriel sends a caged ascent of expectations as he lightly picks the hem of his clothes.

In the first place, I thought it might be stingy (yawning) to hang out with her for more or less marginal reasons, and snort at her words as she twirls the bread of rye.

"Well, thank you, I'll count on you."

"Now I can take care of myself."

"Thank you again, Mr. Archer."

"Let me try my best."

I did call it a Libert, or cutting venison into small corners while responding to a lightly dressed warrior and poking a fork into the cooking I baked, stepping on my shoulder from earlier and throwing it into the mouth of a child fox urging him.

"Cure ~ n ♪ Quang, Gau! (Yum ~ ♪ Brother, more!)"

Damn, I fed him what he asked for, but he's going to have a lot of pressure footsteps.

You beast!

I had no choice but to point Mirea at the fox as she was poking the fork into venison again.

"Can I have that touched?

"Eh, that's no good..."

She shook her head left and right, although Muriel would stop to know the circumstances.

"No, it's not the little fox I'm talking about, Bow!

Apparently, it was the bow I carried, not my sister, who was pointing at me, so I'm going to give her the bow baroque that I held on the back of the leather armor, easily understood, with a holder dedicated to the leather bow.

"Awesome, the handles (risers) are lightly cured alchemy, and the rims are stacked with wooden thin sheets and flexible alchemy thin sheets to solidify them with resin!? I've never seen... Nanicole?

Mirea, who had received the dreaded machine bow, said something excitingly, and a word popped up that I didn't understand, either Russian or archer.

(Told you to keep it, but it was really awesome...)

As I give my thanks to Ernesta in my heart, my well-dressed maid-looking daughter enters the guild and walks over to my sight to capture a red-haired exorcist who eats chicken and vegetable stir-fry.