Vermillion

- Hi, it was a lonely village.

A tiny piece of land cut into the back of the woods, far south of the Darya Plains.

There, trying to hide, there was the village of "Laneza".

Less than fifty inhabitants, this small village is a marginal settlement where marginalization has progressed to the extreme. The young men who were taken out of the village in past battles strangely knew the outside world after serving in the army and were disgusted with their too obstructive birthplace, most of which did not return to the village.

The only people who came back to the village were those who could not find the mouth of life outside and the relics of the war dead.

The renaissance of the village with only the remaining inhabitants had its limitations, and the village of Laneza, which had not originally had a great deal of character, but was also significantly off the streets, quickly became obsolete.

Village left over from the times.

Even tax officers forget to come to collect taxes, the land on the border.

The disappearance of the village of Laneza, now that the population has been further depressed in the last decade and more than half of the inhabitants have become elderly, could be said to be a matter of time. There is no way left for the villagers to solve it on their own. There was no such thing as deliberately visiting this village, which is extremely bad for both transportation and hardware.

- Except for him (...) et al. (...).

There was a pair of people walking cursorily, trying to drag their bodies down the main road through the forest, sloppily, supporting each other's bodies.

One is a tall, brown-haired man with a dark bandage wrapped around his right shoulder.

Another is the one who walks unbridled as he covers the bottom half of his face with a black cloth and leads to a stick of wood instead of a cane.

Both of them were blackheads all over their bodies. Black-dyed leather tibia on the leg and a small black leather hand on the arm as well. The man with the wound to his right shoulder had a long sword and the other had a bloody dagger on his back to each of them, but he had nothing else to pack. In one of them, I've been running away with my life - that, my impression.

Trying to avoid the eyes, the men move through the dim woods. Few people could be seen in the neglected villages. But still, some villagers blame them for what they look like and - as if they were going to see nothing as it were - turn a blind eye.

The men kept walking, without worrying about such villagers. As we head out of the village through the woods, we eventually head out into the open space.

It was a cemetery.

A grass-flower-covered platter, lined with pompous and equally spaced. Instead of the tomb marker, he headed down to the tomb guard's house to sew a stick of wood that had been struck, between them.

Gravekeeper's house - a robustly built, big house. Unlike the small wooden houses in the village, they are well founded with quality stone. For the cemetery of a lonely and neglected settlement, a luxurious dwelling to the point of disproportionate minutes.

Of the pair, the one who was injured in the right shoulder hits the front door knocker with his left hand so as to squeeze the force without it.

I get slapped with a certain rhythm. That was obviously a special knock that I could tell was a coder. The noise of rattling and pulling a chair in the house makes the door slightly open.

It was the old man, as if he were a concealer, who had accumulated a long beard in his grey hair, with his face peeking out of the gap. Looking at the pair in a lame state not to mention standing, the old man brings a slight upset to his face, while first inviting them inside.

"Pavel? And - is that Rat? What's wrong with that dress?"

"… the captain is dead. Except for us, we've all been hit..."

As he entered the living room, an old man inquired, and a brown-haired man with injuries to his right shoulder - Pavel - replied, gasping. "What..." said the old man, hissing his eyebrows, the short-haired man, holding down his right shoulder, leaving his back on the wall and slouching, sitting on the floor. Another man walking loosely on a wooden stick - Rato slowly lowered his back to the chair in the living room with a groan of agony raised, "Whoa..."

"Unbelievable............. Morissette, he's all screwed up…………."

…………

"Pavel, what the hell happened? Isn't Morissette the kind of guy who does that? Did I strike the wrong person? Or was it raided the other way around?

…………

To the old man's question, but the short-haired man known as' Pavel ', does not answer while leaning down.

"Hey, Pavel?

An old man, slightly panicked, crouched down and peered into Pavel's face, apparently losing his mind before he started talking.

The old man, who laid his hand on his neck muscle and made sure that Pavel's breath and pulse were there, rose again, "This is not good," however, realizing it was a very weak one.

"Romeo! Come here!

Raise your voice as you slap your hands on your breasts. "Yes!" He heard a reply from the back room, and a small-time boy, who made him jump his brown habit hairs, slipped his face into the living room.

"Romeo, get Dr. Gislan. You two are in a hurry, tell them so."

"Wow, I understand."

A boy called Romeo pops out of the house on his run, looking slightly at the two wounded in the living room.

"But… Morissette is dead………"

He was an old man, stroking his mustache, trying to stare at the void, but then he sat in his chair in silence and closed his eyes to Lato, who stared at the floor with his faint (crusty) eyes.

"... Lato, you're a lot more of a jerk too. For a moment, I didn't know who it was. Where'd you get hurt? Did they hit you in the leg?

……

To the inquiry, Ratto slowly removed the cloth that had covered his face. The old man takes a few steps backwards by holding his mouth to the "wound" that has been dewy from under the cloth.

Otori.

Dropping, red and black, clumps of meat crumbling into a shambles. A few seconds before realizing that the white shards scattered by the way are broken teeth and bones.

Lato's, the lower half of his face, disappeared.

From the mouth to the back of the throat, it is rounded out. Slightly scratched, but the lingering tongue was like a snake. "Hey, uh-huh," he said, whenever Rat raised an unspoken groan, his sloppy saliva pulled a thread and drooled.

- It's got to be done.

The old man thinks. There's no way you can eat a lot of things with a mouth like this that can't even be called a 'mouth'. It's something else like a hard-baked biscuit that will be treasured as food for your journey. Even crushed porridge to the extreme would be tough to eat.

"... what the hell did you guys get into?"

Unexpectedly, when the old man shrugged like, "Awwwwww!!" The rattlesnake caught screaming.

"Ahhhhhhh! Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

Bright red the rest of his face, sloppily salivating from his mouth.

"Oh, no, whoa, whoa! Yeahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

He raised his voice without screaming or screaming, and Lato pulled the dagger out of his waist gently. He was an old man who stiffened his body, but Rato banged his dagger! And ramblingly, I just slapped him on the desk.

Dull, dull silver blade. Stifled black blood. Houndwolf's blood...

"Oh, no, no, no."

"…… I'm sorry, I don't know what you're trying to say"

With a bewildered look, the old man with a waist shook his head.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang and bang bang

"Ooh, no, ooh! Whoa, whoa, whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Lato kept screaming for a while, but eventually the word lost momentum, only staring at the floor with his comatose eyes and whining about something.

The old man just looked at it with a cramped face.

Afterwards, the village pharmacist brought in by a small-time boy - in the name of a dedicated doctor - entrusts the two, and the old man draws to his chamber with a face that does not float.

In front of the desk, rocking the euthanasia chair, he held his forehead and sighed heavily, "Haa…".

"…… at all. Morissette is devastated, Rutland is insane, and Pavel knows what happened is heavy,"

This is what I thought I'd do if I thought I was free these days. I'm sorry for all this trouble, and I'm sighing again.

"Well, we have to report it for now…………………"

I took one small piece of paper out of my desk drawer. With a feather pen in his hand, the old man writes something on paper as he narrows his eyes.

"……… Hmm."

And when I returned the feather pen to ink, the pieces of paper depicted a surprisingly geometric pattern.

Another piece of parchment out of the drawer, this time the old man takes out parchment paper, makes sure to compare the contents of the pieces of paper to the contents of parchment, and puts his eyes through the minds.

"All right."

After several confirmations, the old man took the whistle out of the robe's chest pocket and blasted it out the window.

The tall sound of pee echoes into the depressed woods outside.

Eventually, a big black raven emerged from the woods with a rustling feather. Stop tightly in the window frame and stare at this one with red eyes like blood. On its right leg, like a small leather pouch, was bracketed with a belt.

"Come on, it's time for work."

The old man took a slice of the salami he had on his desk and fed it to the ravens, chitching his tongue. While the raven shook his head and tried to swallow it, he struck a piece of paper inside the pouch on his right leg.

"That's it," he said. … Well, "

Mm-hmm. And the old man coughed his right hand in front of the raven's eyes,

Al la kastelo.]

And the raven, whose eyes glowed red, spread the buckwheat and its wings.

Gah, gah, gah, deafening squeal, winging towards the sky. Watching it, the old man slowly sat back in his euthanasia chair.

The raven, which captured the airflow and ascended heavenly, twice or three degrees.

It swirled over and took its path straight south.

In the sight of the old man, a raven feathering heights is like a black grain of sand.

Seeing as it was, it flew away to the end of the sky.