Strong impact to the back of the head.

Consciousness is distant.

"... t! Hey, are you alive? Pat!"

(Who's Pat? I... Huh? I'm Pat. But? Huh? I was named Jen, wasn't I? Huh? That? I remember Jen, I remember Pat??

Now, Pat? So what about Jen? Dreams? No, no, you don't have dreams of such a long life, do you? What if in a previous life? No, no, that's impossible. But for now, my back of my head hurts. He summoned me just now, and it was May.

Well, even if I say this guy, he's a fellow recruiter at the same time.

"Oh, we've managed to live, Wayne"

"Then pick up the sword and help!

"People are rough."

"If you don't do it, you're gonna die?

"Sure!

That said, I pick up my sword, look around, run to my side, run out for fat buckets of pig-faced stuff.

"Let him die! Oak son of a bitch!

A pair of cheap two-handed swords full of strength, slapping them on the back of the pig-faced head.

The back of the oak cracks, blood and brain splashes.

This is the front line of the battlefield.