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- Here, this is my friend Enio, the one I told you about.
- A wonderful friend. You two are like two peas in a pod.
- More like two wild cats on the same territory. And that's what I'm getting at... She'll start flirting with you – don't give in.
- Huh?
- Yes! First, she told me how she manipulates and sets up guys. I took note, but I'll never allow anyone to treat you like that. And second... I bet you anything you'll catch gonorrhea from her. Or herpes.
- As if it's the first time...
- I'm just reminding you where we are. In places like Lower Lunaria and other Buruaks, they're more relaxed about this. But here...
- I get it. If she flirts, use your head. It's a shame, she's very talented.
- Yes... She has a good talent. But I'm not forbidding you from having fun with her if she insists, and you don't mind. I'm just telling you what you'll be dealing with. Forewarned is forearmed.
I realized that no matter how hard I try, I won't be able to port Nuesha into any of the expansions. The problem isn't even that he's a suspicious scorpion-man, but rather that I drew the artwork for this champion back in 2016, and I'm honestly too lazy to redraw it, and looking at the original picture makes my eyes bleed.
"Farewell, Sonata-chan... Kami see—I tried. Farewell, Lolita-chan. Farewell, hime-denka, farewell (hello), Aiko-tan" — the miko had time to think before taking a small trial sip, even if it didn't quite align with the rules of consumption for this format.
— Something like that doesn't offend me; I'm aware of my beauty stat and I'm comfortable with it. I can even add that it's not critical for me, even if you won't believe it simply because it comes from a woman. Age-wise, I think I'm older than you, though it's not that easy to tell by looking at you. I am thirty-three years old, — Ayano said with such confidence that it would have been impossible to catch her in a lie, but whether she was being sincere or not couldn't even be determined by the gray-font Kamitachi-voices from her anime art. — Hm... Then perhaps it's not entirely correct to address you as "you" [formal]? But then again, it doesn't matter; it's a matter of habit. As for the rest... the Kamisama-tachi are not a 'he', but a 'they', and they cannot be found; one can only reach them with the heart. They are in the soil, the air, the water and the fire, and even in the cemetery where your ancestors rest. And, of course, in life philosophy. These are not the kinds of matters that can be explained on the fly without preparation, but it is a worthy lifestyle, and for me, the only correct one. View it however you wish, — she brushed off potential misunderstanding. — As easy as it would be to get a butterfly tattoo on the body, paint one's face, dress shorter, and go play the flute, so too is it destructive to the soul, and that is the only thing we all truly possess. You will be surprised or won't believe me, but the bear itself isn't even important to me; I'm doing this only out of sporting interest and out of respect for the old man. He put so much time and effort into this, and as eyewitnesses say, positive emotions, yet for all these ten years, no one has moved a single step—no one even tried. No wonder that now... — she clicked her tongue and didn't finish the sentence. — You are right that I was a bit deceptive when I entered here. Although I didn't say a word of untruth, the way it was presented painted a different picture. But it was a bit difficult for me to predict the reaction of a person in... such a stylish coat... to the uncovered fact of this visit.
- Not critical, huh? You're telling the truth, but I won't believe it. But thirty-three years... Doesn't it worry you that the clock is ticking? - The Lord takes a pitcher of water in his hand, looks inside, and addresses its contents. - Hey, Kamisama-tchi, do you copy? Hear me? Go find yourself some young girl already, otherwise this one will just die without offspring. That would be sad. - He puts the pitcher back. - Well, as for the corruption of the soul, I agree, of course. A long time ago I had a muse, she warmed my heart and gladdened my soul just by existing. Like a source of light and purity. And then I fucked her. And somehow, the image created in my head broke. - Emptying another glass, Ayano's interlocutor raised an eyebrow to himself and pondered. - Though that's probably not a perfectly correct example, because in her case, nothing essentially changed. Leeeeet's see... Well then, another example. Do you know the city of Folkvang? The ex-mayor there was a close friend of my old man. In his youth—a principled, decent man. It seemed he really wanted to bring benefit to the city and his actions confirmed it, but he took a bribe once and a steady downward spiral began. He was eventually executed. So I understand you. Another question is that our ideas about the filling of the soul and its function may differ. It doesn't matter who you are, a righteous man or a villain, I believe the main thing is not to lie to yourself. That way you will be in harmony with your own "I". - Drinks again. - And Phantom, well... He used to be very cool, but now it's painful to look at him. Something went wrong with his woman and then he simply faded away over the years. Isn't he a fool?.. It's quite ironic, by the way, that when I trained under his guidance, he occasionally scolded me for excessive preoccupation with the opposite sex, and look how it turned out in the end. Which of the two of us ended up more preoccupied? But that is his path, not mine; let him tread it as he sees fit. Rook? - Yes, Lord Ravenedge. - Aren't you tired of standing yet? - Um... Why do you say such a thing, of course not. - I see, go get some rest, we'll manage here without you. - As you wish, Lord Ravenedge. Rook Yalik leaves. - And still... Still, I can't just give you this card. Out of sporting-philosophical interest. I agree to a cool article—judging by your speech, your style must be exquisite. But this exchange should be backed up by something. Something so that we leave an impression on each other. I don't mind hatred or contempt toward me, by the way, that's far more interesting than indifference, but I get the impression that you are exactly the type who will try to forget this meeting as quickly as possible. So I'm the one remaining, but if you don't want physical contact at all, then I don't even know what else to come up with. Maybe we should just get married? I won't grope you, but it would be fun and memorable.
– Interesting… I didn’t notice right away, as I haven’t been to cities in a long time, but the people in Margel seem to gather in a strange way. There are no individual onlookers just wandering around. Is this some kind of cultural peculiarity? – she said to her companion (but the vendor might have overheard).
-- Interesting... I didn't notice right away because I haven't been to cities in a long time, but the people in Margel seem to gather in a strange way. There are no individual onlookers just walking around. Is this some kind of cultural peculiarity? -- to her companions (but the shopkeeper might have heard). -- By the way, you were right, the flags are the same, but a little more expensive... Is there some kind of local competition?
Ment, we ended up going to List, just in case. Nebok went to Ornament. I didn't see Nebok's post at first, then I corrected it, and decided that I was just checking the same store twice.
/ Too bad, Ornament is actually interesting, but let Leaf... / Fixed it. /
That's why I remembered him first, and Leaf - because I remembered him second.
- I don't know, it's strange too. Before our trip to the South, there was no such thing. Something must have happened while we were shooting at combat airships with crossbows. I'll have to ask someone or buy a newspaper if the publishing house has started up again, because they closed it down.
She presented Gillon's wedding outfit: a gag of obedience, a chain with a collar, and a rope, all equipped in the clothing slot. How should this be represented now? And does it even need to be represented at all? I'm sure I can even find the necessary artwork on Pixiv if I want to.
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