Enjoy!
Laila
Nanael, the
Archangel of Light. There was no one in Heaven who didn’t know that name.
“Hey,
Laila! Please massage the base of my wings gentler!”
The one
being made to massage the base of her wings was her, the apprentice angel
Laila. Laila had recently joined the ranks of Heaven, and for better or for
worse, had become a direct subordinate of Nanael’s.
“This time,
I’m giving you a special mission.”
Though it
was actually a mission the Head Angel had given to Nanael, such a thing didn’t
bother her in the least.
“On earth,
the Marshland Witch has resurrected, and seems like her influence is expanding.
You, go down to earth, and do something.”
Those were
quite sketchy instructions. Even if Laila’s mind became blank at times like
these, since she gave the impression to have reacted to her words calmly, she
was hard to deal with.
“Just,
there seems to be a problem with Heaven intervening on the ground much too
overly~. I want you to purify it all successfu~lly around there and leave it in
perfect condition.”
Instructions
that were complicated and unspecific. Although they were typical useless
instructions from her superior, Laila’s mind simply went blank, and she only
said “Yes” without arguing.
“Well, because
I prepared a sacred utensil for you, if you have this and fill it with Holy
Milk… eh, uwaaaaa, wait, what are you doiiiing!!”
Laila, who
was supposed to be massaging the base of Nanael’s feathers, had plucked out all
of her feathers before she realized.
This
apprentice half-angel was already giving her best even before departing.
Sure
enough, can Laila purify the ground with the sacred utensil?
They won’t
know that unless they fight.
Branwen
An evil
land filled with death and miasma.
Although
this place is simply called the “Marshland”, it’s far too large a land to call
it so.
The lord of
darkness that governs this land is the Marshland Witch.
The Witch
appears on the balcony of the minaret. The demons filling the seats of the
arena prostrate themselves all at once. My loathsome master, the Trainer
Dogura, is no exception.
“How
beautiful you are, great Marshland Witch… I adore you. I dedicate this victory
to you.”
The
marshland tournament will be held here. It is a vulgar contest where gladiator
slaves subjected to torture by their demon trainers fight for the victory at
the risk of life and limb.
“Branwen, since
you descend from the dragons, I take it you’re the strongest fighter. You won’t
be defeated by such scum, will you?”
With
Dogura’s nauseating breath hanging in front of my face, I can’t bring myself to
even open my mouth.
Instantaneously,
a magical wave is sent to a sensitive part of my body. Losing strength in my
knees, I can’t help but show an unsightly appearance to the vulgar creature.
That’s the
power of Dogura’s handmade training tool. If there’s only one technology the
marsh goblins can be proud of, it would be this tool which specializes only in
making slaves submit.
“He~y, how
many times do I have to say it for you to understand? You aren’t a Dragon
Warrior anymore! You belong to me now!”
Beat.
Deep inside
my heart, something is wriggling.
Is the
dragon inside me trying to awaken?
The rusty
doors of the arena open, making a creaking sound.
Now, I’ll
stand up and fight.
I can’t
afford to die yet.
Sure enough, can Branwen win fighting against
this unknown enemy?
They won’t
know that unless they fight.
