338 The messenger of the morning.

She had a different dream every day.

One day I dreamed of being sacrificed to a fierce giant, and the other day I dreamed of being a little girl in a mountain village groaning to a ruthless lord.

Some days I dreamed of being an orphan who battled a continent swept away in the desert.

At first I didn't take it personally.

But one day, the power of the new man came to her and told her that all of it was not just a dream.

It was another life she had lived, and the memory of her previous life itself.

If he was someone else, he might have taken the memory of his previous life as a surprise. Maybe the memories of my life and my previous life were tangled up in madness.

But she wasn't.

She was a magician exploring the mysteries and truths behind the world.

For her, her former life was something to explore and dig deeply, not something dreary.

Since then, she has begun to anoint her dreams.

I became a sacrifice and looked into the age of chaos. I became a young girl in a mountain village, and I peered at the vision of a kingdom that had been destroyed without even leaving a name.

The times and places were all the same.

But there was the same thing.

New sword.

Times are different, places are different, and the appearance of the poisonous new sword was the same.

At first I didn't know.

I could see the existence of a new sword after I chewed through the same dreams.

The owners were different every time, but the new sword was always the same.

Wordless in the shaded corners, behind the most glorious glory.

After becoming aware of her existence, she pursued only the existence of the divine sword in her dream.

She didn't even know why.

Perhaps he was interested as a wizard in the extraordinary existence that emerged from the age of the outbreak. Perhaps it was because the appearance of the New Testament was always just a person around her, like in her previous life.

Curiosity, homogeneity.

I aspired to be able to face a new sword in reality, not a dream.

The day was soon to come.

It's not just a wish, it's a prophecy as a wizard with the power of God.

As in her previous life, this life also believed that the destiny of the Shrine would intersect with hers.

She waited for that day to come sooner or later.

Let's hope that this life is not just a crossroads for Charlina, but something deeper.

And by the time she was on the Magician's side, she was chasing the rumors of a mineral dragon to the shaky North Toe.

That day finally came.

"Hmm? A person in a place like this...."

A knight with a glowing soul like the great knights I saw in my dreams.

There was a new sword in her hand that she was longing to meet.

But something was wrong.

The Shrine of Dream seemed sharp enough to cut anything, and it seemed hard enough not to break anything.

Although the glory returned to its masters, the existence of the new sword was at least as glorious as hers.

But it wasn't the new sword I faced myself.

The sharpness of the divine sword was no different from that of the broken glass, and its distinctive arrogance was nothing more than a baldwin to hide a dangerous soul.

The new sword was exhausted.

The power of God she possessed told me.

Indicates that the life of the worn biopsy has not been long as it will be worn.

She was so sad about that.

It was just him.

The words of the divine sword, which ended the unavoidable scourge and gave all its glory to my master, are no different from the petty days when it will rust to its fullest use.

She was compassionate to the bitter words of the divine sword.

Why the soul of that great sword is worn out. What the hell happened is that the existence that will determine the fate of the world has also changed at stake.

I just wondered.

Her use of the power of the New Testament to glimpse the destiny of the New Sword was nothing more than the whims of Charlna, who arose from a small question.

Until then, she didn't know.

I never imagined that a virtuous man would change his destiny, nor would he change the destiny of a new sword.

The past of the Shrine is pushed like a sunrise.

The days of the New Testament came to life as if she had suffered sheep.

"Ahhh……."

She groaned.

The past of the Shrine, which I believed would be filled with glory, was in fact filled with solitude and helplessness.

He accomplished numerous accomplishments, but none of them were his.

I met many, but none of them remained by him.

The history and myth that man speaks of is only about the sacrifice and death of his beloved.

He didn't look at the glory.

I have always seen the parting and loss that will come after glory.

I have done the same now.

His master was looking only at the end of the journey, and he was already looking at himself to remain alone.

It was a shame.

It was so frustrating.

But that wasn't all.

Her consciousness, which was wandering around somewhere in his past, flushed and sucked.

It was a memory of a time when someone had deliberately sealed it, before the world had yet solidified, when he was still a human being, not a sword.

There was a boy who knew nothing.

The boy was ordinary, and the boy's world was a peaceful place where death and war felt so far away.

And one day, the boy's world suddenly changed.

The peaceful life collapsed, and the boy had to hold a knife he had never captured before in a strange world.

I want it back. I don't want to fight. Scary.

The boy howled, but no one listened to him.

Rather, I pushed the boy into the middle of the war.

The boy hit Valverdung.

To survive. To return to your own world.

His hands were covered with blood, and his whole body became scarred, enduring the pain of the wearer's soul, beating him endlessly.

Then a change took place.

The eyes of a boy who could only see his pain and despair began to capture the world.

The boy's foot, which was running endlessly, turned forward for the first time.

It has nothing to do with him. He accepts the war as his own and draws his sword to protect those who suffer.

The boy's eyes were looking straight at the new war.

The boy has changed, and hope has risen in a world of despair.

Thus, he finally defeated a powerful monster and ended the war.

But peace was so short.

Before the boy enjoyed the great glory, he finally enjoyed the peace he had come to.

Warr, the boy's world has fallen again.

Betrayal.

A lover who whispered love, a comrade with countless limbs, and the whole world turned their backs on him.

I'm afraid of the enormous possibility of a boy embracing me.

The boy tried to sprinkle it evenly so that there was no place in the world when the possibility was complete.

Dry greed ruins everything.

The wounded boy fled to North Toronto.

And fighting the darkness that encroaches on my soul there, I put a knife in my heart to keep myself from becoming dark.

It was pure and noble death.

Someone didn't deserve this.

Someone regarded the boy's holy death as miserable and futile, and decided to take revenge.

In a way the boy doesn't want any.

Don't do it. Stop it, the boy begged.

However, the avenger also ended up pleading with the boy for revenge.

The world that the boy was trying to protect collapsed. Those who the boy was trying to protect became cold corpses.

The boy did nothing, just watched it all with his sword.

The avenger did not understand the boy's mind at all.

So I knocked the world down a few more times.

The boy's soul, which has watched the destruction several times, is finally broken.

Later, I was blurred and I just cried.

It was only then that the avenger realized that the boy's soul was so broken that his actions were useless.

The avenger tried to turn the boy's broken soul back to its original state.

But once the broken boy's soul did not return to its original state.

After deliberation, the avenger seals a portion of his sword together, causing the boy's memory to be consumed.

That's how the boy lost his memory and became a real sword.

When you wake up again, you will dream of the sword.

The avenger woke up to the sword and added the word "Gruzam" to the word "Horn", meaning "Sleep again."

Since becoming a sword, Gruhorn has taught man how to build a manna in his heart and how to perform miracles by weaving his achievements into poetry.

She watched all that.

And I realized.

You know that the fate of yourself, the divine sword, and Grouchon has changed.

As a avenger, she did not know whether the name Gruhorn was simply due to the position of the boy who had fallen asleep again, or whether he hoped that the boy would finally wake up after a long sleep.

But if there's one thing for sure.

It was only a matter of time before the sword woke up from the dream.

She decided to prepare for that.

First she wrote a small number so that the exhausted soul of the sword could rest again, as she was weary.

It was probably the end of the day that I was going to fall asleep for quite a long time.

But that was not enough.

She did not want the awakened sword to be left alone again.

So I accepted the avoidable death, and I postponed it again.

She waited for the sword to awaken again, not alive or dead.

So 400 years later,

"Long time no see."

The sword has finally come.

"Good to see you again."

In the form of a small, young boy, not a sword.

I was happy.

at the same time.

I didn't even know I was waiting for him, and I felt like a sword that had been asleep for 400 years.

That's why I insisted.

But it is.

"Let's go together."

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, his coldness came to an end.

Nevertheless, she often complained to him.

It was so good to see him again, that his forthcoming separation had already been exhausted, and he continued to make a heartless noise so that his determination would not be shaken.

On the other hand, I watched him become human.

I saw his life, which began with hatred and contempt, filled with love and glory.

I watched it more satisfactorily.

At the same time, the delusional nightmare finally prepared for the moment that led him to death.

And when the gear comes.

The source of my life. All my soul.

I give it to you.

I could give you a heart without worrying about a little foolishness.

Maybe you'll blame yourself again. Maybe you're angry that you've done something useless.

Her name is Ophelia.

A light that will dwell on the soul that sits in the dark and wails alone on the night.

That's my destiny.

If only you could rest in me for a moment.

Even before dawn.

A morning messenger who wakes a boy who has fallen asleep in a nightmare tired of lust and incomprehensible vengeance.

That's enough for me.

It was a magician who named the white night after me.