Because Janitor-san Is Not a Hero

A short roar echoed in the mountains.

The child warcraft never looked away after the parent warcraft staring at this one fell and fell, or after its body was covered in ice and thrown away somewhere. He had his short ears pinned without one extra squeal.

What the hell are you staring at?

I didn't even try to jump into the scene, I just kept staring at my parents.

The collector wonders if he would have jumped in there.

I was wondering if I would have jumped myself if the Kid Warcraft had jumped in.

I calmly recall that you wouldn't have jumped.

When it's a natural dish, you can't help yourself. I don't know what I could do, I couldn't even get there in the first place.

He said he probably shouldn't even be dead over the valley with his current powers.

I'll give you a reason, but it was uncomfortable. Bad ass sitting.

Kid Warcraft falls behind Cotten.

As the collector reflexively offered his hand, the weight of the fudge fit neatly in his hand.

The child warcraft seemed tired and asleep, his chest small and swollen and squished.

When the treasurer holds the child warcraft and turns back to the back room, he leaves behind the child warcraft in the room where he grew up.

I was wondering where to sleep.

In the meantime, I took off my overcoat in work clothes and placed a baby warcraft wrapped in a towel that was wrapped around my neck on it.

Next, the keeper stomachs himself wondering if it's food.

In the meantime, he fished the food pantry saying that creatures like deer seemed easy, and found a deer with three horns like the three moons. The builder, who has a slightly lower room temperature but was not likely to be lifted, decides to dismantle it on the spot. Of course I never dismantled it or anything.

"Fire."

The surrounding ice slowly begins to unravel, but the sun is likely to set in the embodiment of the fire elf.

Though it's a big swing, it's not going to cut off ice or anything with a knife at the waist.

The blade doesn't actually stand.

The treasurer recalls that he had the fire sperm wrapped around him to prevent the cold.

Bring magic into the perimeter of the knife and invite the fire elves. The fire has drifted, but this is just a warm knife.

Gradually increase the amount of magic.

Then the knife became red hot and melted when he put the blade on the ice as it was.

Magic sword, etc., not. I'm just magically heating the knife very inefficiently.

Now the collector just dismantled one deer leg while fluttering.

When the collector returned to the room in charge of it, he magically built a simple foundation behind the furnace with earth sperm, putting on a deer leg that had just been separated from the joint with a thermal knife.

Finally, he led the knife's fire sperm into the enclosure, and the collector passed out.

Leaving the fire alone. Stun is a kicken extreme, but there's nothing I can do.

That's how magic doesn't recover. Because excess life force is pooled in sleep. Both surplus production and vessels that are pooled are gradually but larger and fainting and painful by using magic, but that expansion required guts and distress so that not all people on Earth could become Olympians.

The current collectors were to the extent that they had finally become ordinary people in this world.

- Mimi. No, Mimi.

The collector glances at Patti for the feeling of pushing him in the face.

Did you even make him hungry? Even when the collector woke up, the child warcraft didn't stop ringing.

Smelled like burning. Looking at the fact that the room is not filled with black smoke, it seems to add or subtract just fine.

The zodiac rises and holds the child warcraft and looks at the enclosure, which has been completely reduced to a fire elf.

The black burnt deer legs sat dengue. If you look where the whole thing is burning even though you haven't even flipped it, maybe the fire elf did a prank as well.

Maybe the fire elf distracted him and covered the whole meat with fire.

Sometimes it distracts me by creeping my will if I continue to give magic to the same fire elf, but the race basically cannot visually confirm the Spirit, so I cannot choose to do it. Except it's a completely confined space, but places that can't penetrate the Spirit don't exist that way.

It would be a coincidence because of this place, which is extremely sparse of fire elves.

Mi Mi Ringing Kid Warcraft on a horseshit, the collector takes the knife in his hand.

The fur on my legs is not in my account in the first place.

The collector scrapes the burnt fur over the enclosure and thinly slices the well-fired meat under the fur to taste.

I'll strip another piece of meat and carry it to the mouth of the Beast, even though there's no salt but it's been a long time since I've felt a little more uplifted by the meat, but the smell of a little burning will do anything.

Kid Warcraft doesn't say anything when it rings.

Rather than mouthless, he looked like he had meat all over his mouth.

Kid Warcraft can't eat meat.

This is something I didn't even think about for a collector. It would be more normal to think you could eat it because the Parent Warcraft carried the meat.

A parent warcraft dies putting aside meat that a child warcraft cannot eat.

Did you entrust my son, or was he just pitied and given a charity by a collector?

I don't know what the Parent Warcraft intends. Maybe I don't have that clear intent. The beast is a beast.

The collector thinks a little.

With meat and child warcraft aside, he went outside.

There was snow in the hands of the soon returning collector that was put into something like a earthy pot.

Placing it in the enclosure to strengthen the fire sperm, he removed portable food like French bread from the rucksack and cut it with a knife and threw it in as the snow began to melt and turn into water.

I've been connecting the lives of my collectors for a hundred and eighty days. Apparently this food is quite nutritionally balanced, and this is the only thing I should have eaten. The collectors didn't get sick enough to say at all.

It had melted in the drool. When he knifed it around and put it slightly on his finger and it was cold, the possessor carried it to the mouth of the child warcraft.

Tutu and Sucking Out Kid Warcraft.

Still looks like a milk drinker.

The collector repeated it many times.

I wonder why I pushed him into a cave while I did it, slept with him, left him with meat he wouldn't even eat and my son, and died fighting.

Was it entrusted to you?

Was it applied?

I'm not the one who can communicate clearly.

Is there no consistent answer?

For a long time, the Beast fell asleep looking for answers that I didn't even know I could think of.

He gently creased into a towel and put it on a folded work outfit, and the keeper hung the completely chilled meat in his stomach.

For the first time in a long time, the meat satisfied the tongue and stomach of the keeper, whether cold or warm.

After eating, a gentle breeze shook the fire sperm as the collector slept through the sprinkles.

The collector rubbed his eyes like a hundred million bucks and stood up to close the lid of a cave he had completely forgotten.

On an unseen night without the moon, I saw a flaming light on the mountain skin across the street.

After a little thought as to whether he was still there, the collector asked the wind elite to give him magic.