Fly the Flag of Fire!

The man was suffering from hallucinations.

The illusion is not ready before or after time, up or down the heavens and earth, it is repeatedly appearing and extinguishing like countless foams, and it is intoxicating. I am confused by the fact that I have been shown an indefinite reproduction of who I am and what I am. They are so vast, long, and forceful to remember...... somewhere similar to the sight of defeat and outraged.

Defeat. Defeat on the battlefield. A reckless attempt to jump into a dead place and take it off. A way to live without paying for several lives. They tore my skin, scraped my flesh, exposed my bones... and still ran without stopping me from continuing to fight them. I fought. I fought through. I didn't resent or hate, I just chewed up my helplessness and ended it. That's the last thing I should have done. The man reflected so on his raw, remembering his differences with the present, and attempted to find out with it who he was.

I couldn't remember. A man cannot recall his name, nor can he recall the order of all that he should have seen and heard. The only impression on my mind just seems to be the aftertaste. Some faces come to mind. But I don't even know if that's due to the actual experience or what I saw in the imposing illusion. It was as if everything was floating in a void that was far from discernable in meaning and value.

In the confusion, he succeeded in opening his eyelids with some clap. Dim. Rough stone walls. Low ceilings. Stinks of dirt and mold mix in the cold air. The man suspected the dungeon. It seemed to me that death and decadence predate here. He's sleeping on his back. Is he a prisoner or a criminal, or a corpse... a man thinks like any other HR. My body doesn't move. I meant to move my hand in front of you, but it doesn't show in my sight. Actually, I don't seem to be able to move one finger. Or maybe my arms are transparent. I think that to throw.

"No way, man."

I could speak up. You can move your mouth and tongue. I thought I was also breathing, so I knew that my body still existed and lived even if I couldn't move. I was reminded if that was what threaded it or how to move the whole body. Heavy as a whole, the joints twitched, but the hands and feet moved as they wished to get the man up. Tickling the body surface is the feel of a cloth. He is wearing a loose piercing jacket. Others have no skin wear, no shoes, nothing.

And there was a prison. It is a small, thin, dirty room. The side facing the dark corridor is fitted with a rusty iron lattice. In a position close to the ceiling on the opposite wall, there is a hole like a thin slice that cannot even be reached, with blue and white light plugged in cold. Looks like he was sleeping on a stone bunk. Is the pot in the corner for bowel movements?

If I hung my hand on an iron lattice to try something, it wasn't locked or anything, and I opened it with a scream of metal as it looked. The man bends his back and twists it. There seem to be several similar cells in a row. The light of the light is slightly leaking at the end of the dark passage, shaking small and finely bright out.

There was nothing else the man could do than walk towards it. Not knowing everything is the same as knowing everything, and there is no room for stray or anxiety. I don't get invited or invited, I just go there with no expectations or anything. It's a cold, empty walk.

Up narrow, steep stairs. The lights come from above. There must have been a worn door at the poke and something beyond it. The man opened the door unconstitutionally. I didn't even have a reason to hesitate.

The fire was burning. Fireplace. Few firewood has been burned, and depending on the size of the fireplace it may be a small fire. Still, it must be emitting light and heat, and the man could feel both of them. There is also the smell of ash, which is preferable to the one that was breathing until a few moments ago.

"You're awake... congratulations"

A shady voice was squealed, and the man realized that the mass before the fire was human. An old man in thin dirty clothes, trying to wrap around the obsolete atmosphere of this place itself...... no, when he was in middle age. The man thought he was fat but lacked vitality and looked like an old livestock without being eaten.

"Can you name it?

Even when asked, it was not an answer. Just shake your head to the side. Different eyes are directed. It also resembled the leaking lights we saw in the prison aisle, felt like the only thing that left a man no choice.

"Name yourself Gilly."

"... my name"

"It is a word that means the one who dives and seeks falsely. You deserve it."

With more fire and more brightness, the man found out who the "dirty coat” was. I saw a glowing mark on my neck. What it meant was understandable to a man.

You're a church person.

"Ho, do you know that? So you're a denomination that takes root as a common sense of people. Congratulations."

What was the meaning of congratulations...... there was something thrown where the man questioned. I capture it with my hands reflexively and realize it's a white mask. It's a substitute for covering your forehead, eyes and nose.

"Half of it was cooked with acid. Still, it's not the face that got out in public."

"... you did it"

"That's right. Difficult to distinguish between corpses. I'm the one who saved you. Call me bishop."

And the bishop moved, saying, to another room. The man looked down again at the mask, then saw the fire swinging unreliably, and decided to follow. It shall touch its own forehead and wear a mask with its sensory distortion. It wasn't uncomfortable to wear.

There was a crude but wooden table in the ensuing room. The bishop comes and goes with shelves and kettles to prepare something. Placed on the tabletop without love seems to be food. The man noticed his own hunger when he saw it. My throat is dry too. But the desire to satisfy them never arose.

"Eat. It's what you need. The miracle will come to an end just by getting you up. Eating and sleeping are essential to living. Remember that."

"Live..."

"Those who breathe are the living. I also have a job. Eat first. Don't make me say it again and again."

It contained something unspoken but convincing. Chop dry with your hands, chew hard, and pour it into your belly with blue, smelly water. The man was observing the bishop as he continued the task. Sitting across from the table doesn't have the appearance of eating and drinking. I'm not looking anywhere, I'm silent, I can't feel the vibrancy, I'm just exposed to the sound of a meal.

"What is my job?

Just a breath away, the man asked. I didn't have to dare ask about my own history. Must not even be busy. I wasn't even interested.

"It's about killing one man. But that's the end result, and we'll have to kill hundreds of thousands before we get there. Or it can be more than 10,000. Countless people have already been paid."

"... is he a man worth that much"

"That's right. Killing that man means killing the times."

The lofty words were vomited with tired exhalation. The bishop did not intend to intimidate him with exaggeration, but merely told him what he thought. The man had something exciting about Russia. If the bishop is right, a great deal of work will be available for this raw man. I didn't know the joy was in my heart.

"Is it the army?"

"For now. I'm going to check things out, but you must have the talent to drive a cavalry. Grant a hundred rides over the Holy Grail Knights held by the Church. I'll start by training with this, and I'll see what you can do."

"With a hundred rides... or kill ten thousand?

"Don't be quick about it. I'm not a man who can kill awkwardly fast. The real battle will be years away."

"Can I live until then?"

"It has a lifespan, but if it is discussed and dies, that's it. It would be nothing to talk about, nothing to leave behind, and only expose the ugly neck to the public. Think of my hassle and die after I've accomplished my purpose. History will have a name."

The man learned the urge to come in from the bottom of his belly. My cheeks cramped, my throat rattled, and I couldn't stop leaking it. I laughed. I couldn't help but laugh.

He said that even the labor of locking him in a prison as if he had been abandoned was spared and abandoned, forcing him to raw his mask without knowing his own name or identity if he woke up, killing the rare only person whose purpose was to trample over countless corpses. There was also something that stained the head of the dream. There was also something to blast across my uncertain soul.

"Don't be irrational!

If he barked, the bishop also answered.

"... I'm not familiar with things that aren't, I am"

The man laughs again, even as the way he says it sounds obstinate. On this occasion as if devastation and depression reigned, madness was rather a desirable vitality. Men are happy to chew irrational without food and drink. I felt the power transmit to my limbs. I felt like I got some clothes I was used to wearing.

The man was convinced. It was and always has been irrationally painted with its own raw. As the bishop has also said, the world is very illogical and moves people's inconvenience as a matter of course. There is no such thing as weakness and reason. Only the mighty lay the way of reason. That is the truth.

"I... am your poison blade, right?

If you confirm, your dark plan eyes nod.

"That's right. I will use you to strike an unexpected blow to history and laugh a lot before dying. Otherwise, they'll kill you laughing with certainty about the future you act on. Either way, I'm gonna finish my life with a smile on my face. In that sense, I'm equal to serving you. Let him deliver the blade of venom with his whole body. Live for it and die for it. Me and you... take one era with you."

There was no grandeur in the bishop. It was just a dark passion rolling in boil. What made him think so much... The man thought while still forgiving the urge to laugh, but he didn't know easily, including the hearts of people and himself, and he just felt a strange sense of intimacy. The enthusiasm for ruin is conveyed comfortably.

Finally, he stopped laughing and the man made a decision. If you laughed a lot, even if you didn't know everything, you could do it alone. The man approved himself as a blade named Gilly. It was delightful. The mad laughing aftertaste even lingered sweet on my five fingers, holding something, waving, and craving to fight. I knew I was that kind of person. Then what are you hesitating to do?

The man... Gilly thinks. Perhaps it was me who just died fighting and breaking. If I am commanded, I will kill you. The target is so delightful that it is huge. Whatever it is, it's ridiculous. If only it had been an exquisite thing. Whether the man who exchanges is a mask or a pseudonym, events will be engraved in history. I thought the bishop was right.

Congratulations on your mission.

"That's right. I'm sorry this is so intimate. If you want, let's pray for blessings. You will not fight as a holy knight while leading a holy knight. I never get honors where I took part in the war. Because everything is false. Me and you are the only ones who know the true purpose. Those who can bless you, put me down and there's no one else."

"Let me ask you a favor. I'm still in the mood for birth."

If he kneels, the bishop puts his hand over his head. Hearing the mysterious worded prayer in his meditations, Gilly enjoyed the feeling that her life would begin. He seemed like a person of that nature to make it. Hardship and patience were real feelings of living. Fighting them and clearing my way as a sucker...... I believed it must be painful.

Prayer is over. The bishop went back to the chair looking dauntless, and Gilly dropped it off. I am uncertain about my age and the age of the bishop, but there seemed to be a difference in old age between myself and the bishop, who now gained the vitality of birth here. I can feel the mess. Your troubles must be sticky and always annoying him. That invited Gilly to pity.

Is that why? Gilly said the words without thinking of herself.

"Thank you, Father. My raw is going to be plentiful."

The reaction was outrageous. It represents the missing roundness between the eyes, nose and mouth on the fleshy face. Gilly was delightful. If he had cramped a laugh in the back of his throat, the bishop was the one who coughed and made an unpleasant voice.

"I think I'm about the same age as you, but, well, I'm a named parent. Fine. Privately, you can call me whatever you want. But publicly, my bishop, yes. I don't care if I'm wrong... um... don't be wrong, okay?

The manner in which the bishop proclaims himself busily often invites Gilly to laugh. Something noticed, or hun and snort, made the bishop turn that way. I started cleaning up my meal in a flavor of eight, something that had gained more strength than I could afford, or a dozen fried beans splashed and fell to the floor.

"I understand. So, what's your father's name?

"... it's Joaquim Beck. Does that sound familiar to you?

"No. No, but I remember. I won't forget."

After making a small declaration, Gilly crouched into the floor. Carefully look around in the scarcity of light, picking up and collecting every grain of beans. Gathered together on the palm of his hand, and paid dust, and rose up. The bishop looked surprised and looked at Gilly.

"I don't have any body. A grain of beans and nothing."

I meant to give the obvious explanation, but the reaction was just a giggle in return. Gilly suddenly threw a grain into her mouth, bit it, and swallowed it down. The taste seemed to spread to my mouth and stomach.

That was precisely the dawn at which one man was born.

Gilly with a white mask.

It is the name of a man who leads an elite hundred rides to help the forces of the southern part of the Kingdom of Asuria and becomes the tactical master of the Second Princess Margareta. It will be promoted on the recommendation of the Church and will convey the ingenuity of manoeuvre combat to the southern army with rigorous training. Without that, the battle between North and South may have been one-sided... he was a man of such extraordinary strength that he was told so.

But no one knows who it is.

Gilly rushes through without ever seeing anyone under the mask.