Dungeon+Harem+Master

The collector had carefully carried out the final check in the modem before the qualifying period began shortly. The “Black Lion”, a love knife, is deposited with Loulou because the weapon cannot be used with it.

White boots are grated, so I'm not familiar with them yet. I wrapped the gate tightly so that the hem of my swollen trousers wouldn't get tangled. The area around the nose still hurts. Shit.

Looks like the blow from that Humberto thing just hit me. The collector gently pressed his index finger around the cartilage of his nose from the top of the paper bag he wore.

Ugh. The cartilage is not crushed. Even if it is broken, it recovers quickly with the power of the crest, but it doesn't make it go away until the pain, so I just feel a little gloomy.

As such, I wonder if I should put a little something in my belly before a long battle, but I don't have time to go outside the arena and buy food.

Looking around in the understatement, everyone in the contestants became nervous, and no one was eating anything for a long time. Well, I guess it's better than getting punched in the stomach and being stuffy, and sitting on the bench, I was offered a hard looking black bread in front of me. Lifting his gaze, he notices the person, and he hasn't eaten anything yet, but his throat becomes clogged.

"I'm Chris. Eat this, if you like. Uh, definitely a name."

Papyrus, the mask.

"Right, Mr. Papyrus. You're not hungry. Let's make it hard. What do you say?"

"Mmm. I appreciate the offer, though."

The collector couldn't contain the upset with eyes on Andrew State Army soldier Chris Hartier, Hilda's man who almost caused this one in front of him.

"Just now. I watched you try to help the receptionist."

"Oh, wow."

"I'm betting on this game. So then. I ran to keep myself safe. Pathetic. If it's true, as an orderly warrior, I would have had to stop that big fat bastard. And yet, I am. It's over. It's in my balls.

What happens if I rub it here? What happens when you can't compete... I have no pity for myself. I'm gonna cry. I should have sworn to the dead owl, too. Become a coward. "

"As it is, well, there is something important about each person. When you prioritize something, you need to be prepared to throw something away. You just chose something more important and you won't be ashamed of yourself. Besides, if I hadn't stopped that guy then, the guards at the tournament would have managed. It's nothing but trivial self-satisfaction, like what I did."

(Or so I say. What, this guy's an asshole? Why don't you notice my voice?

"No, I'm glad you said that. Something's gotten to me. Look, I bought it at the store, but don't hesitate to eat it."

"Young man. Let's encourage it together."

"Oh. Even if we're going to fight somewhere. Let's compete with dignity, Papyrus, the mask."

When Chris laughed manly with Ni, he shyly followed the modem by saying he would get used to his body on the fighting table first. What? Talk to me, isn't that a pretty refreshing good one?

(But I can't let Hilda go, no matter what. hmmm I wonder what's going on)

"Clan, Toto Papyrus mask. Hey!"

"Hmm...? Duh!"

Raise your gaze to your voice. There was Nelly with a harsh look on her face as she grabbed Hilda's root, swollen in bread.

The collector walked out of the gallery and formed into the corner of the hallway, holding Hilda, who sneered. Because I couldn't stand the curious gaze of a large number of participants.

"- Well, in short, Hilda made me appear from the beginning, knowing everything, and yet he made me the subject of a bet. Is that what this is about?

"Shh, shh, shh. But, because it is. I didn't mean it."

Hilda was helpless in front of Nelly's obstinate interrogation. In other words, she already had a complete understanding of who it was when the collector was attacked in the alley.

This would be responsible for a definite treachery in a Romless world where the wife is considered part of her husband's half-asset, although it seems harsh.

Now, even though I have a husband, I was making a man close to me. Even if it is part of the service, it is Hilda's wife who will be judged if she goes out.

"With your extra means, Klander was supposed to expose the disgrace in public that he didn't have to take! I know, really!

I guess Nellie says the collector twisted his humbelt crotch to make it worse.

Hilda embraced Nellie even more, awfully frightened.

She says she's scared when a beauty gets angry, but that's exactly what she's typical of. The treasurer made Hilda's little back stroke a good sound, wondering what happened to Nelly.

"Okay. Because it was awesome. Nellie scolded me so badly, she wouldn't say anything from me."

"Shijuki! Krandy and gentle. Hilda, Tashiyuki! Shh shh shh shh."

"Hey, don't. Nose."

"Um. Hilda. You know your current situation? You weighed your husband and other men approved by the church. In the light of the law of the Romless, often to the farm of exposition. If it's bad - this."

Nellie let her hit her neck muscle shruggedly when she made the knife. Hilda screamed briefly, rubbing it on the sleeve of the keeper, moisturizing her eyes like a cornered little animal.

"I told you to leave it at that. Hilda, I'm sorry, too. I didn't think about your feelings, I couldn't help it. You mean we'll be careful with each other in the future, don't you think?

"Ugh. I'll stop gambling."

- That's a lie, isn't it?

"Ugh. Yeah. Honestly, the flow was fine. So, but so. I'll try my best."

"Ha. This doesn't make me feel free and mean. … so what do we do?"

"What are you gonna do?"

"The tournament. You don't have to leave anymore, do you? It's an honor, but it's nothing but a spectacle from the nobles and the greats. I don't think there's any point in running until you take the risk."

"Yeah. Well, that's it for now. I'll try to get out. And..."

"And?"

"Somehow, I want to test my powers. I want to know how far I can go now."

When the meat's hot air left the sparkling modem, his vision opened unexpectedly. Overhead stood the audience seats surrounding them, boiling a cheer that would break about 30,000 spectators, who had paid large tickets. The collector was swallowed by the field air only for a moment, but coughed while guzzling the paper bag mask, he quietly lined up in a row followed by a slack.

At the reception, pull the whale in the carton. There are two types of colors: red and blue. Apparently, there are over 3,000 participants alone. Would it be an allocation of qualifications? The collector was then forced to select a gain within the arsenal.

Basically, serious use is forbidden at the tournament, so I chose a simulated sword with a blade pull. Even if it's crushing the blade, it's a mass of iron. Depending on where you hit, you could easily die instantly. It's often a straight line of the imperfect course.

The man behind the collector had chosen a giant iron rod that seemed useless. Oh, I knew I wanted to change it that way, but while I was guzzling, under the pressure of the old men in the back row, it popped out front. Mindless.

Here, body checks are carried out at the hands of Games staff. Inspections are kept tight so as not to bring in dark utensils or excess. The collector had the same bare hands, so I don't particularly keep handmade goods. After the reception, he had a bogged view of two huge martial arts fields made of stone, situated in front of him in Deng.

- Speaking of which, you haven't seen Sizka and Mary since. I think the collector. This is all the crowd. I have no choice. I would certainly be competing. Victoire finally didn't see it in the understatement either.

I wondered what the qualifying would look like, and Victoria gently went up to the stage made directly in front of the contestants and spoke long of the opening ceremony proclamation.

Around, heavily armed knights, such as the warring posture itself, have gathered long spears for a thousand or so people, even if they estimate less.

Even if the three thousand participants who do not have themselves suddenly strike, so that they can suppress it immediately, it is not her extraordinary courage to be able to expose herself so far in front of a large number of people at a time when she knows her life is clearly being targeted by the Godrum Order.

"- Therefore, the participants will compete in a dignified martial arts and we would like you to fight your best. I hereby declare the opening of the Silver Star Cup martial arts tournament in the hope that the great Romles will prosper for a long time and that the King's Ridge (Michi) will soon reach the ends of the earth."

The thankful lesson of Victoria, the Lord's deputy, had come to an end when things were delayed.

"So, speaking of which, what is the existence of the whale I just pulled?"

"I would like to say to all the participants: If you have the red whale you pulled earlier, it's on your right. It's on the battle bench. If you have blue whales, please do not raise them to the left hand fighting table - Please note that we are pushing for more time than planned, so please move quickly."

"What the fuck?"

"Can we get up to this?"

"I've got over 3,000. No matter how wide it is, you can't even see the gap."

"What the fuck? I don't know what's gonna happen."

He climbed onto a fighting platform with cobblestones all circular according to an announcement by Games staff.

I see. So there's going to be a game here. Sure, on a board that's too wide to fight individually, but climbing all together would be near impossible first. Exactly. There's no room for cones. Gradually, the participants' dull grievances exploded without being able to contain them.

(Stinks...... and it's hot. Oui, oi, oi! Who is it, the one with my ass right now? I'm here! I'm sure there's a faggot uncle in here. Wow! He's a tournament clerk! What are you doing, Ooh! There's a good young man here who's been sexually harassed.

The collector stood silently saying, "You can't beat such humiliation," etc., but in time, the surrounding participants withered their voices and screamed as they grossly squandered.

"Hey, just do whatever it takes to get started. Hey."

"We don't have much money. We're paying for it!

"Operations. Get to work. Whoa."

"Mom, Mom. I'm scared here. Ugh."

"Er. Then I'll explain the rules because it looks like all the participants didn't stay and came up on the stage. First, in terms of qualifying, you are disqualified when you fall off that bench. Disqualified at the time of falling into a state of non-combat. That's it. Please note that intentional killings will immediately disqualify you from appearing, but please be advised that the resulting accident will be handled as unfortunate."

Officials conclude the rules explanation with a clear voice that often resonates, "Hmm?" He looked strange and looked directly at the faces of the silent participants. Because he is the most bearded middle-aged man, there was no such thing as cuteness. The more than three thousand fighters are uniformly frozen but lurking their breath.

"What's wrong? The game has already begun."

The word cut the lid of battle. First off, it was the unlucky participants who had been located outside the fighting bench who had fallen off early. They became carriers who exited in ringouts like doodles and avalanches without showing their almost proud martial arts. That number, red and blue, combined, about five hundred people.

Next, a close range battle begins with or without a dense zone. In beatings in crowded conditions, the more disadvantaged a person with a long one was.

Shown shining here are the "strikers" who gain bare-handed combat without weapons. Everywhere, a fierce groan rises.

The collector was moving on all fours, wriggling desperately at the feet of the crowd. This is hard to find out. Doing so, you were thinking the same thing, and you saw a small shadow crawling from the front.

"Oh, thank you so much"

"Oh, no. You're welcome. - That voice, Clandestine?

The bareback madness raising his voice and turning his eyes round was the figure of Meryandale, who had been abducted by Dorothea to extinguish her figure like smoke for the past six months or so.

"Oops. Seriously, you went to the tournament."

"Clando, Clando. After all, I can't do it. Ugh. It would be impossible to win such a battle royal!

The collector stroked and stroked Meryandale's head, desperately clinging to her, teasing her reunion chew first, but couldn't taste the feel of her softened lips because it was from the top of the paper bag.

"And follow me anyway. For starters, run and run until the number of enemies is reduced. If you do, it won't open the way."

"Yes, I will follow Klund."

The two are running away trying to sew at the feet of the struggling fighters. If you're asked if this is the right way to fight, you'll have to twist your neck, even if you're not an expert.

On the other hand, in the Blue Whale fighting platform, the participants, who were unluckily assigned there, had been buried early in arrow by Victoire and Sizka's sword.

Victoire, who could not participate just by his real name, hid his face in a butterfly mask, under the ring name "Madame Butterfly," showing off the great work of the octagonal hexagon arm. Anyway, as she moves slightly to the right and to the left, the pieces and countless men faint.

It's not Sizka who misses this. She gives little time to her enemies to move, exerting enough speed to make use of her small body, and keeps swinging her sword like a blazing wind.

There's no way we can show remarkable strength so far that we don't notice each other. The sound of the iron rod meshing intensely, albeit with blade pulling, is vicious. In a way they called each other nature, confronting each other in the center of the arena, they began to slash each other silently, not least from either side.

With the exception of them, when it comes to fighters who stand out in the blue arena, the stick from the North named Lemonade Alamita and the genius of marchano with the alias "Great Storm” steadily diminish the number of other participants. Less than a few dozen minutes after the start of the battle, the number of red and blue fighting platforms had been halved, but it was still a long way from here.

Previously, it took time to compete one at a time, but this time Victoria, the host, caught the prize money, which prevented her from renting the arena from the commercial guild for a long time. Unless there is a huge event like this one, the venue is overpriced because this arena is competing mainly for the gladiators who are slaves.

In other words, most of the cost of holding the event was turned to the prize money, thus forcing the compression of the date and time as much as possible.

- Shit. It's getting harder and harder to escape because fewer people are coming.

The collector, in one turn, was forced to struggle. Anyway, I don't know if the paper bags and white outfits on them stand out, but the other participants have all been focused on the collectors.

I'm already far from Meryandale, and I can see I've managed to escape in the distance, but I couldn't afford to be helping.

"Death Neck."

"Damn it! Don't just come after me, you fucking fat fuck!

The treasurer swung his long sword at his tibia as he rolled his gobbly foot at the foot of the giant man who had slammed his huge hand axe. Oops, and the sound of the bone slapping and cracking rang, and the big man screamed, "Aww." but the game is battle royal. I don't have time to breathe, I have to keep moving left to the right.

Still, did you beat down another fifty or so? Breathing is rough, but stamina remains. It was a nice-middle-haired, silver-haired, middle-aged man dressed in beautiful blue monochrome clothes who was showing a glimmer of remarkable movement among the fighters who continued to fight with anger.

"That's Vesel...!

"That's the man who won three times in a row. Different from Piercing Loch."

The men who were slashing each other stopped their hands and were spotted in middle-aged men.

Veisel Bromstrand. This time around, the most prestigious knight in the Lower Horse Review with the most winning call was beating down the men coming across the street one after the other with graceful foot judgment to dance.

(Don't do it. Somehow, he's a sophisticated sword user! Don't come near me.

Even if you can't make it to the finals, if you can get a knife in Vesel, it's possible enough to make a name for yourself on this Romless continent. It's not where the duck has been shaving the onions.

Also, there are naturally not many grand aristocrats in this tournament who will be watching with fame and patience from all over the place. To be appreciated by men incapable of anything but swords, it was only natural for them to literally put even one of their scratches on Veysel and make a leap to boast of their existence.

As if to mock it, Veysel's sword was crossed. The giant oak shook down the battle axe directly from the front, wondering if there would be a few tons. However, when Veisel let his silver eyes shine quietly, he combined his swords in just a few movements to try to change the trajectory of the falling axe.

Oak's right arm flashed at a comma seconds to grasp the situation. Oak falls to his forehead as he spits his pretence and red and black blood, whether he was choked in the throat with an unstoppable early thrust in his eyes.

"Sa. Who's my next opponent?

Exactly. It's just a task for Veysel. Even the style of the king drifts to its self-righteous appearance. So when the collector snuck behind the men who were blinded by his battle, he continued to inflict blows to his brain and stun him.

"Oh, that's a lot of cowardly fighting."

"Am I? Do I have cowardice or shit? You win. You win."

I turned around tongue-in-cheek at the woman's voice.

- Whoa. This has to be porn again. Oh!

The collector immediately ran blood to the corpus cavernosum of his groin when he saw a chestnut-haired woman warrior equipped with bikini armor, such as an almost exposed maniac, who was healthy rapier in front of him.

"I do agree with you. You just have to win. If you win!"

"Ugh. Whoa, hey! Tamma! Wait, if you stay"

"Whoa! Yah. Ha!"

The female warrior has challenged the collector with sword moves that are reaching an extremely high standard. Considering that the number of participants remaining around is already small, it would be a considerable strength. In fact, the sharpness of her stepping in and rapier poking can be fatally damaging in some places around.

In the first place, the collectors are not so good at defense. Otherwise, you won't have to take as much damage every time you fight a mighty enemy. No matter how masked you are hiding your face, you can't lose a qualifying round like this.

The collector drank tears and put his strength into a fist with a sword to defeat the female warrior who dared to attack him when he changed his expression (* no one knows because it is in a paper bag).

"Shit! Yeah, no!

Mm-hmm. But.

"Eh! Don't run away. This whoa."

But I don't know about this.

As he stepped into each step, the Zao had a jittery glimpse into the frivolous twin hills of a big woman-warrior.

Rough and disturbing breathing. Erotic grains of sweat flowing through the valley. Whenever you're thirsty or sometimes a pink tongue licking your flirty lips enters your sight, some mozzled chest stiffness captures the treasurer and keeps you from leaving.

(Shit. I want to rub it. I want to shave. Forced to push it down, huh? Now you understand which one's up there, woman warrior. Hopefully, you're forcing me to take away my crying lips, push open those munchy legs, and force me to put in and out weird sticks...!

"You look like you're gonna do pretty good. I didn't want to use this move until I got to the finals."

When the female warrior untied the fencing-like poking side, she restated Rapier with blue eyes.

Bullshit. Bullshit. The collector is obsessed with boobs that rock. Not quite.

Or it's like she's self inflicted on charm magic even though she hasn't done anything.

"Special sword. Mirage Dance!"

"Whoa, more tits!

When the female warrior moved her body into small pieces as she shrugged, she created several pseudonyms like a palatine flame.

But for the collector, there are just more objects to rub loose.

"Huh? What is it, you?"

"That, penetrate!

"Nah, nah."

When the collector threw down his sword, Lupindive greeted him into the assembly. No way, even though female warriors say they are "special" or something, they are easily pushed down on the spot by surprises, not expecting to suddenly throw away their scores and grab them.

"Patience. Your daughter is impatient. I don't like the way you invite guys like this!

"Oh, no. I'm still new here! I don't care if you die in the first place with this weird masked bastard."

As the collector stripped the female warrior's bra, he grabbed the plump cherry blossom buds without hesitation from breast to breast.

It was just a scandal at the beginning of the Games. The officials I saw crawl up on the stage and try to stop the collector, but the men with blood on their heads don't know what it is, and whoever he is is is slaughtered.

Guests in the audience saw this. No, they thought the criticism would continue, but it was against expectations.

In the first place, there's no way a person who wants to see such a bloody show until he pays a fortune to do so will do booing.

"That's good, brother. Proud of you, stick him in."

"There, there. Hahaha. This is a lot more interesting than a bad final."

A tsunami-like laugh boiled from all over the spectator's seat.

"Oh, my head."

Meanwhile, in far-sighted sorcery in the ultra-VIP seat, Victoria, who was the only one to recognize the identity of the papyrus mask, remembers a mild dizziness and leans against the back of the chair.

"Yikes! Yikes! Yikes!"

The female warrior defended her chastity by jumping off the scene herself, holding down her dewy chest with both hands.

"Ahhh. Have you escaped?"

Games officials even showed the unfortunately shrieking paperbagged Phantom, pointing his scornful gaze at Pupu and pointing him to the side.

"Ha. I don't know. It's not gonna be fun without this kind of fun."

Turning around, Meryandale stood there like a ghost with a lost expression.

The expression is dark. And the treasurer laughed, and put his hand upon his head, and he was pressed with his hands against his shoulder with a dong.

Is that it? I wonder why? Why is this me dancing through the universe?

God, tell me. Right now, I'm going to buy a seven-dozen donut.

"Yes, brother, you don't disqualify. Thanks for your hard work. Welcome home."

It took a few seconds for the clerical words of the officials to penetrate the brain. If you notice, the collector was pushed out of the circular fighting table and had his butt on the lawn.

Wait, wait. I don't know the situation.

"There is? Maybe, Mr. Mary. Are you mad at me?

"... Klund's Fool"

Zanen, I've lost all of my boku here.

The old Famicon shrugged like that, but his heart stood a dark fog of milky white that never cleared up.

To commemorate his participation, he received a bronze medal from the staff and walked down the aisle leading to Tobotobo and the modem room.

When I looked up, there were more scratches of brand-new walls everywhere with an angry blow from the crippled. The collector also slammed the simulated sword he rented against the stone wall thoughtfully, but only misery recruited it.

"Klund......"

And when I looked up, Nellie, who looked worried, approached me as if she had stayed.

Yeah, that's fine. Anyway, I'm just a guy with a mouth. Oh, oh. You can scold me as usual. "Somehow, I'd like to test my powers," he said, laughing me off with things I'm good at. No, seriously, he would do that, and the collector himself was amazed at the depth of the heartbreak that was disturbing him in the thousands.

"Hey. Were you hurt? Are you okay? I'm sorry, but I tried my best to be a kland, so, that's enough. Let's forget it. Hey."

- Whoa, whoa. You're my mother!

Unlike the collector's idea, Nelly had a gentle grin like a Mercy Mother. Peel the bag off his face and jump into his chest. Sweet, smells like milk and my heart whispers quietly.

"Oh, too, I wonder if Klund has become a baby. Let's go. Daijibu. Nobody, because they haven't noticed. Go, go. Because I'm with you. Hey."

Then, a few hours later, the heated battle of qualifying marked the end, with the election of eight brave men following the finals.

Blue set. Four.

Sizca de Charpanthier, with a song knife.

Lemonade Alamita, the score is a stick.

Madame Butterfly (* Victoire de Barthelmy) The score is a sword.

Marchano, the score is a spear.

Red set. Four.

Meryandale Carlier, the object is the sword.

Citrus, the score is a stick.

Veisel Bromstrand, the object is the sword.

Regis Dopardon, founder of Regis Stream Martial Arts and bare hands.

The strongest was to be contested by a total of eight.

- The collector lost in the qualifying round by trying to be flirted with by fate.