Chapter 13: You Seem More Dashing??

Nuriel kicked Caladbolg across the dirt as her angelic face and atmosphere collapsed, and she spat on the sword with a strange face like a stern sneer while Lancelot was checking the bodies of the fallen necromancers to find anything useful.

—You damn angel! Fight me fair and square! I'll cut your bird wings up!

"Heh... Shall I bury in some disgusting bog? How dare you let our master touch you with that nasty aura!" Nuriel had never shown this side of her before because she wanted him always to see her best face.

—Damn it! He felt so good holding me—why would he want some ancient frigid virgin angel that probably doesn't even know what a fun time is?

"!!!"

Clang!

Once again, the smooth, fair foot of Nuriel kicked the sword, pulsating with black and red miasma, into the filthy bog, her blade slowly sinking as she smiled, hearing the sword's teary words of apologies, begging Nuriel to save her.

—Save me! It stinks.... please...!