Gathered in front of Krysaos were the noble members of the hero party, the young guys and gals that'd be the final line of defense against the end of the Realm as everyone knew it.
A girl with a long, silver ponytail crawled onto the beach, her face filthy with sand.
Her thin, orange robes were completely drenched.
So, naturally, they clung to...
Uh.
--nothing to write home about.
That should have been Kimura Taree, a Martialist from the White Scale sect.
At any rate, she was too young for him.
Beside her was a purple-haired girl in a neat, white set of plate armor. Soft waves continued to crash onto her lower back, but she looked too exhausted to care.
But along with the flowing seawater, the girlie was dripping with divine aura-- god-juice, Krysaos liked to call it. There was so much of it that it almost hurt to look at her directly.
That must have been Troia, the Princess of the Holy Country.
