I'll Live My Second Life! Chapter 13

(This is my Division Captain…)

As Fii looked at him, what she wondered was as you’d expect,

(Why is he wearing a mask…?)

But she didn’t really want to ask him.
It would be terrible if she offended him and he rescinded his offer to her.
Also, for some reason he felt a little difficult to approach.

After York’s concise introduction ended, it was everybody else’s turn.

“I’m Conrad. Nice to meetcha, Newbie!”

First off was the plain-faced youth.
His height and weight were average, perhaps just a little on the slender side, and his face didn’t have any distinguishing features. He seemed to have a bright personality, and when Fii considered the tea from earlier, she decided that he was probably good at looking after others.
But… Normal? Plain? Featureless? Unmemorable? When she looked at his face, that was the impression she got.

(He seems a little suspicious…)

That was her conclusion.

The next was the large man from before.

“…”

Though all he did was write ‘Orbull’ on some paper, jab his thumb at himself, and then wink.

“Orbull can’t speak. He’s huge, so he takes care of the fighting and weapons transports in our division. His hobby is horticulture,” added Crow.

‘Gardening,’ explained Orbull.

“Apparently his dream was to become a knight and do some gardening in the royal gardens, but he can’t now that he’s in our division.”

Which was the reason for all these pot plants, Crow explained, as Fii watched the slightly dejected-looking Orbull.

“I see…”

Fii found it a little pitiful.

(It’s too bad he can’t just use the garden in that villa.)

It was a small one, but it did have a garden and flower bed at least. Although it was messy, and seemed to have seen some long disuse.
But well, she couldn’t leave the villa as the Second Queen, and she could hardly give permission as Heath. In the end, it was impossible.

“Your flowers are incredibly beautiful. I’m looking forward to the day that you finally get a flowerbed to use.”

Hearing Fii’s words, Orbull gave a somewhat embarrassed, but happy laugh.

He’s a good person.

“I’m Palwick, the long-range attacker in our group,” said the eye-patched man.

“He’s a bow expert. Even at 200 metres, he’s never missed a mark.”

Once again, Crow elaborated further.

Fii simply thought it was amazing. The man said to be the best in Déman had a success rate of only 70% at 120 metres.

Chapter end