Rokka no Yuusha - Volume 2 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 
Advance into the Howling Vilelands 

Mora Chester was the Saint of Mountains and the current Elder of the venerable All Heavens Temple, impeccably skilled and well regarded by the Saints. She had a reputation for being both impartial and strict in her governance, with a serious talent for educating the younger Saints. People said that, at this time—the eve of the revival of the Evil God, it was amazingly fortunate for humanity to have a Temple Elder such as her. 
So why did Mora kill Hans Humpty? Part of the answer lay in the life she’d led. 
Mora had been fortunate in life. Born in the Land of Silver Peaks, the youngest daughter of a wealthy lumber merchant, she had grown up beloved by her parents, her older brother, and their employees. Mora’s father had deep connections with the Temple of Mountains, since the Spirit of Mountains was the protector of their family’s industry, and it was through those connections that Mora had been initiated into that temple as an acolyte at thirteen. 
Life at the temple had been busy and strict, but this did not trouble Mora. She had a serious personality, excelled at her studies, and possessed superior self-discipline compared to other girls her age. When she was nineteen, the previous Saint of Mountains retired, and Mora was chosen from among the acolytes to be the next Saint. As she was the most exceptional of their number, all agreed that she was the correct choice. 
Following her selection, Mora’s uncommon aptitude blossomed. In just three years, she became one of the most powerful fighters among the Saints. She also proved herself highly capable when it came to managing the temple’s territory and other tasks. At the age of twenty-six, she assumed the office of the Elder of the All Heavens Temple. When she accepted the designation from the previous Elder, Leura, three-quarters of the eighty Saints endorsed her. 
Mora had just about everything a person could want: favor, renown, status, power, wealth, and the talent to wield all of those resources appropriately. But to Mora, none of that mattered. She had accepted her position as the Elder of the All Heavens Temple simply by virtue of the fact that no one else had been suitably qualified. Her popularity and reputation were unimportant. As for wealth, getting by without struggling was enough for her. Even her great power as the Saint of Mountains was something she could easily cast aside once there was no longer a need for it. 
Something else was more important to her. 
Roughly three years before the awakening of the Evil God, Mora had attended the Tournament Before the Divine in Piena—the place where Adlet would later cause an uproar. 
“Princess!” chided Mora. “How many times must I say this for you to understand?! You may manifest as many blades as you like, but there’s no point if none of them hit!” 
She was accompanying three young Saints who aspired to be Braves of the Six Flowers and whom she had been called upon to instruct. At the time, Mora considered it her most important duty. 
“How about this, then!” said Nashetania, Saint of Blades, summoning her signature weapons from the ground in rapid succession and flinging them unrestrained at Mora. Impressive as the feat might have seemed, she was slow, and her accuracy was lacking. 
Mora casually repelled the blades with her gauntlets and slipped under Nashetania’s guard to give her a good, hard punch. “You have power in such excess, but you fail to control it! You may defeat weaklings like that, but never more powerful foes. Next!” 
“Roger, boss! Today’s the day I’m finally gonna beat you up!” The next to challenge Mora was the Saint of Salt, Willone. Her power turned anything she hit into a lump of salt. But even an instant-kill punch was pointless if it failed to connect. Mora dodged her monotonous swings with her upper body alone and swept the girl’s legs out from under her at the first sign of an opening. Willone staggered, and Mora slammed her backward with a kick. 
“Your attacks are dull and repetitive! And if you don’t learn how to fight from a distance, you shall never grow! Next!” 
“Wahhh , nooo! You’re just too strong, Lady Mora!” Liennril, Saint of Fire, hurled flames at her mentor. 
But with a mere wave of her hands, Mora dispersed the flames and deflected them back toward Liennril. “Is that your full power? Pray to the Spirit of Fire and strengthen yourself!” Mora was about to say Next! when she remembered that she only had three students, and Nashetania of Blades, Willone of Salt, and Liennril of Fire had been defeated. “You all lack discipline. All of you, come at me at once!” 
The three struggled to their feet and attacked her. Their training continued until each of them was incapable of moving another muscle. 
That evening, after training was over, Mora walked down the hallway of the coliseum that would host the Tournament Before the Divine. The three girls were headed out of the coliseum to the healer’s room. 
Nashetania’s potential is frightening. She will likely surpass me within three years. Willone still has room for growth, too—but Liennril may have hit a plateau. Should I order her to retire and educate a new Saint of Fire, or would it be better to wait until Liennril matures a bit? How can I raise talented warriors and nurture their growth to the point where they are strong enough to defeat the Evil God? These were among the many ruminations swirling in Mora’s mind as she walked. 
But as she vacated the coliseum and continued through the lavish halls of Piena’s royal palace, gradually, thoughts of battle faded from her mind, and she forgot about the looming confrontation with the Evil God. 
“I’m home, Shenira. Have you been a good girl today?” Mora opened the door to the guest room in the corner of the palace, and a tottering girl leaped into her arms. In that moment, Mora changed from a warrior burdened with protecting the world to a simple mother. “What kind of games did you play today, Shenira?” 
“I played snakes and ladders with Daddy,” her daughter replied. 
“Snakes and ladders, hmm? I’d love to play that with you, too. Oh, you cute little thing.” Mora picked up her beloved only child. She’s gotten rather heavy. The mother’s face relaxed into a smile. “Up we go!” she cried, raising the girl high into the air. 
“You’re a pampered child indeed, Shenira,” came a voice, and as Mora played with her daughter, an older man with strands of white in his hair appeared out of the guest room. “Good grief, Mora, you become an entirely different person when she’s around.” Ganna Chester was Mora’s husband and twenty years her elder. 
Saints were not required to be single. Nearly half of the seventy-eight had families, and many of the Saint candidates had lovers or husbands. Mora had married Ganna before inheriting the power of the Saint of Mountains. 
“Shenira, your mother is tired. Come.” Ganna picked up the child. 
“I don’t mind at all, not something like this. Come, Shenira, play with Mother,” Mora said, stealing her daughter back from Ganna’s arms. 
As the little girl enjoyed her elevator ride, Ganna watched and shrugged. “Good grief. It’s your fault that Shenira is growing up spoiled.” 
“What are you talking about? What’s wrong with a bit of coddling? Come, Shenira, time for the swing!” Mora leaned over and swung her gently from side to side. She felt bad for her husband, but at that moment, she wanted to be with her daughter. Only Shenira could make her forget the weight of her role as Temple Elder. 
Mora and Ganna had been married for over ten years. They had thought perhaps they couldn’t have children, but just as they were about to give up trying, they had been blessed with a treasure. Shenira had grown soundly, with no illnesses or issues. Mora’s daughter was well. Those without children would surely be incapable of imagining how much encouragement and resolve that fact gave the Saint. 
Ganna was a good husband. He had no special abilities, and his knowledge and courage were average. But he was faithful and tenderly affectionate. He, instead of Mora, managed the household, occasionally assisting Mora in her role as Temple Elder. Without him, she most likely could not have withstood such exhausting work. 
“Mommy, swing me more! Swing me more!” 
Mora swung her daughter high, and Shenira shrieked her delight. The looming battle with the Evil God had completely vanished from Mora’s mind. 
Only one thing was irreplaceable to the Saint of Mountains, and it was not status or power: It was her beloved daughter and husband. They were all that was important to her. 
That day had been three years earlier, when the world had yet been at peace. 
Adlet Mayer stood in front of the tiny shrine that controlled the Phantasmal Barrier, speechless. Like him, the others were all silent. They stared at the girl, Rolonia Manchetta, before them. 
“Um, why are there seven of us?” Rolonia didn’t know what was going on, and it showed clearly on her face. 
“It can’t be. I didn’t expect this,” muttered Fremy. 
“This is impossible. What is the meaning of this? Why is there yet another?” Mora put her head in her hands. 
“U-um…another what?” Rolonia regarded Mora and Adlet timidly. Finally, she noticed Adlet was wounded. “Addy, how did you get those injuries? Was there a fight? Hold on, I’ll heal you up.” Rolonia tried to put her hands on the young man, but he stopped her. This wasn’t the time. 
Adlet scanned the group. Some were shocked silent, while others regarded Rolonia in exasperation—no two reactions were the same. No expression betrayed one as the seventh, however. “So, everyone, what do you think?” he asked. 
Fremy sounded upset. “What do I think? We’re back where we started, that’s what.” 
Mora spoke next. “Yet another delay? When will we ever be able to leave this forest?” 
Rolonia, unable to grasp what was going on, was simply bewildered. Her head swiveled between Adlet and Mora, then suddenly bowed. “U-um…I-I’m sorry!” 
“Rolonia, what are you apologizing for?” asked Mora. 
“Um…I think I’ve caused trouble for you all…because I was late… I’m sorry, I really am!” She dipped her head again and again. 
Same as ever , Adlet thought. “It’s not your fault. Probably. Raise your head.” 
Rolonia, cringing still, scanned the group. 
“So who’s this lady then, meow ?” queried Hans. 
Mora spoke in Rolonia’s place. “‘It’s just as she said herself. This is Rolonia Manchetta, Saint of Spilled Blood. For the past two and a half years, she has lived with me at All Heavens Temple. She may look helpless, but I assure you, she is capable.” 
“Th-thank you very much.” Rolonia conscientiously showed her gratitude for the compliment. 
“She looks pretty weak, though.” Hans scratched his head. 
“Capable? No way. Everyone knows Rolonia is a useless dunce,” announced Chamo, and Rolonia withered. 
“Her strength or lack thereof is irrelevant. The issue is whether she’s friend or foe.” Fremy already had her finger on the trigger of her gun, and she wore the penetrating gaze of a warrior confronting a new enemy. 
“Um…I-I’m sorry. This was my fault, and I do regret my actions, so p-please forgive me!” Rolonia bowed earnestly. 
Adlet sighed. “Anyway, you should all introduce yourselves,” he said to his bloodthirsty comrades. 
Each Brave told Rolonia his or her name and displayed their crests. Rolonia already knew Adlet, Mora, and Chamo. She had not met Goldof before, but they had heard of each other. Fremy didn’t mention that she was the daughter of a fiend, or that she was the Brave-killer, giving only her name and status as the Saint of Gunpowder. When Hans introduced himself as an assassin, the timid girl reacted with shock. 
Once Rolonia had heard their names and seen their crests, she finally understood what was going on. “Th-there are seven Braves? What is happening here?” 
Vexed, Fremy complained, “Must we explain?” 
“I’m sorry…” 
“One gathered here is an impostor. I think it has to be you.” The bloodthirsty aura Fremy was giving off made Rolonia squeak like a mouse, and she shrank away. 
Adlet stepped between the two of them. “Wait, Fremy. We don’t know that yet.” 
“You’re right, we don’t,” Fremy replied. “But I can’t imagine any other answer. If she’s not the seventh, then who do you think it is?” 
Adlet didn’t know what to say. Still shielding Rolonia, he recalled the group’s fight with Nashetania. The seventh couldn’t be Fremy. Without her help, Adlet would have died. The same went for Hans and Chamo. They had ultimately pinned down Nashetania. Mora had incited the others to kill Adlet, but he was positive Nashetania had simply deceived her. Goldof had been Nashetania’s vassal. Perhaps that was cause for suspicion, but as far as Adlet could tell, he had been deceived, too. 
“No one else could be the seventh,” Fremy asserted firmly. Hans and Chamo seemed to agree. 
“Wait,” said Adlet. “Something doesn’t add up. If Rolonia is the seventh, then why didn’t she arrive with Nashetania? What would be the point in leaving Nashetania by herself?” 
“Nashetania? It couldn’t be—did something happen to the princess?” asked Rolonia. Unfortunately, there was no time to explain. 
“Meowbe the plan was fer them to come together,” suggested Hans, “but then somethin’ happened, and they couldn’t meet up.” 
“Something happened? Like what?” asked Adlet. 
“Heck if I kneow what the enemy’s thinkin’.” Smiling, Hans shrugged. 
“Adlet, move. You’re in danger.” Fremy leveled her gun at Rolonia, but Adlet still shielded the newcomer. 
“Fremy, holster your weapon. Rolonia is not the seventh,” said Mora. Fremy’s gaze flicked to her. “As I said previously—I spent considerable time with her at All Heavens Temple. She’s incapable of deceit.” 
“That’s what you thought about Nashetania, too,” countered Fremy. 
“Rolonia did nothing at all suspicious. Neither could she have come in contact with any fiends or their pawns.” Mora stepped in Fremy’s line of fire. It was as if she was challenging her to shoot. 
“Hey, Mora, do you get the position yer in, here? Yer the next meowst suspicious person here after Rolonia,” Hans pointed out. 
Mora frowned. “Your suspicions are warranted. But I’m quite certain Rolonia is a Brave in truth.” 
Still protecting Rolonia, Adlet ground his teeth. “Just stop it. This is the same thing all over again.” 
“Someone here is the enemy. We’re not getting anywhere unless we figure this out,” snapped Fremy, directing a fierce glare at Adlet. 
Then something nearby caught Chamo’s attention. “Someone’s here,” she said. The rhythm of horses’ hooves approaching from the direction of the continent heralded the arrival of a cavalry unit all clad in magnificent black armor. 
“Are they enemies?” Fremy turned the barrel of her gun to them. 
“Meow , no. That’s the king of Gwenvaella,” Hans said. Gwenvaella was the country that neighbored the Howling Vilelands. 
“Good Rolonia! Grave news! Are all the Braves of the Six Flowers present?” The cry came from the middle-aged man who rode at the head of the group—he had to be the king of Gwenvaella. He was also the one who had organized the creation of the Phantasmal Barrier. The king and his party of knights approached the temple, immediately dismounted, removed their helmets, and gave their respectful salutations. “Hearing of abnormalities in the Phantasmal Barrier, we, Daultom the Third, king of Gwenvaella, hastened to this temple with our royal guard, and we shall do our utmost to aid your party in your efforts.” His manner was stately, maintaining his majesty without forsaking politeness. 
No doubt a great ruler , thought Adlet. 
“I am Mora Chester, Brave of the Six Flowers and Saint of Mountains. We are greatly obliged to receive your aid. What is this urgent matter Your Majesty speaks of?” Mora addressed the king as the group’s representative. 
“We received report that fiends scattered about our nation are converging upon this forest. It is our belief that within a few hours, they will assault this area.” A thrill of tension ran through the whole group at the king’s report. The number of fiends on the continent was unknown, but probably two thousand at the very least. If all of them were to attack at once, every one of the Braves could very well fall. 
We were careless , thought Adlet, grinding his teeth. The original purpose of the Phantasmal Barrier had been to hold back the fiends on the continent. Now that the barrier had been removed, their enemies would come surging back into the Howling Vilelands. 
“Maybe we should withdraw for the time being,” suggested Fremy. 
“Aww, running away is so lame. Chamo’s not scared of the seventh.” 
“B-but…we still don’t know who our enemy is. We can’t fight fiends like this…,” said Rolonia. 
“’Tis as Chamo says, Rolonia. There is nothing to be gained from retreat.” Mora chided the frightened Rolonia. 
“I’d have meowr fun if we just kept goin’,” said Hans. 
“What do you mean, ‘more fun’?” asked Mora. 
“Meowr danger means meowr fun, right?” Hans grinned. 
The king of Gwenvaella and his retainers were baffled by the group’s clashing opinions, and the fact that there were seven only compounded their confusion. 
“Going in farther would be dangerous,” said Fremy. “I just bet the seventh is preparing their next trap for us.” The Braves continued their debate, ignoring the king and his party. 
“Who’s to say, meow ? Could be even riskier to back off.” 
“What do you mean?” 
“Meowbe Rolonia guessed we were goin’ to retreat and set a trap for us, ya know? Well, that’d be funner, though.” 
Mora interrupted Hans and Fremy’s dispute. “As I said before, Rolonia is not our enemy.” 
“Be quiet, Mora,” said Fremy. “Sorry, but I can’t really trust you, either.” 
“Wait. Who could trust you , though? Like, you’re a fiend,” Chamo pointed out, and Fremy let her anger show, albeit slightly. 
Adlet raised his voice to rein them in. “Enough! Talking about this is pointless!” All eyes turned toward him. “We can’t trust one another. The way things are now, nothing is gonna get settled, no matter how much we talk.” 
“Then what do you suggest we do, Adlet?” inquired Mora. 
“I’ll decide everything. All of you, just do what I say, and no complaints.” Under normal circumstances, this outrageous suggestion would have invited opposition, but Adlet figured at this point, they had no other choice. “Right now, there’s only one among us we can say for sure isn’t the seventh: me. So the most rational choice would be follow me, right?” 
Hans, Chamo, and Fremy clearly weren’t thrilled with the idea. “Meowbe that’s the best choice, but I’m still feelin’ uneasy about it.” 
“Did you forget?” asked Adlet. “I’m the strongest man in the world. Don’t you trust my judgment?” 
“No, I don’t.” 
“Nope.” 
Fremy and Chamo answered together. 
“I believe that, as things stand, we have no other options. Adlet is right. At this rate, we will decide nothing,” said Mora. Rolonia gave no opinion, but she didn’t seem opposed. 
“Well, what can ya do, then? He’s an idiot, but he ain’t a hopeless idiot,” muttered Hans. 
“You can trust me a little more than that. I’m the strongest man in the world.” 
“Meow , yeah, yeah,” Hans responded off-handedly. 
Despite the reluctance, the decision was now Adlet’s. To proceed, or to retreat? “Mora, first I want to ask you something. Is there a Saint with an ability that could discover the seventh?” 
The one who replied wasn’t Mora, but Fremy. “I’ve heard the name Marmanna, Saint of Words . They say she has the power to detect lies and make people tell the truth.” Such an ability would indeed allow them to root out the seventh. 
But Mora shook her head. “No, Marmanna is at All Heavens Temple. Even with the greatest haste, ’twould be a journey of seven days.” 
That wouldn’t work, then. If they used up fourteen days on the round trip, they wouldn’t have the time they needed to defeat the Evil God. There was also no guarantee that this Saint was still even safe. They had no choice but to accept their fate. Adlet turned to the king of Gwenvaella and said, “I am Adlet Mayer, the strongest man in the world. Your Majesty, you may not understand what’s going on right now, but please don’t argue and just do as I say. If you head out right now, how long will it take for you to reactivate the Phantasmal Barrier?” 
“We have already prepared the water and rations necessary for a barricade. It can be done immediately.” 
“Okay,” said Adlet, “then in half an hour, activate the barrier. We want you to keep on protecting it until we defeat the Evil God. Can you do that?” 
“The barrier is made such that it will automatically dissipate once the Evil God has fallen. Until then, we shall not deactivate it, whatever may come,” the king replied. 
Adlet nodded and then looked at his companions. “We’re heading into the Howling Vilelands. All right?” 
Fremy didn’t seem happy about it, but she didn’t protest. Neither did Rolonia. 
“The enemy may have concentrated their forces near the border of the Howling Vilelands,” he continued. “Don’t let your guard down. Let’s go!” On Adlet’s command, the seven raced off. 
Rolonia ran up to his side. “Addy, grab on to my shoulder.” 
“I’m okay. I can manage,” he insisted. 
She rested her hand on his shoulder, and it glowed faintly as Adlet’s body heated. “I’ll treat you while we run. I’m the Saint of Spilled Blood. I’m good at healing wounds.” 
“All right. Thanks.” 
“Addy, what on earth is happening? I don’t understand this at all.” 
Me neither , thought Adlet. 
The group cut through the forest and out the other side to follow the coast, finally setting foot on the faintly noxious-smelling earth of the Howling Vilelands. After some time had passed, a giant ball of mist manifested behind them. Now there was no going back, and they would be unable to leave the Howling Vilelands until they defeated the Evil God. But Adlet was fine with that. They couldn’t afford to lose this battle. It was better to cut off any path of return. 
The Howling Vilelands was a peninsula that stretched up to the northwest, its eastern edge adjacent to the continent. At the pace of a regular human being, it would take about five days to traverse the length of it. The topography of the peninsula was extremely complex, and the full particulars were a mystery. All they knew about the interior was based on records left by the Saint of the Single Flower and the incomplete maps drawn by past Braves. It was said that it was no longer possible to land a boat on the shores of the Howling Vilelands, because the vast coastline was completely encircled by a complex array of shallows and cliffs studded with blades of rock. Over a long period of time, the fiends had turned the entire peninsula into a huge fortress accessible only by land or wing. 
The Six Braves’ destination was the northwestern tip of the Howling Vilelands, where the Evil God slept. The Saint of the Single Flower had named that land the Weeping Hearth. It would take about thirty days from the Evil God’s awakening for it to be fully revived. If the Braves of the Six Flowers failed to reach the Weeping Hearth by then, the world would end. 
Half a day had passed since they had embarked into the Howling Vilelands. Adlet was leaning on Rolonia’s shoulder to stand. He could feel blood oozing from his stomach—the stab wound he’d gotten from Nashetania had begun hurting again. 
“Addy, I’ll treat your stomach. Let your muscles relax.” Rolonia touched his stomach. Her power to control blood amplified his natural ability to recover. Before long, the bleeding stopped. 
Adlet’s party was in a ravine on the eastern side of the Howling Vilelands, known as the Ravine of Spitten Blood. Apparently, it was so named because once, when the Saint of the Single Flower had fought the Evil God, she had been so exhausted that she vomited blood in this place. 
The party had made it to the ravine without any fights. Encountering none of the ambushes the seven had expected by the coast, they’d arrived in no time at all. They proceeded cautiously through the intricate network of the ravines, alert for danger, and as they readied themselves for attacks from the outside, they probed one another for possible signs of treachery or deceit. Progress was slow, and the landscape was eerily quiet. Fremy sniped a few fiend lookouts, but after that, they saw no signs of their enemies. 
Fremy and Mora were currently ahead of the group, scouting. The other five awaited their return. 
“Are you okay, Rolonia?” asked Adlet. “You’re white as a sheet.” 
“I’m…o-okay…” Rolonia stuttered. 
Earlier, as they’d advanced into the Howling Vilelands, Adlet had brought her up to speed on their battle with Nashetania. At first, Rolonia hadn’t believed the story of the princess’s betrayal. 
He’d also informed her that Fremy was both the daughter of a fiend and the Brave-killer. Face pale, Rolonia had replied that one of the Brave candidates Fremy had killed—Athlay, Saint of Ice—had been an acquaintance of hers. 
“I know you have mixed feelings about partnering with Fremy,” said Adlet, “But leave that aside for now. There’s no point in any further infighting.” 
“Y-yeah…” 
“Adlet.” Fremy had returned from her reconnaissance. 
“Eeep!” Rolonia shrieked. 
Fremy, who’d been about to give her report, was even more startled. “What’s wrong, Rolonia?” 
“Nothing! Nothing at all. I’m fine.” Rolonia was afraid of her—and not just her. She was also terrified of the assassin, Hans; the violent Chamo; and Goldof, who had been Nashetania’s retainer. The only ones the girl could manage a proper conversation with were those she’d known for a long time: Adlet and Mora. The boy understood the terror of a traitor in their midst, but Rolonia being too scared would cause problems. 
“I couldn’t see any fiends. We should be okay for the time being. Mora went on ahead. Let’s catch up with her and regroup.” Fremy brought him up to speed, then turned away from Adlet. The group picked up the pace after her. 
Suddenly, they heard a cry from the top of the ravine, and Rolonia flinched with her whole body. When Adlet raised his head, he saw a deer crossing the valley. 
The fauna in the Howling Vilelands was surprisingly populous. The toxin produced by the Evil God had no effect on creatures other than humans. It was also said that fiends only attacked animals for food. 
“Aw, a deer! So cute. Chamo’s pets are cuter, though.” Chamo beamed. 
Rolonia was the only one among them who’d been startled. Seeing her jump at a deer made Adlet uneasy. He wondered if she could handle what was ahead of them. 
“Hey, cow lady. If you’re such a weakling, how can you be a Brave?” Chamo demanded, waving her foxtail back and forth. 
“Huh? Um…” Rolonia trailed off. 
“Chamo knows all about you. You’re a washout Saint. The Spirit choosing you was just some kinda mistake. Nobody’d believe someone like you could actually be one of the Braves of the Six Flowers.” 
“Um…” Rolonia simply hung her head. “I think…maybe…I might actually…not be.” 
What’s she talking about? wondered Adlet. 
“This is getting really annoying,” complained Chamo. “If you’re the seventh, come on and fess up already. If you say sorry now, you won’t get hurt.” 
“Hey. Stop it,” ordered Adlet. 
“When the crest appeared, I just couldn’t believe that I was one of the Braves of the Six Flowers… I thought, maybe…I was somehow chosen by mistake.” 
“Well, there you have it, then,” said Chamo. 
Just as Adlet prepared to reprimand her, a voice called out ahead of them. “I think Rolonia is strong.” 
It was Fremy. 
“I heard that Mora was so charmed by her talents, she gave her special one-on-one training. The reason I didn’t go after Mora was because Rolonia was at All Heavens Temple.” 
Chamo huffed. “Hmph. Then maybe she’s sorta strong.” 
“Th-thank you very much, Fremy,” stuttered Rolonia. 
“You don’t have to thank me. I still suspect you.” 
“…Ulp. ” Rolonia winced. 
“But that aside, I want to hear more about you. All I know about you is that you’re the Saint of Spilled Blood and that you’re supposed to be quite powerful.” 
“Oh, yeah, Rolonia. You should tell her,” prompted Adlet. 
“I became a Saint two and a half years ago,” Rolonia began. “Before that, I was a servant. I was really supposed to have resigned right away, but Lady Mora ordered me to train to be one of the Braves of the Six Flowers. At the All Heavens Temple, Lady Mora and Willone, Saint of Salt, taught me to fight.” 
“Describe what happened between the Evil God’s awakening and when you came to us,” Fremy demanded. 
“O-okay. Um, when the Evil God awoke and I received the Crest of the Six Flowers, I was in the Temple of Fire, in the Land of Golden Fruit. I was training with Liennril and…oh, Liennril is the Saint of Fire.” 
“And then?” 
“I was supposed to have arrived earlier, but on the way, I met some people who’d been attacked by fiends. They were injured and asked me to help treat them…and I thought, ‘But what if I’m late?’ But I couldn’t say no…and then I actually was late. I’m sorry.” 
“And when you arrived at the Phantasmal Barrier?” asked Adlet. 
“I reached the forest late last night. The barrier had already been activated by then. The king of Gwenvaella was at the fort, and he told me about the barrier. According to His Majesty, some rogue soldiers had commandeered the fort, and the barrier was active for some reason. They had no idea what was going on.” 
“And then in the morning, the barrier lifted, and you met up with us,” Adlet finished. 
Rolonia nodded. 
“Do any of you think there’s anything suspicious about her story?” Adlet asked. 
Hans was the one to reply. “Was she really at the Temple of Fire?” 
“Let’s check that with Mora later. I don’t think there’s any other part of her story that’s particularly suspicious,” said Adlet. 
“True, meow .” 
Then Chamo, who’d been silently listening, interjected. “Hey, Adlet, how do you know her?” 
Rolonia looked at Adlet, and their eyes met. He nodded with an expression that said she could tell them. “I met Addy two years ago,” she said. “Do you know of Atreau Spiker?” 
As Adlet listened to her tale, he remembered the past. At the time, he’d never have dreamed he’d see her again. When they first met, that Rolonia would grow to become one of the Braves of the Six Flowers seemed inconceivable. 
When Adlet was ten years old, he’d apprenticed himself to Atreau Spiker, a hermit warrior who lived deep in the mountains. Over the course of eight years, he’d absorbed all of his master’s fighting techniques and knowledge, as well as the skills to make every one of Atreau’s inventions. 
Adlet hadn’t been Atreau Spiker’s only student. Atreau had taken on a number of hopefuls aspiring to be Braves of the Six Flowers. Every single one of them, unable to handle his eccentric methods, had ultimately left the mountain—all except Adlet. But aside from those students, the master had also received requests to teach combat skills to elite and famous mercenaries, Saints, and others. They would appear with letters of introduction from ministers or mercenary captains and become short-term apprentices to acquire knowledge and new combat techniques. Atreau had lived like a hermit, but he hadn’t cut off all contact with the world. 
It was just over two years earlier that Rolonia Manchetta had approached Atreau with a letter of introduction in hand. At the time, she had been as cowardly and timid as she was now—no, even more so. 
“Adlet.” 
Adlet had been throwing needles in the mountains day and night when, suddenly, his master came to speak to him. The boy ignored his master, continuing his practice as the man stood next to him. The blisters on his fingers had broken to expose raw, bleeding flesh, but still he kept throwing needles. 
“This is Rolonia Manchetta. She’s the Saint of Spilled Blood. For the next two months or so, I’ll be instructing her on fiend ecology and how to handle them. Do not interfere,” explained Atreau, indicating the girl beside him. 
Adlet did not greet her or reply. Back then, he’d been different—darker, and hungrier. He cursed everything in the world, his own weakness most of all. 
“Tell her your name, at least,” prompted Atreau. Rolonia hid in Atreau’s shadow, watching Adlet with frightened eyes. 
“Adlet Mayer,” he said to Rolonia. “Eventually, I’ll be the strongest man in the world. But not yet. Don’t talk to me.” 
“O-okay. I’m sorry,” she responded. 

“Let’s go, Rolonia,” said Atreau, and the moment he did, Adlet made his move. He hurled a needle at his master and simultaneously pulled out a knife and took a swipe at him. 
“Eeek!” Rolonia screamed and sank to the ground beside Atreau. 
Atreau flicked aside the needle with one finger and grabbed Adlet by the wrist before flinging him away. The boy didn’t pause for an instant, slashing at Atreau’s ankles. Right before it connected, the warrior sidestepped and kicked Adlet in the face. Blood spurted from his nose. 
“A-are you okay, Adlet?” asked Rolonia. 
“I told you not to talk to me.” He tried to stand, but his feet got tangled up, and he couldn’t move. 
“Don’t concern yourself with him, Saint of Spilled Blood,” said Atreau. “That boy will be gone from here soon enough.” 
“Um…er…,” Rolonia stammered. 
“I ordered him to do that. He may also use whatever means he pleases. And if he fails to defeat me by his sixteenth birthday, he is expelled from this mountain. One month remains until he must go.” 
“Ugh …,” Adlet moaned. 
The warrior stepped on Adlet’s face. “Smile.” 
Adlet tried to move his lips but was no longer capable of smiling. Hunger and powerlessness had stolen that from him. 
Atreau spat upon his student where he lay on the ground. “Trash.” He left him there and walked away, taking Rolonia with him. Adlet punched the ground and screamed. 
Rolonia was living in a guest cottage Atreau had built. It was the only place on that mountain fit for human habitation. Atreau and Adlet lived in a cave, like animals. Atreau was constantly by Rolonia’s side, teaching her about fiends and seeing to her meals and necessities. During that time, he ignored Adlet. 
Every day Adlet challenged Atreau, and every day he lost. Wounded, fighting back the pain of his injuries by force of will alone, he stood up again and again. Adlet knew his teacher was not a lenient man. If he failed to defeat him in the next month, he really would be out for good. And he still hadn’t learned all of Atreau’s tricks. If he was kicked out, he’d lose his only means of becoming one of the Braves of the Six Flowers. 
A certain fiend constantly lurked in the back of Adlet’s mind. A fiend that walked on two legs, three wings growing from its back, with a narrow lizard’s face smiling warmly in greeting. The monster that had destroyed his village and taken his sister and best friend away from him. He couldn’t forget that creature, not even for an instant. Hatred alone reigned in Adlet’s heart. He couldn’t live until he brought the beast down, until he watched his enemy die. No corner of his heart had any room for Rolonia. 
One night, having lost to Atreau, as usual, Adlet collapsed in his cave and slept like the dead. He felt something touch his back and leaped away. Rolonia was sitting beside him, holding a lamp. “Why are you in here?!” he yelped. 
The girl jumped back into a corner of the cave and began trembling violently. “M-M-Master Atreau told me to treat your wounds…” 
“He did?” 
“I’m, um, the Saint of Spilled Blood… I can heal wounds.” 
“…Please.” Adlet prostrated himself on the ground. 
Rolonia prayed to the Spirit of Spilled Blood, borrowing its power. When she put her hands on him, his wounds closed before his eyes. “Human blood naturally contains the power to heal,” she explained. “By amplifying that, I can heal wounds, too.” 
“The Saints’ power really is something,” remarked Adlet. Flattered, Rolonia blushed faintly. “Are you training to be a Brave?” he asked. 
“Huh?” 
“I guess I didn’t have to ask. That’s what every warrior wants.” 
Rolonia shook her head. “Um, you might think I’m strange to say something like this, but…” 
“What?” 
“I’m thinking I’ll leave this mountain.” 
“Did something happen with Atreau?” 
“No…um, I think I will give up trying to be a Brave. I think I should also resign from Sainthood.” 
Adlet was shocked. He lived for the sake of becoming a warrior. He’d thrown away everything for power. To him, letting go of that newfound strength was unthinkable. 
“I-I mean,” she continued, “there’s no way I can…can become one of the Braves of the Six Flowers. And then, if I were chosen by some accident, I’d be a burden to everyone. So that’s why I think perhaps I should just resign as the Saint of Spilled Blood…” 
“Why are you here? Don’t you want to get stronger?” 
“I…” 
“Explain.” Adlet’s anger was audible. 
Hesitantly, Rolonia related her story. She’d never studied to become a Saint. She’d been a servant at the Temple of Spilled Blood—washed the acolytes’ clothes and such. About five months earlier, the previous Saint of Spilled Blood had retired, and they’d held the ceremony to select a successor. The choice hadn’t been one of the acolytes taking part in the ceremony, but rather Rolonia, who’d been hanging laundry outside. 
“Is that even possible?” marveled Adlet. 
“The Spirit chooses the Saint… No one knows what they’re thinking.” 
Rolonia had immediately tried to resign. The previous Saint and the acolytes had all believed that to be the obvious response. But then the order came down from the Temple Elder, who governed all the Saints. Rolonia was to continue as the Saint of Spilled Blood, and furthermore, she was to study combat and train to be a Brave of the Six Flowers. She was also ordered to move to All Heavens Temple to undergo the intensive education necessary to excel as a Saint. 
“The Temple Elder says that I’ll be a very powerful Saint,” said Rolonia, “but that’s never going to happen. I’ve been training for years, but I’m still so weak. I’m just a burden…” 
As Adlet listened to her speak, hatred simmered in his chest. “I wish I were a girl,” he groused. “If I’d been born a girl, I could’ve become a Saint.” 
“Huh?” 
“If I were a Saint, I could get stronger. I could get the power to defeat that thing. But I was born a boy.” Adlet slammed his fists on the ground. “This is bullshit! Why’d someone like you get that gift? Why you and not me?” He grabbed Rolonia by the collar and shook her. “I want power. I want power! I want the power to defeat that monster! I’ll give anything for it—I just wanna be strong enough!” Every day, hacking up blood and bile had made him viscerally aware of the reality that he had no talent. Every night, he cursed his own helplessness as he fell into a dead sleep, in his head repeating, I want power, I want power. And the very thing that Adlet yearned for so badly, Rolonia was about to throw away. He deeply resented her for it. “Give it. Give your powers to me.” 
“I-I…can’t do that,” she said. “Transferring it to another person is an incredibly difficult technique—” 
“Shut up! Just give it to me! Give me your powers!” 
“I can’t do that. The Temple Elder—even Lady Leura—couldn’t do it… Someone like me couldn’t possibly—” 
“Why not?! Give it to me! Someone, give me power! I wanna be stronger!” Adlet released her, collapsed on the ground, and sobbed. 
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Sitting beside him as he wept, Rolonia began crying, too. 
Inside that cave, a girl who’d inadvertently been granted power and a boy who couldn’t get it wept and wept. 
Around daybreak, Adlet apologized to Rolonia. He wasn’t the only one in the world who’d had it rough—which was obvious, but he’d forgotten it for a long time. She apologized to Adlet again, too, for having spoken unkindly without consideration for his feelings. After that, the two of them became friends. The connection lasted only a brief two months. It was the kind of relationship that would fade with the passage of time. But still, she was one of the very few friends Adlet had ever made. 
“…And that’s how we met,” Rolonia finished. She had abridged Adlet’s past substantially. Privately, Adlet was grateful. Remembering how he’d been back then was both embarrassing and depressing. 
“So it was Mora who had you study with Atreau. I didn’t know she knew him,” mused Adlet. 
“I don’t think she knew him personally. But he is famous,” said Rolonia. 
In an odd way, we were already connected , Adlet thought. 
“Meow-hee-hee-hee ,” laughed Hans. “Ya sure got real close in just two months. You act like a chump, but you actually got game, doncha?” 
“Shut up,” Adlet sniped, shooting Hans down. Fremy regarded the exchange with cold eyes. 
That was when Mora returned. “How’d it go, Mora?” asked Adlet. 
“There are no fiends to be found. The ravine is utterly deserted.” 
Adlet wasn’t in the least suspicious of her. And there were, in fact, no fiends to be found in the ravine. But he failed to notice what those words obscured. 
About ten minutes earlier, Mora had been walking through the ravine alone, alert to her surroundings. The complex terrain of the ravine couldn’t conceal a large contingent of fiends, but it was the perfect spot for a small ambush. She pushed forward, an eye out for attacks from behind and above. 
“!” That was when it happened. She noticed a fiend atop the cliff—a fairly small one that looked like a monkey. When Mora clenched her fists and adopted a fighting stance, the fiend jumped down to land directly in front of her, then bowed its head in submission, groveling on all fours. 
“What?” Mora muttered when she saw its back and the message written upon it in black ink. 
A warning for you, Mora: You have no time. 
For a moment, she gazed at the submissive fiend. Then she stomped on its back as hard as she could. It was dead in a single strike, just like any other worthless, low-level fiend. 
“…” She brought her foot down again and again until the writing was no longer visible. “I have no time? That…can’t be…,” she muttered. Then, abandoning the fiend’s body, she left. 
“So you didn’t run into any fiends at all? That’s actually even scarier,” said Adlet. 
“The seventh hasn’t done anything, either. This kinda feels like a letdown,” whined Chamo. 
It really was. Adlet had expected to encounter another trap the moment they stepped into the Howling Vilelands—or maybe the seventh to attack at the first the opportunity. But things were too quiet. 
“Meowbe it ain’t that they’re not doin’ nothin’—it’s that they can’t do nothin’,” speculated Hans. 
“What do you mean?” asked Adlet. 
“Ever since we set foot in the Howlin’ Vilelands, Fremy’s been itchin’ to kill somethin’. If any of us steps out of line, she’s gonna shoot ’em dead right there.” Adlet looked at Fremy. She didn’t deny it. “I’ve been feelin’ twitchy since we got here,” Hans continued. “She’s one scary lady.” He grinned like he was having a good time. 
“Mora, what’s up ahead?” asked Adlet. 
“About fifteen minutes farther on, I saw a hill,” replied Mora. “And beyond that, a mountain. I’m certain that’s the mountain where the Bud of Eternity is located.” 
Adlet compared Mora’s report with his mental map. It sounded like they were moving along down the route they’d planned and hadn’t gotten lost. If his navigational sense was right, that mountain was where the Saint of the Single Flower had left a relic. It was a barrier known as the Bud of Eternity, an important safe zone. Adlet planned to spend the afternoon resting at the Bud of Eternity before pushing on. 
“I have a proposal. The next open area we get to, we should take a break,” said Fremy. 
“We don’t need to yet. I want to get to the mountains right away, and then to the Bud of Eternity,” insisted Adlet. 
Fremy shook her head. “There’s something I want to talk to you about as soon as possible. It’ll take a while, and it’s important, so I’d like to settle down and take my time.” 
“What do you want to talk about?” 
“Internal fiend politics,” Fremy said, and tension ran through the group. 
“I seem to remember before, you said the fiends had three commanders,” recalled Mora. Adlet had forgotten about that, what with the battle with Nashetania and Rolonia’s sudden arrival. But Fremy was right. This was very important. 
“Why not discuss it at the Bud of Eternity?” advised Mora. “It’s not far from the hill.” 
“If I were the enemy,” Fremy replied, “I would deploy forces near the Bud of Eternity. I doubt we’d be able to talk long there.” 
“That may be so,” Mora agreed. “And we needn’t worry about surprise attacks in such an open space. Let’s talk once we get to that hill, then.” 
“Now that that’s settled, let’s get going,” said Adlet. 
Hans set off first, and Chamo and Mora followed him. Goldof trailed behind them with a sluggish stride. Just as Adlet prepared to set out, Fremy tugged his sleeve. “What is it?” he asked. 
“Can you feel it?” 
“Feel what?” 
“Someone’s here,” Fremy said, looking up at the sky. 
For a moment, the shadow of the fiend that Adlet would never forget crossed his mind. An ominous smile on its face while soothing the villagers with gentle words, it had destroyed his home. It had taken his sister, his friend, everything from him. 
“……” 
Adlet’s heart pounded. Shivers of exhilaration ran down his spine. He hadn’t sensed anyone trying to kill them or picked up on any danger. But sweat still beaded his forehead. Something indescribable and irrational put him on edge. 
“I feel something,” said Fremy. “I don’t know where, but it’s here. I could never forget that presence. It feels like it’s slowly coiling around my skin.” 
Adlet remembered what had happened two nights earlier. Fremy had told him about the fiend that had ordered her birth and about how it was one of three commanders. She’d said that fiend was the very one that had destroyed Adlet’s home. His soul was telling him it was close. 
“Let’s go. As I said before, this talk will take some time,” said Fremy. 
“Can I just ask one thing?” Adlet paused. “What’s its name?” 
Fremy looked up at the sky and quietly replied, “……Tgurneu.” 
“Hey, what do you think is the most powerful force in the world?” As Adlet was learning Tgurneu’s name, a particular creature was murmuring, “If you think it through, really think it through, all the way to the end, you know it must be love.” 
In a certain place, there was a fiend. A fiend with two legs and two arms that stood just over two meters tall. Relatively speaking, it would probably be considered small. Green and tan scales formed a speckled pattern on its torso, and white feathers grew from its limbs. But the skin of its palms was moist, like that of an amphibian. On its back were great black birds’ wings, and strangely enough, between them sprouted a single, swan-like wing. Its chest featured a large, amphibian mouth. The bizarre creature looked like a jumbled mix of a number of different animals. Its face was incredibly long and thin, just like that of a lizard. It sat on a tiny wooden chair. 
“I don’t qüite understand,” said the other present. 
“You don’t?” The fiend held a book in its hands. The plain, cloth-bound tome, a collection of plays by a celebrated playwright, was decorated with gold thread. The creature turned a page with a finger. “Oh, Prince Wiesel, curse them! Curse those beautiful blue eyes! Curse the mother and father who gave them to you, and all of me, as I am reflected in them! ” In the script, a spy had infiltrated the palace in order to poison the king of a hostile nation, only to fall in love with the prince. 
“I wonder why the protagonist yells that?” the fiend pondered. “Only moments before, she had been speaking of love. This is nothing more than a string of letters, yet it raises endless mysteries for me. The power of love is fearsome indeed.” 
“With all due respect, pérhaps this is not the time for such pàstimes. The Braves of the Six Flowers draw near.” 
“Heh-heh-heh , fair enough. I’ll part with this fantastical love story for now and head out to face true love.” The fiend put the book down and plucked a large fig from the table. “Once, the Evil God lost, due to the Saint of the Single Flower’s love.” The creature bit into the fig, chewed, and swallowed. “We were defeated twice by the Braves of the Six Flowers, by the power of love that supported them. But for this third battle, I think things will be different. Oh, third generation of the Braves, love will be your downfall.” 
Rising from the table, the fiend—Tgurneu—looked up and quietly smiled. 
Fifteen minutes later, Adlet’s party reached the top of the hill. Just as Mora had said, from this spot, they wouldn’t have to worry about a surprise attack. Even if enemies did show up, the party could ready a counteroffensive while their attackers were busy climbing the hill. Presently, there was no sign of any fiends in the valley around them or in the sky above. 
Adlet breathed a sigh of relief, lowered the iron box from his back, removed his leather armor, and checked his wounds. Between Mora’s medicine and Rolonia’s treatment, the wounds were mostly closed. By nightfall, he would probably be fully recovered. 
“Ya kneow, we ain’t even done nothin’, but I’m still beat,” said Hans. 
Adlet felt the same. It wasn’t just the anticipation of an attack that set him on edge. Various anxieties weighed on him. 
The fiends had yet to show themselves, and the seventh wasn’t revealing his or her identity, but it was more than that. Fremy was emitting a dangerously bloodthirsty aura, Chamo could go out of control at any time, Rolonia was endlessly confused and scared—his own allies gave him plenty to be uneasy about. And most of all, Adlet was worried about a particular member of the group. 
“Are you okay, Goldof?” he asked the other man. Goldof didn’t answer. He just sat there, eyes hollow, lips pressed in a thin line, his expression stiff. The knight hadn’t said a single word, neither when Rolonia had appeared, nor as they made their way through the Howling Vilelands. All he did was watch the sky as if his mind was elsewhere. 
It was understandable. The princess he loved had betrayed him—not only ridiculing, but discarded him. It wasn’t difficult to surmise how he must have felt. And not even a day had passed since the revelation of her treachery, so it would be unreasonable to simply tell him to get over it. Though Goldof was a lauded, gifted knight, he was still just sixteen years old. 
“Goldof, maybe it’s pointless to tell you this, but c’mon, snap out of it,” said Adlet. Of course Goldof didn’t reply. It was like he hadn’t even heard. 
“Just go on and forget about her,” said Hans. “Just think ameowt what it’ll be like once we get back. You can just sit on your handsome, blue-blooded ass, and the ladies’ll flock right to ya.” 
Goldof didn’t even react. 
“You were that in love with Nashetania?” 
“Probably ’cause she had a pretty face, personality aside. And from the glimpse I got, her rack is pretty meeeow , too.” 
“…I don’t think that’s the issue here.” Adlet sighed, then quietly pulled a needle from a pouch at his waist. Without making a sound, he threw it at Goldof’s face. 
“!” Goldof grabbed the projectile between two fingers and hurled it back at Adlet. Still looking at the ground, he hadn’t so much as glanced up. 
“Looks like even with a broken heart, he hasn’t lost the strength to fight. He’s quite the guy.” Adlet smiled, but Goldof was still expressionless. 
Then Mora beckoned to Adlet. He approached to hear what she had to say. “Adlet,” she began, “the seventh is most likely Goldof. Should we not do something?” 
“I’m suspicious of him, but we don’t know for sure.” 
“At this point, I cannot imagine it could be anyone but. It’s not me, not Rolonia, not you. Hans and Chamo brought down Nashetania, so it couldn’t be them. If Fremy were the seventh, there would be no reason for her to have saved you. There is no possibility other than Goldof.” 
“Mora, stop it,” Adlet insisted quietly, but firmly. “Right now, what I’m scared of most isn’t the seventh. It’s falsely accusing an innocent ally. Don’t make these accusations when you’re just guessing.” 
“Bu—” 
“May I? I’d like to talk.” Fremy interrupted the exchange. 
“Don’t worry. I’ll find the seventh. You just relax and wait for it. I’m the strongest man in the world,” Adlet assured her, smiling. 
“I’m apprehensive, but…all right. I did decide to trust you.” Mora acquiesced. 
“Good. Just keep your mouth shut and follow me.” 
The group circled Fremy and sat down. They were all on the ready for a surprise attack, weapons in their hands. For perhaps the first time in history, humans would hear about the fiends’ internal affairs. They’d been unable to even investigate for a very long time, much less actually acquire information. Fremy could turn out to be the Braves’ greatest advantage. Knowing their enemy would significantly impact the tides of the battle. 
“Like I’ve said a few times now, the fiends operate under three commanders. Their names are Cargikk, Tgurneu, and Dozzu,” Fremy commenced quietly. Her manner was matter-of-fact. “About seventy percent of all fiends are lower life-forms, their intellect on par with animals’. Most of the other thirty percent have some degree of intelligence, but no complex feelings, and all they can think about is killing humans. But these three are different. They possess will, feelings, ideology, and aesthetic sense. They’re also strong enough to control all the other fiends. Every one of them aside from myself has sworn absolute allegiance to one of these three. They’re so loyal that if one of these commanders ordered it, they would not hesitate to give their own lives.” 
“How strong are they?” asked Adlet. 
“I can’t be certain. But don’t think you would have a chance against any of them one-on-one.” The prospect of three enemies they could never defeat alone. The Six Braves now had a good idea of just how disadvantaged they were. “But if we can defeat these three, we’ve basically won. There are no others capable of leading the fiends. Without their command structure, they would turn into a disorderly mob. We could pick them off one by one until they’re gone, or we could just ignore them all and head for the Weeping Hearth. Whatever we want.” 
“I see.” 
“But the most important part is this—the three of them do not cooperate. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say that they’re intensely antagonistic toward one another.” This information about fiend affairs was startling. Before Adlet could make any sound of acknowledgment, Fremy continued. “Supposedly, the most powerful one is Cargikk. He looks like a lion and manipulates poison flames—he can easily roast a human, and the smoke from his flames contains a powerful toxin. He’s an opponent to be feared.” 
“Who’s stronger, Chamo or Cargikk?” probed Chamo. 
“I don’t know. I don’t stand a chance with either of you,” replied Fremy. “Cargikk commands about sixty percent of all fiends. The majority are concentrated around the Weeping Hearth, where the Evil God sleeps, in position for a counterattack. I doubt Cargikk will move from that position. I think he plans to focus on defense.” 
“That’s the type that’ll give us the most trouble,” observed Adlet. It was a simple tactic, but the most effective. Since the Braves of the Six Flowers were vastly outnumbered, they’d want to scatter the blockade somehow. 
“Next…Tgurneu. It’s a little difficult to talk about him.” Fremy, who had been speaking dispassionately thus far, suddenly faltered. The mention of the name sent Adlet’s heart pounding. “Up until six months ago, Tgurneu was the most important thing in the world to me.” 
“And now?” asked Mora. 
“…The thing I hate most. Let me continue. Tgurneu commands around forty percent of the fiends. He’s the one responsible for my creation and the one who ordered me to kill potential Braves.” There was something that bothered Adlet, but he kept silent and let Fremy speak. “Tgurneu is a mixed-type fiend. He gained his powers through fusing with numerous different fiends. His combat style is simple—he crushes his enemies with overwhelming physical strength, speed, and resilience. It’s safe to assume there is nothing he can’t smash with his fists. But what’s even more terrifying about him is his ingenuity.” 
“What do you mean?” pressed Adlet. 
“My existence was just a tiny part of his plan. Frankly speaking, I can’t even guess at the full scope of his machinations. I’m positive Tgurneu was the one who sent both Nashetania and our current seventh Brave.” 
“So the princess of a nation fell into the clutches of the fiends… I still cannot believe it,” Mora murmured. 
“It’s absolutely probable,” said Fremy. “Tgurneu had influence in the human world all the way back when I was born. The fiends who gather intelligence and do his bidding have skills related to shape-shifting, espionage, and hypnosis. I don’t know just how far his reach into the human world extends, but he did easily determine things he could not have known unless he had penetrated to the center of a nation.” 
“…” 
“Tgurneu was the one who made and raised me. On his orders, I gained my powers and killed Brave candidates. I respected him deeply, but at the same time, I also feared him. He seemed warm, but at times, cold. I could never see deeply into him, never understand him.” Then Fremy seemed to realize the phrasing she’d been using. “No…I could never understand it ,” she quickly corrected herself. 
“Goodness,” Tgurneu muttered from a certain location as Fremy explained. “So that was what you thought of me, Fremy? You can’t understand me? That’s rather a sad way to put it. Even after I spoiled you rotten.” The fiend chuckled. 
The half-fiend continued. “Cargikk and Tgurneu are hostile toward each other. And just as their masters are divided, those under their command are also split. When Tgurneu’s underlings and Cargikk’s run into one another, they don’t talk. Their rivalry is so intense that even lower-tier fiends incapable of speech of different factions will bare their fangs at one another and make threatening displays.” 
“Why, meow ?” asked Hans. 
“A number of reasons. Tgurneu is a schemer, while Cargikk prefers to fight head-to-head. So their philosophies have always been in conflict. But the greatest divide between them is their approach to humans. According to Tgurneu’s ideology, humans are to be used. But Cargikk has an intense hatred of and deep contempt for them. It believes any involvement with humans is unclean. I heard that when Tgurneu came up with the plan to arrange my birth, they were one step away from killing each other. Cargikk apparently said it would not allow the intermingling of human blood with the proud blood of fiends.” 
“Hold on a second, please.” Rolonia, who had been listening silently, raised her hand. “Um, so these commanders who lead the fiends…weren’t there three?” 
That was the thing that had been bothering Adlet. Fremy hadn’t mentioned the other fiend at all. She’d said Cargikk led sixty percent of all fiends and that forty percent were under Tgurneu’s command. So what did the third do? 
“The third one…,” Fremy began. “I don’t know much about Dozzu. I’ve only heard that such a fiend exists.” 
“Who is this Dozzu?” asked Adlet. 
“A traitor. They say that its powers are on par with those of Tgurneu and Cargikk. From what I’ve heard, two hundred years ago, Dozzu betrayed the Evil God and disappeared from the Howling Vilelands. I have no idea where it is or what it’s doing. Maybe Tgurneu knew, but I wasn’t told anything.” 
“Friend or foe?” inquired Mora. 
“I don’t know that, either. In any case, Tgurneu and Cargikk see Dozzu and its followers as enemies. And they say that some among both Tgurneu and Cargikk’s factions have sworn loyalty to Dozzu. I personally know of two fiends that were suspected of belonging to Dozzu’s faction and were purged for it.” 
“Mya-meow . Factions and purges! This is some pretty nasty stuff,” Hans grumbled. 
“Fremy, can you tell by looking which fiends are Cargikk’s and which are Tgurneu’s?” asked Adlet. 
“To a degree. Like the fiends I ran into in the village where I first met you—those were probably Cargikk’s. The one that tricked you in the Phantasmal Barrier and the one that ate Leura, Saint of Sun—those were Tgurneu’s,” she explained. 
“So the princess is being controlled by Tgurneu, after all,” mused Mora. 
“It’s very likely.” 
Fremy having finished the bulk of her explanation, the conversation paused for a moment. 
“Then our concern is how to conquer them. We should see Tgurneu in particular as the most dangerous,” Mora said, starting the discussion anew. 
“I think Cargikk will be on the defensive, but Tgurneu will attack us. I don’t know what kind of assault to expect, though,” said Fremy. 
“I think it’s unlikely that Tgurneu will come attack in person,” said Adlet. 
“I agree. If their general went down, forty percent of the fiends would have their command structure collapse. I think some of them would submit themselves to Cargikk, but not many. It would be a massive blow. I doubt Tgurneu would risk that.” 
“I have one question,” said Mora. “You said their command structure would collapse—but what specifically would happen were their commander to die?” 
“The fiends and their masters are connected by invisible bonds. If Tgurneu dies, all of its fiends would know within moments. There would be immediate mass confusion. I think it would be total panic.” 
“Would you know, too, if Tgurneu fell?” 
“…Probably,” admitted Fremy, her eyes downcast. 
“I see… Hmm. Tgurneu…” Mora trailed off. 
Adlet noticed Mora seemed oddly concerned about Tgurneu—even though, unlike Fremy, she had no personal connection with the fiend. 
“I bet it’ll use the seventh to set a trap for us, meow ,” Hans said. He switched the topic so quickly that Adlet forgot about his doubts. 
“Probably. The question is, what will they do?” 
Chamo raised her hand. “Ohh, ohh! Chamo has an idea! How about this?” 
“Nothing good, I’m sure,” Fremy predicted coldly. 
But Chamo ignored her. “Humans can’t breathe in the Howling Vilelands unless they have the Crest of the Six Flowers, right?” The Crest nullified the toxin of the Howling Vilelands. This was common knowledge. “There are six humans here, and all of us can breathe properly, right? In other words, maybe that means that all six humans here have real crests. That means that the seventh is Fremy, since she’s a fiend.” 
“I knew it. Nothing good.” Fremy sighed. “It’s possible for humans with no crest to survive within the Howling Vilelands. Some fiends of Tgurneu’s faction can spawn a special parasite. If it enters a human body, it will nullify the toxin of the Howling Vilelands.” 
“Can you prove that?” demanded Chamo. 
“In the central region of the Howling Vilelands, there’s a place called the Plain of Cropped Ears. Human slaves live there.” Saying that, Fremy glanced at Adlet. “Tgurneu has collected them. I don’t know to what end, though. Adlet, the people of your village are probably there.” 
Without even thinking, Adlet stood. He recalled his vanished hometown and all the people who’d been taken away. “Those slaves…what’s happening with them?” 
“I don’t know. I’ve never been there.” 
“You didn’t hear anything? Anything at all?” Adlet pressed. 
But Mora just chided him. “Those people are a concern, but we should concentrate on defeating the Evil God. We can neither save them nor return them to the human world unless we carry out our mission.” 
She’s right , thought Adlet. But then, suddenly, every hair on his body stood on end. 
Chamo tilted her head. “What’s up, Adlet?” In the time it took her to ask, Adlet thrust Chamo back, Fremy rolled backward into an upright stance, drawing her gun, and Hans placed his hands and feet on the ground, arching his back like a cat. 
The earth where Chamo had been just a moment before swelled up and exploded, and a fiend surged out of the cloud of dust. “Hello.” Its voice was odd—high-pitched, yet hoarse. When Adlet heard it, his heart, which had quieted for a moment, began pounding again. “This won’t do,” declared the fiend. “What are you talking about? Who cares about some slaves, anyway?” 
“Tgurneu!” Adlet cried. His blood boiled, and his heart filled with black rage. That shape perpetually lingering in his mind, that shape appearing again and again in his nightmares—Tgurneu was, at this moment, right in front of him. 
“You should be more concerned about me.” Tgurneu turned to Adlet and spread both arms. It was as if the fiend was saying, Come get me. 
Hands moving faster than the eye could follow, Adlet hurled his needles. He aimed pain at Tgurneu’s eyes and paralysis at its knees, bounding toward the beast. I’ll end this instantly , he thought. Eight years of nightmares over in a single moment. 
But the four barbs were ineffective against Tgurneu. The fiend stretched out its arms many times their original length to strike Adlet, and the boy had no way of dodging mid-leap. He just barely blocked the punch with his sword, but it still knocked him flat on his back. 
“Watch out!” Mora swung a punch from the side. At the same time, Hans scampered on all fours along the ground, trying to get a slice at Tgurneu’s feet as Fremy fired at its head. From behind, Goldof braced his spear against his side and charged in an attempt to skewer it. 
“I’ve got ya neow!” 
From where Adlet lay on the ground, he watched Tgurneu hug its forearm close to its body to block Mora’s gauntlet. It raised a leg to avoid Hans’s blades and, without giving him time to react, kicked back. Then it halted Goldof’s charge with a punch to the chest courtesy of its free arm while catching Fremy’s bullet in its teeth. 
“That was really close,” observed Tgurneu. 
The party immediately backed off. It can’t be , thought Adlet. Tgurneu had blocked four simultaneous attacks. 
“Were you trying to predict what methods I’d use to kill you all? Such as assassinate you using the seventh, or have the seventh lead you into a trap? Well, I’m sure that’s about all you managed to come up with.” Tgurneu spread both arms but revealed no openings. Adlet got up, but only stood with his blade raised, not moving. 
“Then how about this? I’ll fight you all head-on, no tricks or schemes, and kill you all.” Tgurneu smiled and then rushed at Adlet.