Rokka no Yuusha - Volume 4 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 
The Dead Host 

It was eighteen days after the Evil God’s awakening and seven days since Adlet’s party had first set foot in the Howling Vilelands. It was a lot sunnier than it had been the day before, not a single cloud in the sky. The celestial light shone brightly over the red-black-stained earth of the Howling Vilelands. It was past noon, and the group was making its way along a steep mountain path in the central-northern region of the Howling Vilelands. 
“Will you show me the map, Adlet?” Dozzu asked, turning around from its position in front to speak. Adlet placed the map on the ground, and the dog indicated a spot with a foreleg. “Tgurneu has built a lookout post at the summit of this mountain. That means he will be keeping watch over all of the territory near the foot. Destroying the lookout would be easy, but I believe it would be safer to circumvent it for now and pass through this valley to the south.” 
“Roger. Everyone, southwest. Let’s go,” Adlet said, prompting his allies, and the group started off down the mountain path again. 
They’d headed out immediately after a brief nap at their old camp. Goldof, Nashetania, and Chamo were all injured—not that the others weren’t unscathed—but the group chose to hurry on ahead anyway. Any lingering would risk a surprise attack from Tgurneu. Besides, Adlet wanted to reach this Temple of Fate that Dozzu had informed them of as quickly as possible. 
“The enemy,” Dozzu said softly. They could see a fiend in the shadow of a boulder. It hadn’t noticed them yet. 
Instantly, too fast for the eye to see, Fremy couched her gun. Right as her weapon appeared, Mora gently put her hand on its tip. Fremy fired, the bullet burst the fiend’s head open, and the thunderous gunshot that should have accompanied it could only be heard nearby. Mora had applied her power of mountain echo to Fremy’s shot, canceling the noise. The pair used this method to eliminate all the fiends on watch. 
Their path was uneventful. In the less than half a day since their departure, they’d come quite close to the Fainting Mountains. They’d even managed to cross Cargikk’s Canyon—which had been an unresolved problem for them—quite easily with Dozzu’s guidance. The commander had recited an incantation in front of a stake hidden in the canyon wall. The ravine was shrouded in cold air, and a path opened. Dozzu told them that the Saint of Ice, three generations previously, had been a comrade. 
Even once they were over the ravine, it was Dozzu’s further direction that allowed them to safely evade enemies as they made their way forward. Dozzu understood the layout of Tgurneu’s forces and accurately predicted which avenues the fiends were likely to block off. 
“In the valleys, we may be discovered from above. We also cannot use Mora’s clairvoyant eye. I believe we should handle any fiends with Fremy’s shooting and Chamo’s slave-fiends.” Dozzu was briskly giving out orders, and there was nothing left for Adlet to do. 
“Dozzu’s being a better leader than you,” said Fremy coldly. 
Adlet smiled and replied, “I’m impressed. It’s not bad—though not as good as the strongest man in the world.” 
Dozzu, walking in the lead, turned back to look at them in bafflement. “I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while now… When you say you’re the strongest man in the world, that’s…a joke, right?” 
“What’re you talking about? Of course I’m serious.” 
“…Um…well…then… I don’t quite know what to say.” 
“That’s just how he is,” said Fremy. “Don’t worry about it.” 
Dozzu tilted its head, seemingly at a loss. 
The eight humans and one fiend proceeded, all in a line. Goldof, who was the most severely wounded, was in the center of the formation, under the protection of the group. He lay on top of a slug slave-fiend from Chamo’s stomach, his eyes closed. Adlet had ordered him to focus on healing up for the time being. 
Chamo was walking with Rolonia’s support, but she was acting energetic enough that it was hard to tell she’d been on death’s door just the day before. Adlet probably wouldn’t have to worry about her. 
As for Nashetania, he was even less worried about her. 
“I see,” she said. “So the king of Gwenvaella came. I was wondering who had reactivated the Phantasmal Barrier. Now it finally makes sense.” She was walking at the tail end of the line. Hans walked in front of her, getting her up to speed on their battles so far. 
In the few hours since their fight, her wounds had healed up. Her left arm was still gone, but her crushed throat was already back to normal. It looked as though she’d recovered all her strength, too. Had a regular human lost an arm, they would have been off-balance and had difficulty walking right. But Nashetania had no such trouble. She’d explained that she’d fused with various fiends to make their powers her own. Once again, Adlet was reminded just what a superhuman creature she had become. 
On their way to the Temple, they stopped by one of Dozzu’s hideouts. Nashetania discarded her ragged clothes for new armor and a new sword. This armor was different from her previous set, mainly black and dark brown in color. To Adlet, it made her silhouette seem somehow more provocative than her previous armor had. The scars on her body and her missing left arm gave her a newfound air of degenerate sensuality. 
“Meow , oh yeah! And listen to this, Princess. This lady killed me once.” Hans pointed at Mora, right in front of him. 
“Killed? Not nearly killed?” Nashetania tilted her head, her eyes puzzled. 
“Hans… I-I’d really rather you not…” Mora began. 
“I figgered she had to be plottin’ somethin’,” Hans said, “but I never thought she’d kill me.” 
“Hold on now. That’s not something to be spoken of so casually.” 
“It’s not like we have to keep it a secret.” Adlet’s tone was cold. 
“I’d like to hear more,” said Nashetania. “What happened?” 
“Mora acts all stuck-up, but she’s actually a pretty meowtrageous woman,” said Hans. “It all started back at the Bud of Eternity.” He began a humorous rendition of the incident four days ago. 
Nashetania listened, one hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe it. I never thought Lady Mora would do such a thing. I thought of her a trustworthy person,” she commented, quite hypocritically. 
“…Hey, Addy, do you think this is all right?” Rolonia had come away from Chamo to approach Adlet. She spoke quietly, so none of the others would hear. “I kind of feel like…everyone is too relaxed. I think we have to be more cautious.” 
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a problem,” he replied. He was watching the others even more attentively than before. If there were significant secrets hidden in the Temple of Fate, the seventh would probably challenge the Braves now. This peaceful atmosphere was ultimately superficial. 
The other thing Adlet was watching out for was to never leave Dozzu and Nashetania alone together. If he could prevent the two of them from plotting, he should be able to limit their activities considerably. 
Hans might have looked like he was having a fun little chat, but he was actually using his conversation with Nashetania to sound out her reactions. He was trying to pick up on what she might be scheming. Fremy, Mora, and Chamo would be on high alert, too. 
“Listen, Rolonia,” said Adlet. “Act friendly with Dozzu and Nashetania.” 
“All right. But why?” 
“It’ll make it easier to take them by surprise.” Rolonia was a little surprised to hear him say that. But on the battlefield, betrayals and trickery should be taken for granted. “Hey, Dozzu,” Adlet called out to the fiend walking at the front of the line. “What’s your take on our situation? Who do you figure is the seventh?” 
“Judging from what Hans has told me,” said Dozzu, “I believe I can assume it is not Mora. By the same token, the chances are also low that it’s Hans, Chamo, or Goldof.” 
“And your logic?” prompted Adlet. 
“Tgurneu is trying to protect the seventh. That’s why he hasn’t even told the fiends under his command which of you is the impostor. I can’t be certain how he’s managing to do so, but I doubt he was lying about how he has a secret plan to protect them.” 
“Makes sense.” 
“Meanwhile, the seventh must also be trying to conceal their identity. They would contribute to victories, defeat enemies, and protect their allies. One might even save an ally’s life, but that doesn’t imply they’re not a traitor. Thus only one thing can be used as evidence: Anyone that Tgurneu has made a serious attempt to kill is not the seventh, and anyone Tgurneu has left to their fate, even at the risk of their death, is also an unlikely candidate.” 
Dozzu continued. 
“Without you, Adlet, Mora most certainly would have died. I’m quite convinced she’s not the seventh. Hans was nearly killed, and your group also came close to killing Goldof. As far as I can tell, Tgurneu fully intended to take Chamo’s life. For the aforementioned reasons, this makes it less likely that any of these three is the imposter.” 
That was more or less Adlet’s reasoning. 
“Remaining are Fremy, Rolonia, and you, Adlet.” Dozzu watched Adlet with sharp eyes. 
The boy was also aware of this. The others had been treating him like he couldn’t be the seventh because Nashetania had nearly killed him. Now that they knew that Nashetania and Tgurneu’s seventh were on opposite sides, he had nothing else to prove he was genuine. 
“I beg your pardon, Adlet, but…” Dozzu began, “I think perhaps you should cede the role of leader to Mora. Presently, you’re a likely candidate for seventh. I feel rather uneasy about leaving the leadership of the Braves to you.” 
“Maybe you’re right,” Adlet acquiesced. Of course, he didn’t believe he was the seventh. But the reality was that from where the others stood, he was a candidate. For now, he didn’t sense any misgivings from them, but he wasn’t sure if he should continue acting as the leader. 
“Now that you mention it, yeah. Adlet’s kinda suspicious,” Chamo interjected. 
Mora said, “I trust him. Besides, Dozzu’s our enemy. I’m not so certain I want to agree to any of its propositions.” 
“I just can’t see Addy as the enemy, either,” Rolonia agreed. 
“But, like, Chamo’d be kinda worried about having Auntie as our leader, too. She’s an idiot,” the youngest Saint offered bluntly. 
Mora couldn’t argue with that. “Frankly speaking…I don’t have the confidence to take up the role of leader, considering my string of failures.” 
“Chamo’d rather have catboy. It doesn’t seem like he’s the enemy. And he protected Chamo.” 
The group all looked toward Hans, who stood at the tail end of the line. Now done with his talk with Nashetania, Hans shrugged and said, “Hrmeow. Leadin’ just ain’t in my nature. I’ll leave it to Adlet.” 
“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” asked Dozzu. 
“It wouldn’t change neowthin’. I always suspected him anyway. Like I said before, if one of us is the seventh, the most dangerous choice would be Adlet. My take is that he might not believe he’s the seventh himself, or he could be leadin’ us into danger without even kneowin’ it. So I’ll just keep on doin’ what I’ve always been doin’.” 
“…I see.” 
“If I happen to disagree with Adlet, I’ll say so,” Hans continued. “If that happens, go with my decision. Meow about that?” 
“In other words,” Fremy explained, “a parliamentary system, with Hans and Adlet as leaders. I think that’s fairly rational.” 
“Chamo’d rather have catboy give orders, though.” Chamo seemed to disapprove. 
“If you’re fine with that, then so am I,” said Adlet. None of the others voiced any opposition. 
Though this meant that Adlet would continue acting as leader, they probably wouldn’t give him the same kind of wholehearted trust they had before. I just hope that won’t cause a disaster , he thought. 
As they made their way closer to their goal, the number of watchers in the sky gradually increased. “As I expected, the Fainting Mountains region is under watch,” Dozzu muttered as it scanned the area. 
“Yeah, but Tgurneu isn’t around. Which means it’s expecting us to cross the Plain of Cropped Ears, and it’s concentrated its main forces there,” Adlet replied. If Tgurneu had predicted that the Braves would go to the temple, there would be more forces here than just a few guards. The fiends would have completely surrounded them long ago. It seemed they’d overcome the first hurdle to reaching the Temple of Fate: running into Tgurneu. 
As one would expect, the group’s chatter decreased. Staying attentive to their surroundings while also monitoring one another was mentally exhausting. “So? See anything odd?” Adlet asked the group. All of them—aside from Goldof, who was lying on top of the slug-fiend—shook their heads. As far as they could tell, the seventh had yet to act. 
After they crossed a hill, the forest that covered the base of the Fainting Mountains came into view. That was when Dozzu said to Adlet, “It will be dangerous up ahead. All of you, please wait for a little while. I’ll go scout the area.” 
“You’re planning to scout alone?” asked Adlet. 
“I’m small, so I can hide easily. It’s more effective than the whole party going.” Dozzu had a point. But Adlet couldn’t let a fiend and potential traitor head out solo. 
“I’ll go too, meow ,” Hans volunteered. 
Adlet nodded. “Go, then. And watch out. We’ll be healing Goldof’s wounds in the meantime.” 
“Y’all eat some food, too. We don’t neow when we’ll be able to get our next meal. I’ll eat on the way, so don’t ya worry about me.” Fierce battles would be waiting for them in the Fainting Mountains. It was a good idea to make sure they were ready. 
“Is there anywhere nearby we can hide?” Adlet addressed the party. 
They all looked around. Fremy, perched up on a tree, spotted something and pointed to it. “We should be able to hide over there.” 
“All right,” said Dozzu, “then let’s meet up there in thirty minutes. Please watch out for traps.” Dozzu and Hans disappeared into the forest while the rest of them headed off toward Fremy’s discovery. 
The place she had found was an old wooden hut. It was not a fiend’s den but clearly a former human dwelling. Crude as a horse’s stable, it had only two rooms. It seemed a rough place to live, with cracks all over the walls and ceiling. They’d seen many similar huts in their journey so far. They’d checked them out but never encountered any living humans. Surveying the shabby hut, Adlet could easily imagine how the humans of the Howling Vilelands were treated—like slaves, or cattle. 
“Adlet, hurry up! What if you’re seen?” Fremy called out to him. The boy, who’d been staring at the hut, got flustered and went inside. 
“Lady Mora, could you please handle Goldof?” asked Nashetania. 
Mora nodded. “Mm-hmm. Leave him to me.” 
“Rolonia, you treat Chamo,” said Fremy. “She seems to be doing well, so I doubt there’s much to worry about, though.” 
“R-right away!” Rolonia chirped. 
Mora and Rolonia began treating their two casualties while Adlet and Fremy examined the hut’s floor and walls for traps. The interior of the building was a ruin. There was oatmeal on the stove, entirely dried up. The few household items to be had were lying broken and scattered about, and the pile of straw used for a bed was rotten. 
And then Adlet saw it. His eyes locked on to one corner of the hut. 
“…” 
There was a little fragment of pottery on the ground there. Anyone else would have probably taken it to be nothing but debris. But Adlet knew what it was. 
He gently picked up the ceramic fragment. It was a piece of a flute that had been handed down in Adlet’s home village. It was a plain instrument kneaded from clay, molded into shape and fired, then painted with a simple pattern. The dye was made from a flower that bloomed on the banks of the lake. 
In Adlet’s village, when the harvest season had passed and they were done preparing the earth for the planting the following year, they would hold a small festival. They would get together and drink murky beer, the women would play flutes, and the men would sing with them. Nothing more than that. 
“I don’t see any traps,” said Fremy. “I’ll go keep watch outside.” 
“Thank you,” said Mora. “Stay alert until Hans and Dozzu come back.” 
Their conversation sounded so far away. Adlet just kept staring at the clay in his hand. In his mind, vivid memories played across his mind: the song the men sang together, the cooling winds, the smell of the beer and the modest foods that each of the families had brought. The sights that never changed, year after year, rose in his mind’s eye. 
He could even tell from the pattern on the flute that it had belonged to the old lady who lived next to the village elder. She was a mean-spirited person and often unpleasant to Adlet’s sister. But he also remembered that when she was in a good mood, she would hand out fried bread snacks to the village children. Adlet’s heart leaped to his throat, and he reflexively clutched his chest. 
“What’s wrong, Addy?” 
“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” 
Mora’s voice had pulled him from his reverie. He threw the flute shard on the ground, and it shattered into even smaller pieces. He averted his eyes, avoiding looking straight at it. 
In the center of the hut, Goldof was getting to his feet. He swung his spear around loosely, then bent and stretched his legs. 
“Better already?” asked Adlet. 
“I can’t say…I feel perfect. But…I can fight.” 
When Adlet and Hans had been badly hurt, even with treatment from Mora and Rolonia it had taken them over a day to heal. Goldof’s recovery was unusually fast, even considering his rest on the slug’s back. 
“I envy your youth,” Mora commented. 
Goldof peered into Adlet’s face and muttered, “You seem…unsettled. Did something…happen?” 
The others were looking at him with concern, too. Adlet was surprised by himself. So he looked so upset that even Goldof was pointing it out? “It’s nothing major.” 
“Oh dear,” Nashetania teased. “If you hide things, you’ll make everyone suspicious, Adlet.” 
“Um… There was something on the floor from my village, a long time ago. I was just a little startled. Don’t worry about it.” 
That was enough for them to figure it out. At the Bud of Eternity, while they had been waiting for Mora’s and Hans’s wounds to heal, Adlet had told them all about what had happened in his home village. Nashetania, the only one who didn’t know, seemed curious. 
“I’ll go help keep watch,” Adlet said, and he left the hut to take up position outside, opposite of Fremy. He pulled his travel rations from one of the pouches at his waist, chewed them up, and washed them down with water all in one go. The food got stuck in his throat, and he coughed a few times. He knew that he’d been shaken unbelievably hard, though all that had happened was he’d found a piece of a flute. 
Adlet had done his best to forget his home for a long time. Homesickness didn’t make you stronger. The only things that did were anger and determination. Reminiscing about those halcyon days just made it harder to fight. Thinking about the people of his village would make even winnable battles impossible. That was why Adlet hadn’t spared much thought to his home village all this time. He’d believed his memories of the past were gone. Now, he realized that he hadn’t forgotten—he’d just been trying to forget. 
Don’t think about the people from home. There’s no point. What’s important right now is to protect my allies, beat the seventh, and take down Tgurneu. Then I’ll find out what that Black Barrenbloom hieroform is. 
But the dam in his heart had already burst open, and the memories rose once again in his mind. 
Adlet’s older sister, Schetra, had been a wise and astute woman. His best friend, Rainer, had been brave and big-hearted besides. Back then, all Adlet ever did was hang on to them from behind. 
Rainer and Adlet had practiced swordsmanship, just the two of them, to protect the village from the Evil God. Though Schetra seemed anxious about it, she warmly watched over them. 
Once, Adlet had hit Rainer by mistake, clocking him above the eye with his wooden stick. Upset, Adlet had started to cry, but Rainer just ignored that and calmly called for Schetra. Entirely unruffled, Schetra treated the wound. Rainer was left with a big scar, but he didn’t seem to mind. He called it his proof of bravery and smiled. 
Sometimes, Rainer talked about how he would become a Brave of the Six Flowers. Back then, Adlet had never imagined that the Brave among them wouldn’t be Rainer, but himself. 
Shortly before Tgurneu invaded the village, Adlet was practicing singing at home with Rainer watching. Adlet sang his heart out, trying to keep in tune with Schetra’s flute. 
Singing wasn’t that hard. The entire village would sing together, so they performed simple melodies that anyone could manage. But Adlet was terrible at it. With Rainer beside him, singing with him, he could somehow stay on pitch. But whenever Rainer stopped and Adlet was left on his own, he’d immediately mess it all up. So much that even Schetra’s playing would go off-key. His singing was so bad, Rainer started laughing. Schetra started making silly noises with her flute to tease him and, face bright red, Adlet yelled at the both of them. 
“Hey, let me touch your throat,” said Rainer, grabbing the other boy’s neck. He lifted and lowered Adlet’s voice box along with the song. “Come on, try singing now. Maybe you can sing it right if I do this.” 
Adlet tried making some sounds. When Rainer lifted his larynx, a high noise came out. When he pushed it down, the pitch was low. But this wasn’t going to make him sing properly. “Stop! You don’t have to do that! I can do it!” Adlet cried. 
“Oh my, Adlet. That’s a lot better than before,” Schetra said, smiling. 
Back then, that had been like a life crisis to him. 
Now, Schetra and Rainer were both gone. Tgurneu had tricked the people of his village and taken them all to the Howling Vilelands. When Schetra had opposed it, the villagers had killed her. Rainer and Adlet had been hiding in earthenware pots. She had told them to run, and immediately afterward, she’d been stabbed in the chest with a knife. 
Adlet couldn’t do anything but cry, so Rainer ran and pulled him by the arm. When Adlet was about to be captured, Rainer had bitten their pursuer’s arm to save him and was stabbed in the back with a scythe. With the time Rainer had bought for him, Adlet had escaped alone. 
“Whatcha doin’?” Hans’s voice pulled Adlet back to reality. Hans and Dozzu were standing in front of him, and Adlet hadn’t even noticed their approach. “Were ya keepin’ watch? Or were ya asleep on yer feet? Huh?” Hans scolded him for his inattention. “Pull yerself together. It’s gonna get harder from here on meowt.” 
The two scouts went toward the hut. Looking over its shoulder, Dozzu said, “We have a problem. Let’s all discuss this together.” 
That was when Adlet noticed that Hans held a strange insect in his hand. It had a gnarled body, thin wings, and long, wirelike feelers. 
“The enemy has blocked our path,” said Dozzu. “Unfortunately, I believe it would be quite difficult to defeat them.” The fiend’s expression was severe. 
Adlet asked, “What did you find?” 
“Specialist number nine is protecting the forest that leads to the Temple of Fate. Or rather, the Dead Host under its command are.” 
“…‘Dead Host’?” 
But before Adlet could get a detailed explanation, Dozzu and Hans went into the hut. 
The Fainting Mountains were a line of cliffs that towered up so sharply they looked vertical. On their eastern side was a gently sloping valley, and beyond it, a forest that wasn’t very big—you could travel through it in less than two hours on foot. It had no particular name. 
“…Aghhhhhh…” 
About a thousand dead bodies wandered that forest—or rather, bodies that very clearly should be dead. 
They were parched to an ashen gray, their skin filigreed with cracks over rotting flesh. No one in this state could possibly still be alive. But these thousand bodies were walking on their own two feet. They turned their heads left and right as if scanning for something, their cloudy eyeballs swiveling about as they wandered. 
Something rustled in the forest. Instantly, the corpses let out piercing shrieks and surged far faster than any regular human could to the source of the sound, grabbing at it with hands outstretched. The culprit was a deer. The bodies captured the animal, crushing its bones and ripping off its flesh with their fists, and shortly, all that was left was a mass of meat. Having finished their work, the corpses returned to ambling around the forest. There was no sign of individuality or consciousness in their actions. It was as if something else was in control, ordering them to kill everything that moved, everything that lived. 
“Ahhhhh…” one of the bodies moaned. 
Every one of the thousand corpses, without exception, had a certain unique feature: a large insect clinging to its neck. Upon closer inspection, one could see the antennae and long, thin legs penetrating the back of the corpses’ heads and spines. The bugs were the main bodies; these were what controlled the corpses. They manipulated their hosts by sending signals to the regions of the brain and spinal cord that governed movement. Tgurneu had named this group of subjugated living corpses the “Dead Host.” 
In the center of the forest, under a particularly massive and noticeable tree, was a fiend. Shaped like an insect, it was a little bigger than a large human. Dozens of thin legs supported its knobby, brown body, and an armful of ghastly lumps was attached to the center of its stomach. This fiend was called specialist number nine. It was the creator and controller of the Dead Host, extolled as the most powerful member of Tgurneu’s forces. 
“The Dead Host?” Adlet repeated, without thinking. The allies sat together in the hut. Dozzu had told them that this “Dead Host” was obstructing the road to the Fainting Mountains. Adlet had never heard of them before. No such fiend had come up during Atreau’s lessons. “Explain to me. What kind of fiend is this?” 
“It’s not a fiend,” said Dozzu. “They’re humans. Though I’m not sure you could still really call them human.” It described the Dead Host to the others, how humans were used to make weapons, and how parasites birthed by specialist number nine would take over their bodies. 
Listening to Dozzu’s explanation, Adlet restrained his nausea. Mora put her hand over her mouth, while Rolonia blanched. Even Chamo and Goldof were frowning uncomfortably. 

“It was uncanny,” said Hans. “All these folks about five hundred times dirtier than me was wanderin’ around the forest. Even I turned a li’l scaredy-cat.” He was smiling—probably not from amusement. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. 
But come to think of it, Fremy had talked about this at the Bud of Eternity. She’d mentioned that one of Tgurneu’s fiends could take over and manipulate human bodies. But she hadn’t given much detail, so Adlet had never imagined the thing’s abilities were this cruel. 
“Based on what we saw,” Hans continued, “every single part of the forest is full of the Dead Host. We ain’t gettin’ through that, not unless we got some hieroform that can make us invisible.” 
Chamo said, “It sure sounds super nasty, but is it really a big problem? They’re just normal humans, right? Chamo’s pets can kill about a thousand people.” 
But Hans shook his head. “I tried killin’ a few, and I don’t think it’ll be that easy. I think they’re stronger than meowst fiends. They got muscle like Goldof, and they’re pretty fast, too.” 
“Huh?” said Chamo. 
“The Dead Host can push their human strength to its limits,” Dozzu explained. “People like Hans and Goldof have reached those limits through unusual effort and talent, but what gives the corpses their strength is the power of the parasites attached to them.” 
“Even all of us at once would have a hard time killin’ ’em if we fought ’em head-on,” said Hans. “We’d probably tire ourselves meowt first.” 
“Huh. I guess that’s kind of a problem, then.” Chamo pondered the issue. Even her seemingly immortal slave-fiends couldn’t keep fighting forever. 
“Dozzu,” said Mora, “must we pass through the forest to reach the Temple of Fate?” 
“Any other way would be difficult. Attempting to pass through another area of the Fainting Mountains region would be perilous, even for a fiend. If we search, we might be able to find a way in, but we don’t have that kind of time.” 
“So to investigate the Black Barrenbloom at the Temple of Fate…” Mora trailed off. 
“We must defeat the Dead Host and advance straight ahead into the central region of the mountains. If we search for another path, we’ll surely be surrounded by Tgurneu’s main forces in the process,” said Dozzu. 
Mora sighed. 
“Fortunately,” the fiend continued, “it looks as if specialist number nine is the only one guarding this forest. The others are either elsewhere on the mountain or defending the Temple of Fate.” 
“How…do we kill…the Dead Host?” Goldof asked. 
But Adlet cut into their conversation first. “Wait, Dozzu. Are the humans they used to make the Dead Host still alive?” 
Dozzu shook its head. “Their hearts are beating, but you couldn’t describe them as alive …not anymore. The parasites have commandeered their brains entirely, and their conscious minds are presumably entirely gone.” 
“What do you mean, ‘presumably’?” asked Adlet. 
“That’s all I can say. I’ve never become one of the Dead Host myself, and I’ve never heard one of those corpses speak.” 
Hans added, “Mya-meow. After the fight earlier, I tried dissectin’ one. Those wirey feelers and legs was jammed in their brains and neck bones. There’s neow way they could be alive, not like that.” 
“Hans, why the hell do you have to act like you’re enjoying this?” Adlet demanded, not pleased. 
Hans gave Adlet a blank look. “I’m always like this. Why’re ya suddenly all grumpy?” 
“Oh, never mind.” Hans was right. He was always like that. But his nonchalance was wearing on Adlet’s nerves. 
“So what should we do?” asked Rolonia. 
“About what?” said Dozzu. 
“To save the people of the Dead Host!” Rolonia yelled, and a strange silence fell between them. 
Hans, Chamo, and Nashetania all wore looks that said, What are you talking about? Mora, Dozzu, and Goldof seemed uncomfortable, and Fremy’s eyes were downcast, as if she was at a loss. 
“Unfortunately,” began Dozzu, “there’s no way to save them. Or there may be a way, but I don’t know it.” 
“Th-that can’t…!” Rolonia stood up. “Then…what do we have to do to find a way? Can we find out once we reach the Temple of Fate?” 
“Hardly. Rolonia, the Dead Host have no connection at all with the Temple of Fate.” 
“Then we’ll have to ask Tgurneu or some other fiend—” 
Dozzu shook its head, cutting her off. 
Mora grabbed Rolonia by the edges of her armor and forced her to sit. “Sit down, Rolonia. We must consider our course of action now.” 
“But that’s what I was—” 
Mora ignored her and addressed Dozzu. “How might we defeat the Dead Host, Dozzu?” 
“All of the corpses will be disabled if we can defeat specialist number nine, the one in charge. The parasites themselves don’t have individual minds. Specialist number nine controls them by producing a unique sound wave.” 
“And once we defeat specialist number nine, what will happen to the Dead Host?” 
“I should expect they’d all die soon after, in less than fifteen minutes.” 
“Just as I thought,” Mora murmured. Rolonia tried to speak again, but Mora gestured for her to remain silent. 
“Have my…? Have the people of my home village been turned into part of the Dead Host, too?” Adlet asked. 
Dozzu replied with some trepidation. “I don’t know anything about your home village. However, according to my comrades’ reports…all of the humans in the Howling Vilelands have joined the Dead Host.” 
Adlet felt like he’d been punched in the head. He closed his eyes. 
“Keep yourself together, Adlet,” said Mora. 
“Are they all…dead, then? All of them?” 
Dozzu nodded sadly. 
“Auhhhhh…” 
Meanwhile, one particular member of the Dead Host was wandering about the forest. Its mouth was an open, faintly moaning hollow. Head swinging back and forth, it staggered along. The body belonged to a man nearing twenty. He was tall, with long, disheveled red hair. He was covered in old scars that suggested horrible past abuse. 
Just like the others of the Dead Host, this body was wandering through the forest searching for living things. If he found anything alive in the forest, aside from his fellows, he would immediately kill it. 
But there was one thing about this corpse that differentiated it from the others: it was alive. 
How long do I have to wander around this forest? he wondered. 
He couldn’t move his own body; he was entirely controlled by the parasite attached to the back of his neck. His head was turned and his body forced to walk and fight as the parasite commanded. He couldn’t move a single muscle of his own free will. No matter how much he prayed, his arms, legs, fingers, mouth, and even his eyeballs would not obey his commands. The parasite owned him entirely. 
All he could do was listen, watch, and think. 
I feel like I’m going crazy , he thought. He’d been compelled to walk around the forest like this for days now. His entire body had reached the extremes of exhaustion; he couldn’t even feel his legs anymore. But still the parasite on his neck continued to mercilessly exploit his body. 
Don’t sleep. Don’t pass out. Keep it together , he prayed over and over in his mind. He couldn’t let himself lose consciousness. There was something he had to do. He had a duty to fulfill, even if it cost his life. I will…meet the Braves of the Six Flowers , he repeated over and over in his head, his consciousness dim. I’ll meet them and tell them…about the Black Barrenbloom. 
He knew the truth about the Black Barrenbloom, the most horrific hieroform ever created by Tgurneu’s hand, and he also knew that he was the only one who could tell the Braves about it. At this rate, they’ll all die. The power of the Black Barrenbloom will kill every last one of them. Don’t pass out. If you don’t tell them about the Black Barrenbloom, the world is over. 
The parasite drove him to keep walking. All he could do now was pray to stay aware and nothing more. Hurry up and come, Braves! I have to tell you about the Black Barrenbloom! 
His name was Rainer Milan, born in a small village named Hasna in Warlow, the Land of White Lakes. 
He was Adlet Mayer’s childhood friend. 
When Rainer was small, Tgurneu had come to his village, deceived the people there, and moved them all to the Howling Vilelands. The only ones to oppose this plan had been Rainer and his first crush, Schetra, who had lived in the house next door. The villagers killed Schetra, and Rainer took Schetra’s little brother, Adlet, by the hand and fled. But the villagers caught up with them. Rainer helped Adlet escape but was very badly wounded in the process. 
The next time Rainer opened his eyes, he was already on the way to the Howling Vilelands. The one who had treated Rainer’s life-threatening wounds had been Tgurneu. 
Tgurneu petted the injured boy’s head and told him kindly that soon the human realms would be annihilated, and they would have a new world ruled by the Evil God. But it didn’t want to kill all humans. Tgurneu had said that it would gladly welcome anyone who wanted to live together with fiends and serve the Evil God. Just like the other humans, Rainer believed it—for a time. But upon reflection, he just couldn’t understand how he could have fallen for such a transparent lie. 
They implanted Rainer’s body with a parasite that nullified the Evil God’s toxin and then took him to a village for humans within the Howling Vilelands. The villagers quickly found out that Tgurneu had deceived them. There were only three kinds of humans in the Howling Vilelands: slaves, cattle, and guinea pigs. 
The women able to give birth were the cattle, forced to bear children. The babies would quickly die of the toxin and then be fed to the fiends. The men were made slaves. They grew crops to feed the human population, and the fiends forced them to construct fences and forts for the counterattack against the Braves of the Six Flowers. Occasionally, their captors would collect a few of the cattle and the slaves, and they would never be seen again. Most of them were able-bodied and in good health, so rumor had it they were experimental subjects for creating weapons. The elderly, who were of no use at all, the fiends simply ate. 
The village where the humans lived was hell. 
They all said, Why didn’t we understand that Tgurneu tricked us? In hindsight, it was clear enough that it was all lies, wasn’t it? And if it was a lie that the fiends would welcome humans, then their story about humanity being doomed to destruction had to be a lie, too. 
Tgurneu had told them that the Saint of the Single Flower’s powers would soon vanish, the seal upon the Evil God would be removed entirely, and that once that happened, the Braves of the Six Flowers would no longer be able to kill it. But the fiends were still champing at the bit to defeat the six heroes and preparing for their battle, so that was clearly a lie. 
In this environment of inescapable despair, they all eventually stopped thinking about it. All except for Rainer. 
Ever since Rainer was little, he’d wanted to be one of the Braves of the Six Flowers. He’d fallen in love with the stories the visiting minstrels told. He’d admired Heroic King Folmar from the first generation. He’d cried for Pruka, Saint of Fire, who had put her life on the line to save her allies. He’d raged at the cowardly trap the fiends had set for Lowie, Saint of Wind and second generation Brave; the exploits of Hayuha, Saint of Time, had set his heart aflutter. Young Rainer had made up his mind that he, too, would become a Brave and save the world. 
No one understood his dream. His parents would hit him upside the head and admonish him not to say such stupid things. His only friend, Adlet, never rejected the idea, but didn’t believe in it, either. Schetra was exasperated with him, calling him hopeless. But Rainer never abandoned his resolve. He knew he had no talent for the sword, but that didn’t shake his focus. Even after Tgurneu tricked him and cast him into the hell of the Howling Vilelands, he was still determined. 
As the fiends whipped him, as he labored as their slave, Rainer was always waiting for his chance. He was going to get out—and he would tell the world about the captives in the Howling Vilelands, and then eventually, he’d gain the power to save them and come back. For a long, long time, he waited for his chance. 
Then suddenly, one year ago, that chance came. 
Repulsively enough, there was one human who cooperated with the fiends of his own free will. He received ever so slightly better food than the other humans, along with the right to take women as he pleased and whip the others. That was all it took for him to cooperate with Tgurneu, and sometimes, he would abuse the humans even worse than the fiends did. This man was given the duty of selecting people from the village to be experimental subjects and taking them to the location Tgurneu indicated. Only he, among all the humans, had a map of the Howling Vilelands. 
One night, Rainer sneaked into the man’s house. Since Rainer was allowed nothing that could be used as a weapon, he carried a string he’d braided from hair. He approached the man quietly from behind and strangled him with the string, right when the man was in the middle of tormenting a woman Tgurneu had given him. Rainer stole the man’s map and swore the woman to secrecy about his escape. With some meager rations in hand, he left the village. 
From the map, Rainer determined he was on the plains located in the center of the Howling Vilelands. He would cut across the Plain of Cropped Ears and enter the Cut-Finger Forest. Once out of the forest, he’d be in the Ravine of Spitten Blood, and if he could make it through, he’d be out of the Howling Vilelands and back in the human realms. 
Without any sleep or rest, Rainer headed eastward. He couldn’t stop, even at night. If he did, his pursuers were bound to find him quickly. He certainly couldn’t use any lights—that would be suicide. He walked the plains in the dark, tapping the ground with a wooden stick. Many times, he stumbled and fell. His feet were sliced up on the sharp rocks and oozed blood. But Rainer didn’t stop. 
On the dawn of the second day of his escape, he heard someone calling out to him from somewhere out on the plains. He held his breath and hunkered down. 
“Someone’s there…right? Could you…come over here?” 
At first, he thought it was the fiends looking for him. He couldn’t let his guard down, even though he could tell the voice was human—that didn’t change his position as a fugitive. 
“Did you escape? You did…right? Come over here…I need your help.” It sounded like an old woman. Cautiously, Rainer walked over. In the middle of the plains was a tiny hut packed with bodies. An old woman lay among them. “If you’re human…then listen to me. It’s not me…I need you to help. It’s…the world.” Careful not to make a sound, Rainer approached her. 
“Could you believe the word of an old woman you’ve never met before?” she asked. 
“…Depends on what you have to say.” 
“Would you believe me if I told you this strange old woman is trying to save the world?” Though hesitant, Rainer nodded. “My name is…well, that doesn’t matter. I escaped from the Fainting Mountains. I fled all by myself from the Temple of Fate that Tgurneu built. Please, tell someone…” 
“Tell them what?” 
“About the Black Barrenbloom.” 
The old woman told him that her name was Nio Glassta. Once, she had been an acolyte who served at the Temple of Illusion and aspired to Sainthood. 
She had been an exceptional student, diligently learning hieroglyphs and the means of controlling Saint’s powers, and she had worked hard for the temple. Fate had not blessed her, and she was not chosen as the Saint of Illusion. Instead, she was entrusted with the management of the lands the temple owned, and she helped with temple administration. She never married or had children, but one could say she’d had a good life. While not as prosperous as nobles or great merchants, she had a fairly comfortable lifestyle. Nio had believed her life would remain uneventfully ordinary to the end—until, in her mid-fifties, Torleau, Saint of Medicine, told her that she’d contracted an incurable illness. 
Nio wallowed in fear of her death. She’d led a prosperous life, so that should be enough, right? Death comes to all; there’s no helping that. But the classic consolations didn’t do a thing for her. She was simply terrified of death. Not because she had something to protect or because she had a goal in life. She was just irrationally terrified of mortality. 
She prayed. She’d give anything in exchange, she’d make any sacrifice, if she could just live one day, one second longer. Given time, she most likely would have come to accept her death, as is humans’ wont when their time comes. But before that could happen, Tgurneu paid her a visit. 
In the middle of the night, the kindly smiling fiend had come to stand beside Nio’s bed, where she slept alone. And then, without even giving her the time to be surprised, it greeted her with a smile. “Good evening. I apologize for coming at such a late hour.” Then it continued. “The powers of fiends could help you survive this. If you’re capable enough, you might even attain eternal life. Will you come with me?” 
Nio accepted Tgurneu’s proposal without question. Her fear of following a fiend was nothing at all compared to the terror of her impending death. 
Nio Glassta left the temple. Under Tgurneu’s direction, she carefully erased all traces of her departure. The Saint of Illusion and the acolytes must surely have believed that she had a peaceful death off in some village somewhere. 
Tgurneu had Nio implanted with a parasite that would nullify the Evil God’s toxins, and she journeyed to the Howling Vilelands, whereupon she was guided to the Temple of Fate in a place known as the Fainting Mountains. She followed after Tgurneu through the massive shrine before descending the stairs down, down, down to the underground. 
“I want you to create a hieroform for me,” said Tgurneu. “You must doubt that such a thing is possible, since you’re not a Saint. But I know that even one who is not a Saint can create a hieroform—if she steals a Saint’s powers.” The fiend smiled. “The Saints are foolish. They’ve been studying the Spirits’ powers over the course of thousands of years and never figured it out? It’s laughable.” 
A technique to steal a Saint’s power? How could a fiend know something that even the Elder of All Heavens Temple didn’t? Nio was skeptical, but still, lengthening her own life was more important to her. 
“Once you use up all of a Saint’s powers, they more or less become an empty husk. It’s quite the task to wring all their powers from them, too. But I believe that with your help, I can create the hieroform I seek.” Deep underground, Tgurneu opened a heavy iron door. In the center of a vast room was a simple stone chair. A mummy sat on it. 
It was a pitiful-looking corpse, just skin stretched over bones, restrained to the chair by chains upon chains, bound so heavily the body underneath could hardly be seen. Over the chains, the body was dressed in a simple, fresh robe. On its completely bald head was a decoration made of real flowers. The mummy’s head was drooping, its eyes and mouth closed. But Nio got the feeling it might move at any time. It emitted such an overwhelmingly intimidating aura, far more powerful than what she sensed in Tgurneu beside her, or even Leura, Saint of Sun, said to be the strongest alive. Nio’s knees began quivering. 
“Allow me to introduce you. This is the Saint of the Single Flower, the one you all worship. She’s still alive—though she’s essentially a hollow shell now. After decades of searching, I finally managed to invite her in.” 
“The Saint of the Single Flower…” Nio murmured. “But I thought…she’d left no body…” 
“Of course she left no body. She’s not dead,” Tgurneu said, laughing. “She made a genuinely foolish decision. If she’d meekly accepted her fate of death, I’d never have managed to use her like this. Well, it’s thanks to that that I can achieve my goal, though.” 
Nio didn’t understand what Tgurneu was talking about, but she could appreciate one thing: She was now involved in momentous events that would influence the fate of the world. But she could no longer turn back. 
“Now then, you’re going to steal the power of the Saint of the Single Flower for me. I’ve gathered about twenty other researchers, too. Whichever of you demonstrates the most exceptional ability, I will warmly welcome as a fiend.” From behind, Tgurneu gently stroked Nio’s cheek. “How about it? We fiends can live over a thousand years. We will never die, as long as the Evil God exists. Come on, don’t you want to be free of the fear of death?” 
Nio was trapped by both the utter certainty that Tgurneu would kill her if she refused and the temptation of its offer. 
One of Tgurneu’s subordinates gave her a fiend’s power to cure her sickness. For the next ten years, she immersed herself in the research as ordered. If she failed to devote herself to it entirely, she would have died. Caught between guilt and the fear of death, she created the Black Barrenbloom. 
The old woman didn’t tell Rainer everything. All she told him, in hushed tones, was that she’d been foolish, that she’d met the Saint of the Single Flower, and that she’d been driven to create a hieroform. 
“But then I saw one of the fiends looking at me and drooling. That’s how I knew we were just food to them.” 
She said that by something near a miracle, she had managed to escape from the Temple of Fate. She had secretly stolen from the Saint of the Single Flower some of the power to reject the fate of death and then killed herself. The fiends had then carried her to this storehouse for bodies, and she had succeeded in reviving herself with her stolen ability. 
Rainer didn’t get what all of this meant. What was the power of the Spirit of Fate? What did it mean to steal the power of a Saint? 
But the old woman continued her story. “Tgurneu and the other fiends probably think I’m long dead. None of them will have figured out that I’m talking to you right now.” She went on, but to Rainer’s eyes, it looked as though she was already dying. “I finished the Black Barrenbloom. I was a fool.” She clenched her teeth. “Tgurneu is the worst kind of liar. If I’d known this would happen… If I’d only known!” Tears rose in her eyes. “No…perhaps…I would have done all of this anyway.” 
“Tell me, what is this…Black Barrenbloom?” 
The old woman clung to him. “Yes, I’ll tell you. That’s what I survived this for. There’s no hope for me now. I can’t go anywhere, not with these legs. Take this information and run to the continent. See the King of Gwenvaella, or if not him, then go to All Heavens Temple. Tell this to the Braves of the Six Flowers.” 
“I understand. So tell me.” 
“They made us create the unthinkable. Even I had no idea just how terrible it was.” 
“Just tell me! What is the Black Barrenbloom?!” 
“Listen closely.” The old woman quietly began explaining, and Rainer learned the true nature of the Black Barrenbloom. By the time she finished, his face was pale. He had to tell people, no matter what. If he didn’t, the world would be destroyed. 
When the old woman had told him all she could, she gently held her finger out to him. “I’ll give you divine protection, the power I stole from the Saint of the Single Flower. It’s not much, but with this power, you can repel your fate to die.” He could just faintly see something like a tiny flower petal on the old woman’s fingertip. She touched it to Rainer, and then the petal was gone. “Don’t rely on this. It’s just the dregs of the power I stole from the Saint of the Single Flower, and she had only dregs to begin with. I doubt it’ll be any use to you at all.” 
Once the old woman was done telling him everything, she lay down. Her death was drawing near. “That fecal slime…Tgurneu. You dungpile! You said you’d let me live…” Finally, she breathed her last. Rainer was sure she’d told him all this not to protect the world, but most likely as revenge on Tgurneu for deceiving her. 
Rainer made certain that no traces of his visit remained within the hut and then quietly left. Now he had one more reason to survive—not for his own sake, but for the sake of the world. 
After that, Rainer kept walking. But once he reached the end of the plains, he came to a ravine so massive it defied imagination. There was no end in sight in either direction, and the bottom was seething hot with no way to cross. And no matter how much he walked and walked, he couldn’t find a bridge. 
He despaired. This ravine wasn’t on the map. He hadn’t known that his chart was a hundred years old. A century ago, Cargikk’s Canyon was only half done, and not yet drawn on it. There was no way someone like Rainer could cross a ravine created to block the Braves of the Six Flowers. 
As Rainer was searching for a bridge, a fiend on watch discovered him. Helpless, he was captured, and they carried him to a cave near the Fainting Mountains. There, they planted a parasite on the back of his neck. Now one of the Dead Host, he was abandoned on the cave floor. 
“Auhhhh…” 
A year had passed since then. 
Rainer figured that the reason he was still conscious was because of the old woman’s gift to him, the power of the Saint of the Single Flower that would allegedly stave off his death, just a little. Without it, he probably would have ended up a mere walking corpse like all the rest. But even the borrowed power wouldn’t free his body. He was only just barely surviving, and the parasite still controlled his body entirely. 
All that happened as he lay in that cave was the passage of time. Rainer endured and endured the endless inactivity. For the first few days, he thought he’d go crazy. Many times, he prayed for them to kill him. He wished he’d never even met that old woman if it meant he would end up feeling like this. He’d rather let go and cease thinking at all. 
But Rainer endured the torture. Only one thing carried him through it: He’d risked his life to save a friend, and that friend was still alive in the human realms. Rainer lived for Adlet. 
Adlet was a hopeless case. He was smart, in his own way, but he had no backbone, he was physically weak, and he was a horrible coward. He had to be still alive out there, living in fear of the Evil God’s revival. Rainer was the only one who could protect him. Yes, he was a Brave who would protect Adlet. He didn’t have a Crest of the Six Flowers, but he was still a Brave. 
The Heroic King Folmar had overcome even greater trials than this. Hayuha, Saint of Time, had stood up to more formidable enemies. I’ll overcome this, too , he repeated to himself silently, over and over. 
Are the Braves of the Six Flowers already here in the Howling Vilelands? Rainer wondered as he was driven to walk around the forest. Judging from the situation, he should assume that the battle between the fiends and the Braves of the Six Flowers had already begun. The Dead Host had been released into this forest three days earlier. It had to be to fight the Braves. He couldn’t think of any other reason the fiends would deploy them. 
He wondered where the human heroes were. Were they heading for this forest? Or would they bypass it and journey down some other path? Or maybe…the power of the Black Barrenbloom had killed them all already. Please, Braves of the Six Flowers, be alive , he prayed in his heart. 
But even if they were alive, how could he tell them about the Black Barrenbloom? The parasite controlled his body. He couldn’t run to them. Even if he could get near them, he couldn’t communicate. 
Only one option remained: The Braves of the Six Flowers had to save him and remove the parasite from him so he could speak. There was no other way. 
Rainer didn’t know anything about the nature of this parasite, and he didn’t know if removal was possible, either. But the Braves of the Six Flowers would possess unusual abilities, and they would also have Saints among them with powers that surpassed human knowledge. Rainer believed that with their powers, it would be possible for them to remove the parasite and rescue him. But what could he do to make such a feat possible for them? 
The Braves of the Six Flowers didn’t know he was alive. They didn’t know he had information on the Black Barrenbloom, either. And the Dead Host was a weapon made to kill the Six Braves. The Dead Host might have all been human once, but the Braves would surely disregard that and slaughter them all anyway. Of course, that included Rainer. 
And even if they didn’t want to kill the Dead Host, would the Braves save them? They might consider it, but they also might not have the resources. The chosen six were in the middle of a mortal struggle. They might give up on saving the Dead Host and just wipe them out, or they could dash right past them and avoid the fight. If they did, Rainer wouldn’t be able to tell them about the Black Barrenbloom. Then what should he do? 
He had one choice: communicate to the Six Braves that he was still alive, that there was a hieroform called the Black Barrenbloom, and that he knew about it. But was it possible? His body wouldn’t move, and he couldn’t talk, either. Could he do it? 
Still, he wouldn’t give up. Even without autonomous movement, even as a living corpse, he believed hope must surely remain. 
Please, Braves of the Six Flowers… he called out to them in his mind. Saint of the Single Flower, Spirit of Fate: hear my wish. My life doesn’t matter. Once I’ve told them about the Black Barrenbloom, it won’t matter if I die. Just let me meet the Braves. 
In the hut a little ways removed from the Dead Host wandering the forest, the Braves of the Six Flowers were all silent. Adlet was staring at the ground, lips trembling. What Dozzu had just said repeated over and over in his mind. 
Every single one of the people from his village had been forced into the Dead Host. 
“Addy, are you okay?” Rolonia drew near him, examining his expression. 
It’s okay, I’m the strongest man in the world , Adlet tried to say with a grin. But his mouth wouldn’t move, and he couldn’t even summon a smile.