“Hey, before we go to sleep, I’d like to ask you something,” said Adlet. “What happened with that killer who’s after the Braves?”
“Oh yes, I haven’t told you about that yet, have I?” Nashetania’s expression grew grim. It seemed the news was not good. “I didn’t tell you before, but in fact, six months ago, Goldof left on a journey in search of the Brave-killer.”
“Goldof…that’s a knight of yours, right?” Adlet knew the name. Goldof Auora: captain of the Black Horns knights. A prodigious young fighter and the pride of Piena’s royal army. He was the strongest knight in Piena, purported to rival Nashetania in strength.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t heard anything heartening. The last communication I had from him was a month and a half ago, and all he said was that he had no leads.”
“The killer might’ve taken him out.”
“I think not!” Unusually for her, Nashetania’s voice rose. “Goldof is strong. I’ve never beaten him.”
“What about that tournament last year?” he asked. Nashetania had been the victor of the Tournament Before the Divine the previous year. Adlet had heard that she had faced Goldof in the finals, and at the end of a desperate struggle, she had defeated him.
“At the very end, he went easy on me. But there’s no helping that…because of my position. But I’ve never been so frustrated in my life. That’s why I made him promise me—he’s not allowed to die until I can defeat him in a rematch. That’s why Goldof can’t die. He wouldn’t.” Nashetania deliberated for a bit. “…I think.”
“Do you have confidence in him or not?”
“I have confidence in him. But he’s a little too young. He’s still only sixteen.”
“That’s young, all right. Not like we can talk, though,” said Adlet. He was eighteen, and he had heard that Nashetania was the same age. They were rather young to be shouldering the fate of the world.
“But Goldof is strong. He’s just a little unreliable in certain ways,” she said.
“Well, I hope he’s as good as you say. So he hasn’t got any leads. Any other news?”
“Yes. The Saint of Sun, Leura, disappeared a month ago.”
“Leura? The Saint of Sun?” Adlet paused. That was another familiar name. That Saint was a living legend reported to wield the power of the Spirit of Sun. About forty years ago, during a war, she had displayed the full extent of her power. She had burned down a besieged castle by shining down rays of heat from the sky. Adlet had heard that she’d conquered over ten fortresses, all on her own. Once she was older, she’d taken over the role of the elder who governed the Saints, but by now, she should have retired from that job, too. “She’s famous, but she’s too old to be fighting, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s over eighty,” replied Nashetania. “No matter how powerful she might be, I don’t think she’s in any state to be joining the battlefield.”
“That’s weird, though. There should be others the killer would go after instead. Like me, or you, or Goldof. There’s even the Saint of Swamps, Chamo. There’re tons of powerful people out there.”
“I think it’s odd, too…” Nashetania furrowed her brows. Sitting here talking wouldn’t change anything.
“Well, whatever,” said Adlet. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll find out about this Brave-killer sooner or later.”
“Sooner or later?”
“We’ll end up fighting them. No doubt about it.”
“Do you think the killer is a fiend? Or could it actually be a human?”
“I don’t know.”
Nashetania lay down on her bedding. Adlet closed his eyes, holding his knees to his chest. In that position, he could rest his mind and body while still staying alert. The evening went by without event, and so did the next day, and the next. The fact that nothing was happening only made Adlet more uneasy.
The two of them continued their hurried journey for ten days. They swapped their horses out for fresh mounts multiple times, sleeping less than three hours a day as they progressed. At a normal pace, the trip would have taken nearly thirty days. They ended their long travels as they finally crossed the border into the Land of Iron Mountains, Gwenvaella, beyond which the Howling Vilelands lay. The road twisted through the ravine between steep mountains, and the whole area was covered in deep forests.
Gradually, they started hearing more and more rumors about the Evil God. The closer they got to the Howling Vilelands, the grimmer the expressions of the people they encountered became. Once they reached the Land of Iron Mountains, here and there they began seeing families packing up their things to flee.
“Let’s hurry,” said Nashetania. Her excitement had ebbed now that they were nearing their goal. She may have been innocent, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Watch out. Fiends will probably start attacking us soon,” Adlet warned her.
“How do you know?”
“The enemy plans to strike before we can all get together. That’s what they did with the previous generation of Braves.”
“You sure know a lot about this.”
“My master pounded into my head everything there is to know about fiends,” he explained. “The different types, the environments they live in, their weaknesses, and behavior you can expect to see from them.”
“I’ll be counting on you, then.”
After that, Adlet and Nashetania continued down the road, and Nashetania spoke less and less. Finally, she stopped talking completely.
Unable to take it anymore, Adlet broke the silence. “Nashetania.”
She didn’t respond. Nashetania was clutching the reins of her horse, a brooding expression on her face.
“Nashetania!”
“Y-yes?!”
“Are you feeling anxious?” he asked.
The Brave’s knuckles were white from her grip on her reins. She released them to rub the sweat off on her thighs. It was evident that she’d lost her composure.
“Calm down,” he said. “The fight hasn’t even started.”
“Y-you’re right. I wonder why I’m so anxious.”
This bothered Adlet. “Have you ever been in a real fight before? Have you ever experienced a serious battle, where people are trying to kill each other?”
“I…” She trailed off.
Guess not, thought Adlet. There was no helping that. She may
