“Yes, Your Highness. I obtained this report from someone I believe to be trustworthy who personally fought the killer,” he said.
“So who is this assassin?” asked Nashetania.
Goldof’s voice grew tense. “The Saint of Gunpowder—a silver-haired girl who wields a gun. Her name is Fremy.”
Chapter 2
The Six Braves Convene
Adlet and Fremy advanced toward the Howling Vilelands. They walked in silence along a mountain path, where all that grew was grass that cropped up sparsely between the rocks and pebbles. According to the map, once they crossed over two more mountains, they would finally be able to see their destination. It had been six hours since they first met, and the sun was high.
“It’s kinda hot, huh?” Adlet remarked to Fremy, who walked ahead of him.
She didn’t reply.
“I wonder if it’s supposed to be especially hot around here. Do you know anything about it, Fremy?”
Unsurprisingly, no response.
“I’ve never heard of the Saint of Gunpowder. What kind of stuff can you do?”
“…”
“Well, since you’re the Saint of Gunpowder, do you have any explosives? I’d be grateful if you could share some with me.”
“…”
“I didn’t know there was a gun that could kill fiends. Who made it?”
Adlet made numerous attempts to talk to her in an effort to improve relations between them, even just a little bit. But each time, all he got in return was stonelike silence. He was beginning to feel annoyed. His initial impression of her lonely and ephemeral air was entirely gone. All he could see was a selfish, rude, incomprehensible woman. “Say something. Just what the hell do you take me for?”
“A brazen, thoughtless, unmanageable idiot.”
“Oh, so you’ll answer that question, huh?!” Adlet lost all desire to talk to her. He decided to walk mutely.
He wondered what Nashetania was up to. He hoped she was also heading toward the Howling Vilelands. If she was looking for him, she would be late joining the rest of the group. He was also worried about having left her alone.
“If you’re worried about Nashetania, why don’t you go back?” suggested Fremy, as if she had read his mind.
“Nah, I’m not worried about her. At least, not as much as I am about you.”
“Hmph,” Fremy snorted bitterly. “I didn’t think Nashetania would be chosen. Between you and her, the Braves don’t look all that promising this time around.”
“You’re wrong,” said Adlet. “Nashetania is immature and inexperienced, but she’s a fine warrior.”
“You’re sure arrogant enough—you calling her immature and inexperienced.”
“I’m the strongest man in the world. From my point of view, everyone else is inexperienced.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she spat, and they both went silent again.
They crossed over one mountain, and once they finished scaling the next, the Howling Vilelands would be within view. As they approached the summit, suddenly Fremy said, “Can I ask you something?” Adlet was surprised to hear her speak out of the blue. “I have a request,” she continued.
“What is it?”
“Eventually, we’ll end up trying to kill each other. No matter what you may think now, it will happen.”
“No, it won’t,” Adlet insisted.
But Fremy shook her head. “Please. When the time comes, go easy on me. Even if you end up taking me down, don’t finish me off.”
“What kind of request is that? I’d rather hear you ask to fight together.”
“I figured you would be willing to listen to a small request like this one.”
“…”
“I can’t afford to die. Not until I defeat the Evil God with my own two hands.” That was all Fremy said before she stopped talking. Adlet couldn’t say anything else after that, either.
I can’t afford to die. She had uttered those words determinedly. But behind them, Adlet had also sensed indescribable sadness. He thought of Nashetania. Being with her cheered him up—but being with Fremy was emotionally painful, like something was pressing on his chest.
“That’s the Howling Vilelands,” said Adlet.
The two of them arrived at the summit of the mountain; before them lay a sprawling landscape. Woodlands extended from the foot of the mountain to the sea, and a thin, twisting road pierced through the center of the forest. Beyond it lay the black sea. Projecting out into the sea was the Balca Peninsula, otherwise known as the Howling Vilelands, the territory where the fiends and the Evil God lurked.
Adlet pointed at the root of the peninsula and said, “We’re meeting up there, where the continent and the peninsula converge.”
“You are,” Fremy replied.
They couldn’t see the full expansion of the region very well from their position. The land was covered in rugged hills dotted sparsely with forests and brush. Strangely, the entire peninsula was stained pitch-black.
“Wow, that color,” said Adlet. “So that’s the Evil God’s poison, huh?”
The Howling Vilelands were filled with a unique toxin that the Evil God exuded from its body. It had no effect on any living thing other than humans, but if a human touched it, death was certain in about a day. There was only one way to neutralize the poison: to be chosen as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers and receive the divine protection of the Spirit of Fate. As long as the Evil God’s poison was present, only the six Braves were capable of approaching. If it weren’t for that, there would be no need for the six of them to attack alone.
“So what will you do?” asked Fremy. “I don’t want to encounter the other Braves.”
Adlet pointed at the foot of the mountain and said, “I’m a little curious about that fort.” There was a small stronghold there. It appeared partially destroyed, and there was smoke rising from it.
The two of them descended the mountain and arrived at the fort. It was damaged, but it seemed there were still people inside. Fremy pulled her hood over her head, hid the crest on her left hand, and stayed alert to her surroundings. Adlet found a soldier sitting in the archer’s tower.
“If there are any Braves in there, I’m running,” said Fremy.
“I understand.” Adlet nodded,
