Chamo slowly closed on Fremy. Mora seemed torn on the matter as well, but she made no move to stop the younger Saint. Nashetania could do nothing but panic.
The moment Adlet thought he would have no choice but to fight, an unexpected voice called for restraint.
“Don’t bother. I don’t reckon Fremy’s the seventh.” It was Hans.
Chamo, surprised, moved the foxtail away from her lips. “What’re you talking about, catboy?”
“I’m just sayin’, Fremy is too suspicious.”
“That’s not a reason,” said Chamo.
“Meow. Then I’ll explain it proper. If Fremy’s the seventh, then why is Adlet alive?”
“?” Chamo looked doubtful.
“If Fremy’s our impostor, it’s weird for her not to have killed Adlet by now. And the princess was with ’em, too—Fremy coulda killed ’em both at the same time. From what we’ve heard, I think she woulda had any number of meowportunities.”
“Well…” Chamo hesitated.
“All seven of us gatherin’ here would be the worst possible situation Fremy could be in,” continued Hans. “Once all the Braves come together in one spot, it’s clear that there’s a fake. And hearin’ her name and seein’ her face, we already know she’s the Brave-killer. She would expect to be tortured and killed, ya know?”
“Yeah,” agreed Chamo.
“She’d want to avoid all of us gettin’ together, whatever it took. But she just casually followed along with you folks, just like Adlet wanted her to. If Fremy were the seventh, what’d be the point in that?”
“You have a point,” said Mora. “That’s rather too many inconsistencies in her behavior for her to be our enemy.”
“Yes…maybe you’re right.” Nashetania concurred.
Adlet was relieved to have received such unexpected aid.
“But that does not change the fact that Fremy is the most suspicious among us,” said Mora.
“Well, that’s true,” agreed Hans. “But if she was plannin’ to trick us, I think she woulda done somethin’ of a better job.”
Chamo gazed sadly at her foxtail. “Hey, so is Chamo not allowed to torture her?”
“Meow. Not yet.”
“This is the first time ever that so many people have talked back to Chamo.” Chamo sank into despondency. They had, for the time being, avoided the immediate crisis.
“So then, what should we do now?” asked Mora, sounding weary now that the fuss over possible torture had died down. This discussion had been going on for quite some time, but they had largely made no progress.
Suddenly, Nashetania hunched over, pressing her forehead.
“Your Highness!” Goldof released Fremy and ran toward Nashetania. Hans immediately grabbed Fremy’s chains instead.
“I’m okay… I just felt a little dizzy,” said Nashetania as she tried to stand.
“Sit down. Don’t push yourself,” advised Adlet.
“All right.” Still pressing her forehead, Nashetania knelt. Goldof drew close to her, propping her up. She looked pale. She must have been terribly exhausted. She had not displayed such fragility before, not even the first time she’d engaged with fiends. She was an excellent warrior. But she had been raised without wanting for anything, after all, so she was mentally weak. One of her comrades was the enemy, and the situation was too much to bear.
“Well, there’s no helping it. We will take a brief break,” Mora said, shoulders sagging. Though this was no time to be taking a breather, each of them got some rest.
Adlet decided to leave Nashetania to Goldof. When he stood, Mora beckoned him over. Adlet and Mora moved to a corner of the temple. “What is it, Mora?” he asked.
“Nothing terribly important,” she said. “I merely felt that you seemed like the easiest person with whom to speak.”
“Of course. ’Cause I’m the strongest man in the world.”
“The fact that you’re the easiest person to talk to here points to a difficult future.” Mora let out a small sigh. “Why are you so sure that Fremy is not the seventh?”
“I’ve got nothing to back it up,” he admitted. “It’s just, when we were together, her feelings got through to me.”
“It’s been half a day at most.”
“Yeah, but when something gets through, it gets through.”
“Your rationale is quite vague.”
“When we first met, I made up my mind to trust her,” Adlet said.
Mora gave him a deeply troubled look. “You’re too young. There is danger in youth that knows no suspicion.”
“Thanks for the advice. But my opinion isn’t gonna change.”
“I feel a little uneasy about this. You and the other Braves gathered here now are all so young. Chamo and Goldof are still at an age most would call children. Maybe the Spirit of Fate has made an error in judgment.”
It was true. Adlet and Nashetania were still eighteen. Fremy and Hans were of unknown age, but they didn’t look to be much older or younger than Adlet. “Strength isn’t measured in years alone,” said Adlet. “Young people have the strength of youth.”
“I hope so.”
“It’ll make you feel better to think like I do. If you’re pessimistic, you’ll make even winnable battles impossible.”
“I see. I suppose being able to think that way is another privilege of youth.” Mora smiled.
But Adlet figured that Mora still counted as pretty young by most standards. Setting aside her slightly weird, old-fashioned manner of speech, just how old was she?
“Do not speculate on a woman’s age, foolish boy,” she said.
Sharp. Adlet smiled wryly.
Then Nashetania stood. The energy had returned to her face, and fighting spirit burned in her eyes. “I’ve calmed down. I apologize for being such a burden, everyone.”
The seven of them, having scattered about in various directions, now gathered once more around the altar. Goldof took over guard duty from Hans and watched Fremy.
“Let us go outside,” said Mora. “We must pursue the person who activated the barrier. First, we will search for clues. Adlet, explain the situation when the barrier was activated, in as much detail as possible,” she prompted, and the group left the temple.
As Adlet began walking out, Nashetania grabbed his hand. “What’s wrong, Nashetania?” he asked.
“Um, please don’t think of me as an unreliable person,” she said. “I was just a little startled.”
“I get it. It’s not like you to be timid—it’s more like you to get up to some mischief.”
Nashetania
