Adlet. Not only had he been dragged into playing defense corps, but then he had to pacify his friend’s livid mother.

“Oh, welcome home. Rainer really beat you good, didn’t he?” When Adlet returned to his stone cottage, he was welcomed by the smell of mushroom stew and a woman in her midtwenties. Her name was Schetra, and she was Adlet’s guardian.

“Schetra, tell Rainer to give me a break from all the practice fights,” said Adlet.

“Tell him that yourself. Besides, he’s not trying to be mean.”

“I’m sick of it. I don’t have to be a fighter. I hate fighting,” complained Adlet, depositing a cloth bundle on the table. A pleasant smell wafted from within it.

“Those are meadowcap mushrooms, aren’t they?” asked Schetra. “Perfect. I was just looking for some ingredients to add flavor.”

After Rainer ran away, Adlet had gone into the forest to look for mushrooms. He’d acquired a number of rare specimens that day. Finding delicious mushrooms was Adlet’s hobby, and it was what he was best at. Schetra cut up the meadow morsels and put them in the stew, producing a fragrant smell reminiscent of chargrilled meat.

Three years earlier, Adlet had lost his parents to the plague, and Schetra had lost her shepherd husband the same way. Schetra had taken Adlet in, and the two of them had been living together ever since. Adlet’s guardian tended to the sheep and cut their wool, while the boy used their milk to make cheese. The pair sold both to the other villagers to support themselves.

That was Adlet Mayer’s memory of being ten years old. He had been content then. After he’d lost his parents, Schetra had kindly embraced him. She’d brought the smiles back to his face. Adlet loved the smell of earth and sheep steeped into Schetra’s body. Rainer was a pain in the butt, but he was a good friend. Adlet was sick of playing defense corps, but he understood quite well that Rainer felt strongly for Adlet and the rest of the village, in his own way. And the other villagers were good people. They bought Adlet’s clumsily made cheese and told him it was good, despite the fact that it would have tasted better if Schetra had made it.

Adlet had been a truly ordinary boy then. He had never considered that he could become one of the Braves of the Six Flowers. He’d never even wanted to, not once. What he’d been good at was finding mushrooms. His goal for the future had been learning to make better cheese.

Young Adlet had believed that those days would go on forever.

It was a dream. A dream of things past.

“……Why have you come here?”

The setting of the dream had changed. There was a house in a forest, a modified cave in the thickly overgrown trees—not very homey. An old man sat cross-legged within.

“Atreau Spiker. I heard you could teach me to become a warrior.” Adlet looked like death. His clothes were tattered, and his body was rail-thin. Both his hands were covered in blood, and his eyes were those of a man who’d died with lingering resentment.

“Leave this mountain. If you wish to be strong, join the knights. If you be a commoner, join a mercenary band.” The old man—Atreau—refused in a quiet but resonant voice.

“That wouldn’t be enough. That would make me strong. But it wouldn’t make me the strongest in the world.”

“The strongest in the world?” Atreau’s eyebrows wavered, their long hair obscuring his expression.

“I can’t become the strongest in the world through normal training,” continued Adlet. “I need to walk a different path. I will become the strongest man in the world. I’ll become the strongest and destroy the fiends.”

“Why do you want to be a warrior?” the old man asked.

“To take back what was stolen from me,” Adlet replied. “I can’t get it back unless I become stronger than anyone. Stronger than everyone.”

“Give up,” said Atreau coldly. “What is gone cannot be retrieved. Give it up and live on.”

“I can’t!” Adlet yelled. “I have to get it back! If I don’t, then what have I survived for?! If I can’t defeat the Evil God, if I can’t fight fiends, my life isn’t worth living at all!”

Atreau looked into Adlet’s eyes for a while, thinking.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” asked Adlet. “You think there’s no way I can become the strongest in the world, don’t you?” There were tears in his eyes. “I don’t care if you think I’m stupid. I don’t care if you laugh at me. I’ll keep on believing I can become the strongest man in the world. I’ll keep on yelling that I’ll be the strongest man in the world. How could I become stronger if I didn’t?!”

Atreau gazed up at the heavens contemplatively. Then he slowly stood and kicked Adlet hard in the gut. It knocked the wind out of him, acid welling up from his empty stomach. Atreau kicked Adlet’s sides and his back over and over. He stepped on the boy’s face and ground it into the cavern floor. And then Atreau said, “Smile.”

“…Huh? Sm…ile?” Though he tried to reply, the words wouldn’t come out. He hurt so much he felt he would die.

“If you want to be a warrior, then smile.” Atreau kicked Adlet’s back. “When sorrow inspires the urge to die. When agony makes it necessary to throw everything away and flee. When you drown in despair and can see no light. One who can smile even then will become strong.”

Adlet’s trembling lips twisted. His cheeks spasmed, and though his expression didn’t look much like he was smiling, he was.

After that, Atreau continued beating him. He kicked Adlet’s face until blood spurted from his nose. He punched Adlet’s stomach until blood mixed with vomit. But even then, Atreau did not stop. To smile, even when spewing red-tinted bile, with his nose dripping blood, and tears streaking down his face. That was the first technique of battle that Atreau taught Adlet.

Adlet opened his eyes. It had

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