“Well…as long as you feel stable…,” he replied.
“I understand now. This is it.” Nashetania looked at him. “This is the first time I have ever experienced this. So this is what true anger feels like.”
“Your Highness…”
“Not that I have never been irritated before,” she said. “But I have never been angry in earnest. Now, for the first time, I know just what it means to be truly furious.” Nashetania smiled, and then she dashed off. The person wearing that smile was different from who she had been before. “I finally understand… So this is what it’s like. How do I express these feelings?”
“Your Highness…”
“Adlet…I trusted you… I trusted you.” Nashetania’s hand trembled as it grasped her sword. “This is lovely, isn’t it, Goldof! It’s been nothing but new experiences ever since I set out on this journey! And I will continue to encounter so many new things from now on, too!” Nashetania ran straight ahead, not turning back to look at Goldof. “I do so want to know! What will it feel like when I give in to anger and slice my enemy to shreds?”
Goldof was speechless as he watched Nashetania sprinting ahead of him.
Fremy was trying to kill Adlet. Chamo had restrained Hans, and Mora, Nashetania, and Goldof were all rushing toward Adlet’s position. As all this was transpiring, the seventh was thinking, I can’t say this is going well.
Initially, the seventh had expected that eliminating Adlet would be a simple matter. Adlet taking Fremy hostage had come as a shock, and the idea that the boy would be capable of evading the others for a full day thereafter hadn’t even been a consideration. Adlet had been nothing but surprises. His self-designated title of “the strongest man in the world” no longer rang entirely false.
But that was nothing more than a minor error in the seventh’s calculations. It had always been a matter of time before Adlet was dead. Even if he held out for an extra day or two, it still wouldn’t change anything.
What to do after slaying Adlet? Of course, Fremy would be the next to go. That should prove simple enough. Her allies would kill her of their own accord. Things would get a bit more difficult after that. The best course of action would be for the impostor to eliminate any individual with lingering doubts. If it seemed that opinions were divided, then instigating a confrontation in which two killed each other off made the most sense. Improvising as things unfolded rather than clinging to any particular plan was the surest course.
Though the chances were low, there was the possibility that the impostor could become suspect. If that happened, then flight was one option. Two of the six Braves should be slain by that point, though, and that should prove good enough for this battle.
But if Adlet succeeded in stopping all their fighting and urged them to settle everything by talking, what then? That would just change the order of slaughter. The impostor would manipulate the conversation and kill Fremy and could do away with Adlet after that. While that situation could bring about certain difficulties, it probably wouldn’t be a big problem.
A famous strategist had once said the outcome of any battle was already 90 percent decided before it even began. The seventh reflected upon the inherent truth of that statement. When Adlet set foot in the temple, when the seventh had set in motion the trap that had generated the fog, all the while evading the notice of the entire group—that was when it had all been decided.
The seventh had just one worry. Once Adlet and Fremy were dead, when all the others realized that neither of the two had been the seventh, what expressions the Braves of the Six Flowers would wear! Would the laughter finally be irrepressible? It had been a desperate struggle to tamp down the snickering thus far.
“Fremy! Go back to the temple! If you go there, you’ll know that Mora is lying!” Adlet yelled as he fled through the forest.
Fremy did not reply. She just maintained pursuit, her gun trained on him. It was not so easy for her to attack him—her weapon was such that, once she fired one shot, she had to load another bullet to fire again. It was not possible for her to fire continuously. “So what?” she asked, taking aim at Adlet. “Mora may be lying, but that won’t change the fact that you’re the impostor.”
“Why do you think that? I—” The moment Adlet tried to turn around and contradict her, he was forced to throw himself to the ground. Fremy’s bullet passed over his head. Hot, sharp wind scorched his skin. If he took even a single hit, his body would be blown to pieces.
“I missed,” said Fremy, and she loaded another bullet. With a normal gun, she would have had to stuff the gunpowder down the muzzle and then pack it in with a stick. But Fremy kept her hand on the grip as she loaded the iron ball. Adlet had no idea how that gun was constructed. “Mora! You’re still not here yet?! Adlet is over here!” Fremy called.
How close was Mora? Adlet was running around at random with no idea which way he should go. He was naturally faster than Fremy. If he were to put some distance between them, he could get out of her line of sight.
But the moment she vanished behind him into the fog, he heard her cry, “I won’t let you get away!”
This time, she threw a bomb. Adlet leaped onto a tree branch. The explosion flattened the surrounding trees, and a second and third bomb arced toward him from beyond the smoke. He threw knives to intercept them. The wind of
