“It won’t work, Goldof,” said Mora. “He will not speak. He is a frighteningly stubborn man.”
“That’s right. We should kill him immediately,” agreed Nashetania.
“Let go! Let me go, Mora!” Fremy struggled as hard as she could, but she couldn’t shake free.
It appeared that Adlet was cornered…but he was smiling. Why?
Because he saw the silhouette approaching Mora from behind.
“…Huh?” The moment Nashetania spotted that shape, the sword slipped from her hand.
“You took way too long. Just where the hell were you?!” Adlet chided Hans, who’d finally decided to show up, and Chamo, who trailed behind him.
“Sorry. I was lookin’ for ya.” Hans awkwardly scratched his head. It sounded as though he knew that he shouldn’t have left the temple. Well, there was no point blaming him. It had been a close call, but they’d made it in time.
“…Huh? Huh?” Nashetania was momentarily stunned. Goldof was also speechless. Nashetania forgot her sword on the ground and ran up to Adlet. “It can’t be…it can’t be…then…” Tears fell from her eyes.
Adlet smiled wryly and said, “Nashetania, you really are powerful. That fight was actually kinda tough. Kinda.”
“What? How can this…” Nashetania covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
Goldof glared at Mora, who still carried Fremy. “Lady Mora. Explain yourself.” He was gripping his spear.
Feigning composure, Mora said, “I apologize. That was a lie. But had I not done this, we would have been unable to hunt down Adlet.”
“Mora, you…” Nashetania regarded her with rage-filled eyes. “Why did you lie to us?!”
“Adlet is the impostor,” she answered. “That fact has not changed. Any and all means were acceptable, if they would gain us victory!”
“You’re wrong! You lied! You tricked us!” Tears in her eyes, Nashetania made a grab for Mora. Goldof moved away from Adlet and cut between the two of them while Fremy escaped Mora’s grasp and ran up to Adlet.
Leaning on Fremy’s shoulder, Adlet slowly stood. “Hey,” he said, using Fremy as a crutch and staggering forward. He spoke quietly, but the others paid close attention. “What do you think makes someone the strongest in the world?” He leaned against a tree trunk and sat himself down on the ground. Fremy pulled a needle and thread from beneath her cloak and began sewing up his wounds. “You need power, technique, knowledge, heart, and luck. All those things,” he said as he gazed at the others and smiled. “The answer’s simple. I am the strongest man in the world. Could anyone else make it this far?”
“Wh-what are you talking about?” Mora sounded confused and panicky.
“It’s about time, isn’t it? Time for me to defeat the seventh,” he said.
Mora seemed stunned. Nashetania and Goldof both looked as if they had been struck by lightning. Chamo was mildly surprised. Fremy’s eyes were filled with expectation as she watched Adlet, and Hans just smirked.
“I’ll give you the answers. I’m going to expose the seventh’s entire plan.”
Then Adlet revealed his deductions. First, he told them what he had told Hans and Fremy—that Private Loren’s instructions for activating the barrier had been lies and that the seventh had activated the barrier after Adlet opened the door. He faltered more than a few times during the explanation—Fremy was treating him without any painkillers.
The only ones who listened intently were Nashetania and Goldof. Mora and Chamo had both apparently already heard his theory up to this point. Most likely, Hans had told them. When Adlet finished the first half of the explanation, he breathed a sigh of pain.
“Hey, you can do this after yer done gettin’ all sewed up. Or I can take over,” said Hans.
“Please. Are you trying to steal my spotlight here?” Adlet said, a casual smile on his face.
“Mora. Will you be okay if he keeps going?” inquired Fremy.
A cold sweat dotted Mora’s forehead and neck. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“If you’re the seventh, I think it’s about time for you to surrender.”
“Don’t utter such nonsense.” Mora turned to Adlet. “Adlet, your deductions do not hold. There is no way anyone could generate fog. It would take a powerful barrier to generate it—”
Mora rattled on, and Adlet lifted a hand to cut her off. He already knew what she was going to say. “There is. There is just one Saint in the world who could have generated that fog.”
“This is absurd!” Mora groaned.
As he watched her, Adlet let out a grand sigh. He had put on a tough front for Hans, but just talking was difficult. “Mora, you said before that I don’t understand the Saints’ power. But let me tell you this—you Saints don’t understand science. Your powers surpass the powers of science, so perhaps you might not think much of it, but science is an amazing thing.”
“Science?” Mora tilted her head. It seemed she didn’t even quite understand the meaning of the word.
“Do you know what fog actually is?” said Adlet. “Water vapor condenses and turns into fine particles suspended in the air—that is fog. It’s the same principle that makes your breath visible in winter and makes clouds float in the sky.” As he explained, he remembered his master, Atreau Spiker.
Adlet had learned cutting-edge science from Atreau in order to forge his tools—the principles of what made fire burn, the principles of the effects of poison, and even the laws governing the behavior of gases and liquids. If Adlet hadn’t learned those things, he probably wouldn’t have figured out the answer. Though at the time, he’d thought, What’s the use of learning all this junk?
“The warmer the temperature of the air, the more water vapor it can contain,” he continued. “If the air temperature cools suddenly, then water vapor turns back into liquid, becoming little particles that waft through the air. You get that much?”
“Nope,” said Chamo.
Adlet smiled wryly. “Anyway, when the air is damp, if the weather suddenly turns cold, you get fog. That’s all you need to
