She was heaving and retching with snot and tears running down her face. Her cloudy white vomit was speckled with silver powder. Apparently, she was washing out the silver powder that clung to the fiends inside her stomach. “The wounds…all the wounds won’t heal… What should Chamo do? This is the first time this has ever happened… Guh…” Chamo vomited again. Mora felt bad for her, but she had no way to help. Chamo was the only one who could heal her slave-fiends.
“The strongest Saint alive is less reliable than I thought,” muttered Fremy from behind Mora.
“What did you say?” Chamo asked, wiping her tears.
“It’s true. If you don’t do something about that silver powder, you don’t have a chance with Tgurneu.”
“Nghh!” Crying, Chamo smacked the boulder. “Shut up shut up! Chamo’s the strongest! Once the little guys’ wounds heal, that dummy’ll be a pushover! Chamo’ll tear that fiend to pieces and eat it! And then it’ll stay alive, with no arms and no legs, inside Chamo’s tummy!”
This is just what I feared, thought Mora. Chamo had tremendous power. But her emotional maturity seemed inversely proportional to her strength. She was selfish, arrogant, and completely lacking in the ability to collaborate. When she had the advantage, she would let her guard down, and when she was outgunned, she would lose control of herself. Mora should have taught Chamo how to be emotionally prepared, how to behave as an adult warrior. The Elder’s failure was her own fault, but at this point, it was too late for regrets.
“If you can do something about that silver powder,” said Fremy.
“Nggahh!”
“You’re being rather cruel, Fremy,” said Mora.
Goldof was a little ways away, keeping his back to Chamo as he stood still, gazing vaguely into the distance. It seemed he had still not recovered. All this time, Mora had been convinced Goldof was the seventh. She had thought his dazed manner was an act. But during the battle with Tgurneu, the knight hadn’t done anything but help Hans and Chamo hold back Tgurneu’s reinforcements, and during the retreat, he’d run the whole way carrying all their packs. Was he really the seventh? Mora didn’t know anymore.
“Goldof, where’s Adlet?” asked Fremy. Goldof silently pointed into the cave. Side by side, Mora and Fremy headed into the cavern.
“Are you not suspicious of Goldof, Fremy?” Mora asked quietly.
“Of course I am. I’m suspicious of him, and you, and Rolonia, and Hans and Chamo, too.”
“Hans and Chamo…”
“I don’t trust anyone aside from Adlet,” Fremy asserted quietly and flatly.
“Is Adlet all right?” Mora called into the cave.
Hans and Rolonia were beside Adlet where he lay on the ground with a wet cloth on his forehead. Rolonia was treating his wounds with her power as the Saint of Spilled Blood. Farther in the enclosure was a boulder of about waist height, and on top of it bloomed a tiny flower. That was the center of the barrier, the Bud of Eternity. Thankfully, there was a spring welling within the cave, so they would have plenty of water.
“So yer alive. I was goin’ to go get ya,” said Hans.
“We’re fine,” said Fremy. “What about Adlet?”
“He’s alive, but there’s a crack in his skull, and he won’t wake up. I can’t heal him with my power,” said Rolonia. Her ability was to control blood. She could treat gashes and internal bleeding, but not bones.
“I’ll take over. The power of mountains is the power of healing.” Mora sat down beside Adlet, absorbed energy from the mountain and channeled it into the boy’s skull, stimulating the natural healing abilities that every human has to repair the damage.
“Is it workin’?” asked Hans.
“Yes. No issues,” said Mora.
Fremy stood behind Mora, observing her intently. She must have suspected that she might pretend to treat Adlet while she in fact killed him. If Mora did anything suspicious, Fremy would be sure to shoot her down before she could even react.
“He was hurt quite severely,” noted Mora.
The atmosphere in the cave suddenly became heavier. They had lost a head-on battle, and to make it worse, the enemy had not even had their full army at their command. Did they even have a chance of winning in this sorry state?
“If there’d been six of us, we probably could’ve won,” said Hans. Mora looked at him. “We’re always suspicious of each other when we’re fightin’. We don’t know who might betray us, or when, or what the attack’ll be or where it’ll come from. We can’t fight at full strength like this right neow. We’re at sixty percent, maybe.”
“You’re right,” said Fremy.
You’re part of the reason we lost, Mora wanted to say.
Then suddenly, Hans burst out laughing. “Meow-hee-hee! We’re in big trouble. This is fun. This is what I came meowt to the Howlin’ Vilelands to get a taste of.”
Unsurprisingly, Mora’s response was sharp. “And just what do you find so amusing about this, Hans?”
“Meow? Ain’t you havin’ fun? Ya don’t get in a pickle like this often. It’s a waste if ya don’t enjoy yerself.”
Mora wanted to bury her face in her hands. She just couldn’t understand Hans. “But what was Adlet attempting to do? He charged in recklessly, then all of a sudden left himself wide open while Tgurneu pummeled him. What was that about?”
Having treated Adlet as best she could, Rolonia said, “Um…Addy had this look on his face like he was sure he’d won.”
“But Tgurneu was unharmed.”
Hans explained to the puzzled Mora. “He seemed like he was aimin’ for somethin’ big. That’s why I backed him up by grabbin’ Tgurneu. I wasn’t expectin’ it to end up like this at all.”
“Whatever the case, we’ll ask him once he awakens,” said Mora.
“When will he wake up?” Fremy asked her.
As Mora sent energy streaming into Adlet, she checked how he was doing. “Most likely, in a few hours. He’s inhumanly tenacious.”
“I’m so fed up with him,” Fremy said suddenly. Not getting her meaning, the others looked
