Same as ever, Adlet thought. “It’s not your fault. Probably. Raise your head.”
Rolonia, cringing still, scanned the group.
“So who’s this lady then, meow?” queried Hans.
Mora spoke in Rolonia’s place. “‘It’s just as she said herself. This is Rolonia Manchetta, Saint of Spilled Blood. For the past two and a half years, she has lived with me at All Heavens Temple. She may look helpless, but I assure you, she is capable.”
“Th-thank you very much.” Rolonia conscientiously showed her gratitude for the compliment.
“She looks pretty weak, though.” Hans scratched his head.
“Capable? No way. Everyone knows Rolonia is a useless dunce,” announced Chamo, and Rolonia withered.
“Her strength or lack thereof is irrelevant. The issue is whether she’s friend or foe.” Fremy already had her finger on the trigger of her gun, and she wore the penetrating gaze of a warrior confronting a new enemy.
“Um…I-I’m sorry. This was my fault, and I do regret my actions, so p-please forgive me!” Rolonia bowed earnestly.
Adlet sighed. “Anyway, you should all introduce yourselves,” he said to his bloodthirsty comrades.
Each Brave told Rolonia his or her name and displayed their crests. Rolonia already knew Adlet, Mora, and Chamo. She had not met Goldof before, but they had heard of each other. Fremy didn’t mention that she was the daughter of a fiend, or that she was the Brave-killer, giving only her name and status as the Saint of Gunpowder. When Hans introduced himself as an assassin, the timid girl reacted with shock.
Once Rolonia had heard their names and seen their crests, she finally understood what was going on. “Th-there are seven Braves? What is happening here?”
Vexed, Fremy complained, “Must we explain?”
“I’m sorry…”
“One gathered here is an impostor. I think it has to be you.” The bloodthirsty aura Fremy was giving off made Rolonia squeak like a mouse, and she shrank away.
Adlet stepped between the two of them. “Wait, Fremy. We don’t know that yet.”
“You’re right, we don’t,” Fremy replied. “But I can’t imagine any other answer. If she’s not the seventh, then who do you think it is?”
Adlet didn’t know what to say. Still shielding Rolonia, he recalled the group’s fight with Nashetania. The seventh couldn’t be Fremy. Without her help, Adlet would have died. The same went for Hans and Chamo. They had ultimately pinned down Nashetania. Mora had incited the others to kill Adlet, but he was positive Nashetania had simply deceived her. Goldof had been Nashetania’s vassal. Perhaps that was cause for suspicion, but as far as Adlet could tell, he had been deceived, too.
“No one else could be the seventh,” Fremy asserted firmly. Hans and Chamo seemed to agree.
“Wait,” said Adlet. “Something doesn’t add up. If Rolonia is the seventh, then why didn’t she arrive with Nashetania? What would be the point in leaving Nashetania by herself?”
“Nashetania? It couldn’t be—did something happen to the princess?” asked Rolonia. Unfortunately, there was no time to explain.
“Meowbe the plan was fer them to come together,” suggested Hans, “but then somethin’ happened, and they couldn’t meet up.”
“Something happened? Like what?” asked Adlet.
“Heck if I kneow what the enemy’s thinkin’.” Smiling, Hans shrugged.
“Adlet, move. You’re in danger.” Fremy leveled her gun at Rolonia, but Adlet still shielded the newcomer.
“Fremy, holster your weapon. Rolonia is not the seventh,” said Mora. Fremy’s gaze flicked to her. “As I said previously—I spent considerable time with her at All Heavens Temple. She’s incapable of deceit.”
“That’s what you thought about Nashetania, too,” countered Fremy.
“Rolonia did nothing at all suspicious. Neither could she have come in contact with any fiends or their pawns.” Mora stepped in Fremy’s line of fire. It was as if she was challenging her to shoot.
“Hey, Mora, do you get the position yer in, here? Yer the next meowst suspicious person here after Rolonia,” Hans pointed out.
Mora frowned. “Your suspicions are warranted. But I’m quite certain Rolonia is a Brave in truth.”
Still protecting Rolonia, Adlet ground his teeth. “Just stop it. This is the same thing all over again.”
“Someone here is the enemy. We’re not getting anywhere unless we figure this out,” snapped Fremy, directing a fierce glare at Adlet.
Then something nearby caught Chamo’s attention. “Someone’s here,” she said. The rhythm of horses’ hooves approaching from the direction of the continent heralded the arrival of a cavalry unit all clad in magnificent black armor.
“Are they enemies?” Fremy turned the barrel of her gun to them.
“Meow, no. That’s the king of Gwenvaella,” Hans said. Gwenvaella was the country that neighbored the Howling Vilelands.
“Good Rolonia! Grave news! Are all the Braves of the Six Flowers present?” The cry came from the middle-aged man who rode at the head of the group—he had to be the king of Gwenvaella. He was also the one who had organized the creation of the Phantasmal Barrier. The king and his party of knights approached the temple, immediately dismounted, removed their helmets, and gave their respectful salutations. “Hearing of abnormalities in the Phantasmal Barrier, we, Daultom the Third, king of Gwenvaella, hastened to this temple with our royal guard, and we shall do our utmost to aid your party in your efforts.” His manner was stately, maintaining his majesty without forsaking politeness.
No doubt a great ruler, thought Adlet.
“I am Mora Chester, Brave of the Six Flowers and Saint of Mountains. We are greatly obliged to receive your aid. What is this urgent matter Your Majesty speaks of?” Mora addressed the king as the group’s representative.
“We received report that fiends scattered about our nation are converging upon this forest. It is our belief that within a few hours, they will assault this area.” A thrill of tension ran through the whole group at the king’s report. The number of fiends on the continent was unknown, but probably two thousand at the very least. If all of them were to attack at once, every one of the Braves could very well fall.
We were careless, thought Adlet, grinding his teeth. The
