“Maybe we should withdraw for the time being,” suggested Fremy.
“Aww, running away is so lame. Chamo’s not scared of the seventh.”
“B-but…we still don’t know who our enemy is. We can’t fight fiends like this…,” said Rolonia.
“’Tis as Chamo says, Rolonia. There is nothing to be gained from retreat.” Mora chided the frightened Rolonia.
“I’d have meowr fun if we just kept goin’,” said Hans.
“What do you mean, ‘more fun’?” asked Mora.
“Meowr danger means meowr fun, right?” Hans grinned.
The king of Gwenvaella and his retainers were baffled by the group’s clashing opinions, and the fact that there were seven only compounded their confusion.
“Going in farther would be dangerous,” said Fremy. “I just bet the seventh is preparing their next trap for us.” The Braves continued their debate, ignoring the king and his party.
“Who’s to say, meow? Could be even riskier to back off.”
“What do you mean?”
“Meowbe Rolonia guessed we were goin’ to retreat and set a trap for us, ya know? Well, that’d be funner, though.”
Mora interrupted Hans and Fremy’s dispute. “As I said before, Rolonia is not our enemy.”
“Be quiet, Mora,” said Fremy. “Sorry, but I can’t really trust you, either.”
“Wait. Who could trust you, though? Like, you’re a fiend,” Chamo pointed out, and Fremy let her anger show, albeit slightly.
Adlet raised his voice to rein them in. “Enough! Talking about this is pointless!” All eyes turned toward him. “We can’t trust one another. The way things are now, nothing is gonna get settled, no matter how much we talk.”
“Then what do you suggest we do, Adlet?” inquired Mora.
“I’ll decide everything. All of you, just do what I say, and no complaints.” Under normal circumstances, this outrageous suggestion would have invited opposition, but Adlet figured at this point, they had no other choice. “Right now, there’s only one among us we can say for sure isn’t the seventh: me. So the most rational choice would be follow me, right?”
Hans, Chamo, and Fremy clearly weren’t thrilled with the idea. “Meowbe that’s the best choice, but I’m still feelin’ uneasy about it.”
“Did you forget?” asked Adlet. “I’m the strongest man in the world. Don’t you trust my judgment?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Nope.”
Fremy and Chamo answered together.
“I believe that, as things stand, we have no other options. Adlet is right. At this rate, we will decide nothing,” said Mora. Rolonia gave no opinion, but she didn’t seem opposed.
“Well, what can ya do, then? He’s an idiot, but he ain’t a hopeless idiot,” muttered Hans.
“You can trust me a little more than that. I’m the strongest man in the world.”
“Meow, yeah, yeah,” Hans responded off-handedly.
Despite the reluctance, the decision was now Adlet’s. To proceed, or to retreat? “Mora, first I want to ask you something. Is there a Saint with an ability that could discover the seventh?”
The one who replied wasn’t Mora, but Fremy. “I’ve heard the name Marmanna, Saint of Words. They say she has the power to detect lies and make people tell the truth.” Such an ability would indeed allow them to root out the seventh.
But Mora shook her head. “No, Marmanna is at All Heavens Temple. Even with the greatest haste, ’twould be a journey of seven days.”
That wouldn’t work, then. If they used up fourteen days on the round trip, they wouldn’t have the time they needed to defeat the Evil God. There was also no guarantee that this Saint was still even safe. They had no choice but to accept their fate. Adlet turned to the king of Gwenvaella and said, “I am Adlet Mayer, the strongest man in the world. Your Majesty, you may not understand what’s going on right now, but please don’t argue and just do as I say. If you head out right now, how long will it take for you to reactivate the Phantasmal Barrier?”
“We have already prepared the water and rations necessary for a barricade. It can be done immediately.”
“Okay,” said Adlet, “then in half an hour, activate the barrier. We want you to keep on protecting it until we defeat the Evil God. Can you do that?”
“The barrier is made such that it will automatically dissipate once the Evil God has fallen. Until then, we shall not deactivate it, whatever may come,” the king replied.
Adlet nodded and then looked at his companions. “We’re heading into the Howling Vilelands. All right?”
Fremy didn’t seem happy about it, but she didn’t protest. Neither did Rolonia.
“The enemy may have concentrated their forces near the border of the Howling Vilelands,” he continued. “Don’t let your guard down. Let’s go!” On Adlet’s command, the seven raced off.
Rolonia ran up to his side. “Addy, grab on to my shoulder.”
“I’m okay. I can manage,” he insisted.
She rested her hand on his shoulder, and it glowed faintly as Adlet’s body heated. “I’ll treat you while we run. I’m the Saint of Spilled Blood. I’m good at healing wounds.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Addy, what on earth is happening? I don’t understand this at all.”
Me neither, thought Adlet.
The group cut through the forest and out the other side to follow the coast, finally setting foot on the faintly noxious-smelling earth of the Howling Vilelands. After some time had passed, a giant ball of mist manifested behind them. Now there was no going back, and they would be unable to leave the Howling Vilelands until they defeated the Evil God. But Adlet was fine with that. They couldn’t afford to lose this battle. It was better to cut off any path of return.
The Howling Vilelands was a peninsula that stretched up to the northwest, its eastern edge adjacent to the continent. At the pace of a regular human being, it would take about five days to traverse the length of it. The topography of the peninsula was extremely complex, and the full particulars were a mystery. All they knew about the interior was based on
