When she arrived, she found the new Saint doing laundry at the back of the temple by the well. Mora had been told that this was her only job. The maid’s uniform she wore was dirty, and her hands were cracked all over. The miserable expression deeply etched into her face illustrated she was entirely used to being on the receiving end of ire.
I don’t have time to be dealing with this, Mora thought before she addressed the girl. “Are you the newly chosen Saint of Spilled Blood?”
When the girl realized she was being spoken to, she stood up and turned around. The moment Mora saw the girl’s eyes, a faint current ran through her body. It was a sign detectable only by those who knew battle—a sign that this girl was powerful. Mora sensed this timid-looking girl was already in the possession of abilities that were not to be underestimated.
“I-I’m sorry. I’m the one who frayed the undergarments so badly. I’m sorry!” The girl seemed mistaken about why Mora had come as she bowed her head over and over.
“I want to ask you something.” Mora gently took her hands. “Could you manipulate your blood to heal these cracks?”
“Huh? What? Um…I was just chosen as a Saint by mistake, I can’t…”
“I asked whether you can do it or not. Just try.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, um…” The girl stared hard at her fingertips, then sent her power into them. Red enveloped her hands as they warmed. Before their eyes, the skin of the girl’s hands grew healthy once more.
Those elected by the Spirits are not generally able to use their powers immediately. Saints trained in order to control their power, communing many times with their Spirit in order to finally become a fully fledged Saint. Mora knew this girl had unique talents. “I am Mora, Saint of Mountains. What’s your name?”
“It’s Rolonia Manchetta. I’m just a servant.” The girl bowed again and again.
As Mora watched, her thoughts were elsewhere. A while back, an idea had come to her, but she’d written it off as impossible. Perhaps, with this girl, she might be able to actually make it happen. It was a disgraceful idea—and a disgraceful plan.
Mora immediately took Rolonia into the custody of All Heavens Temple and determined that she would be given special Saints’ education. She also announced that she would train the newest of their number to be one of the Braves of the Six Flowers within the next three years. Many of the Saints were against this. They all said that although Rolonia might have the qualities necessary to be a Saint, she didn’t have what it took to be a warrior. And they were right—clearly, Rolonia was not suited for fighting. But Mora faced down the opposition and took her into All Heavens Temple.
Rolonia was constantly flustered, frightened, panicked, and crying.
First, Mora taught her the skills that the Saint of Spilled Blood would need: how to heal wounds, how to manipulate her whip by controlling the blood within it, how to analyze blood by taste, and how to control her opponent’s blood so as to wound them fatally. Just as Mora had expected, Rolonia had unbelievable talent. It took practically no effort for her to absorb these skills.
Next, Mora instructed Rolonia to learn from powerful warriors from all over the world. She’d had the old hero Stradd Camus teach her the mindset of the warrior and the legendary strategist Tomaso Halderoy drive the fundamentals of strategy into her head. She’d had the fiend specialist Atreau Spiker instruct her on the creatures she would encounter.
But, as Mora had predicted, Rolonia wasn’t warrior material. When she met an enemy, she was immediately frightened. But worse, she was afraid of hurting her foes. No matter how many Saints’ techniques she learned, there was no sign that she would overcome these things. A warrior had to be arrogant. You had to believe in your own strength before you could defeat your enemies. But Rolonia was completely incapable of doing that.
She had been bullied by the acolytes for a long time. Throughout her childhood, she had been told that she was clumsy and forgetful and would always be useless. She was convinced that she couldn’t do anything. Someone who doesn’t believe they can get stronger never will.
“Hey, boss,” said Willone one day, helping Mora train Rolonia. “You need to give up already. That kid isn’t gonna be a Brave. She isn’t cut out for a fighting role. She’s suited to being a healer.”
“No, Willone. I can tell—she will be a great warrior,” said Mora, but she wasn’t confident about it, either.
“Rolonia is a good girl. Healing and recovery techniques are more her style. It’d be better for her to go around helping the sick and the injured, like Torleau does. Why can’t you get that?”
Willone was right, and Mora knew it. But Mora needed Rolonia for her plan, no matter what. Her protégé had to grow to become one of the strongest warriors in the world and be chosen as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers. Mora couldn’t tell Willone or Rolonia about her plan. There was no way she could tell anyone in the world that she intended to use this girl to kill one of the Six Braves. “Trust me, Willone. I will turn her into a fine warrior.”
When Rolonia had returned from the mountain where
