They didn’t know about the battle raging in the Howling Vilelands, either. Hans had only told a limited few that he had been chosen as a Brave of the Six Flowers, and Fremy was a name totally unknown to all of them.
The eastern sky slowly became tinged with red. It was their first morning in the Howling Vilelands. Adlet, on watch, lost himself for a moment in the glow of the sunrise. They had decided to stay at the Bud of Eternity until Hans and Mora had healed. The two would probably be able to move around again by evening. It was a good thing they had two Saints with healing abilities in their party—they wouldn’t have to be concerned over most injuries.
The Bud of Eternity and the mountain around it were quiet. There was no sight of any fiends or of Tgurneu. Aside from the lookout, all of them were resting in their preferred ways.
“Listen, Adlet…,” began Mora. “Should I really be continuing this journey with you?”
He didn’t reply.
Mora brooded. She wasn’t particularly glad to have survived, and now her happiness at having saved her daughter’s life was forgotten. The enemy had tricked her into killing one of their allies, with full knowledge of the possibility that he could not be saved afterward.
“Auntie, I thought for sure that this time, I couldn’t forgive you.” The one who replied instead was Chamo. “Just how many times do you gotta get tricked? Are you serious about this? Do you like getting tricked?”
She’s really letting Mora have it, the boy mused.
Mora looked at the ground, downcast.
“Hans, I want to hear what you think,” said Adlet. He was the one they should be prioritizing, given he was the greatest victim.
“Well…I get that she’s still got to come with us…but I ain’t all that happy about it.”
No surprise there, thought Adlet.
“Once this battle is over,” said Mora, “kill me. You can be certain I’ll pay for what I’ve done.”
“Neow what good’d that do me?” Hans put a hand to his mouth and gave her a nasty smile. “What else could I want? Cash. All Heavens Temple is rich, right? I’ll clean yer treasure house out all the way to the back. Meow-hee-hee-hee-hee!”
“And that’s all you want?” Adlet asked him, without thinking.
“Meowney is important. I was born to have a fun, exciting life. None of that happens if you ain’t got the coin.”
Mora nodded. Well, if that’s enough for him.
Then the look on Hans’s face suddenly turned serious, and he said, “Mora, I ain’t gonna let ya blow this again. You gotta take out the Evil God—even if it means yer life. You better understand that’s the only reason yer head’s still on yer shoulders.”
“Understood,” said Mora. “We will win. I’ll protect the world, even if it means my life.”
Hans seemed to be done saying what it was he wanted to say.
Adlet looked at Rolonia. In a way, she had also been a victim.
“Lady Mora…” She hesitated. Rolonia had surely trusted Mora. Adlet couldn’t imagine how she must have felt upon finding out the real reason that Mora had raised her—purely for the sake of her plot to kill one of the Six Braves. “I don’t feel like I can forgive you, but I also feel like you had no choice for Shenira’s sake…I don’t know what do to.”
Mora didn’t respond. She just kept her head lowered.
“Just one thing…,” Rolonia said finally. “Thank you very much for training me.”
“I’m sorry, Rolonia. And thank you. Truly, thank you.” Their eyes never met. They still hadn’t sorted out their feelings.
“This is a sudden change of topic, but ya don’t mind, do ya, meow?”
“What is it, Hans?” asked Adlet.
Completely ignoring the heavy atmosphere, the assassin brightly asked, “When I died, what happened to the crests?”
“Oh!” The youngest piped up. “Chamo saw it. A petal disappeared from Adlet’s crest.”
“Ain’t that proof that I’m the real deal?” said Hans. “I mean, if a Brave of the Six Flowers dies, then one of the petals disappears, right?”
“S’pose so. So can we say that you’re the real thing, then, catboy?” Chamo tilted her head.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Fremy. “A petal might disappear when the seventh dies, just as it does with a real Brave. We don’t know anything about the extra crest.”
“Meow…”
“If one of us dies and no petals disappear,” Fremy continued, “then we can be sure that person was the seventh. But a petal disappearing when someone dies doesn’t prove that person is the real thing. Sorry, but we can’t state with certainty that you’re a real Brave.”
“Meow. This is difficult. It’s makin’ my head all itchy.”
“The seventh, huh?” Adlet muttered. He gave his allies, who were chatting to one another, a hard look. In his head, a doubt was forming.
Tgurneu had made Mora, a real Brave, believe that she was the seventh. Perhaps the opposite was also possible—to make the seventh believe that they were a Brave. That could be a part of Tgurneu’s machinations. The impostor had done nothing in either the battle of the Phantasmal Barrier or their battle in the Ravine of Spitten Blood despite numerous chances to kill the Braves of the Six Flowers. Maybe they didn’t even know that they were the impostor.
So then, what on earth was the seventh? The battle was over, but they had still found no clues as to the greatest enigma: the question of the false Brave’s identity. The situation had grown even more chaotic while the mystery had deepened further.
In the west, beyond the mountain, there was an expanse of deep forest. This was the land where the Saint of the Single Flower had once lost a finger on her left hand, giving this area the name the Cut-Finger Forest. There were about thirty fiends gathered there, and in the center of the group a fiend read a book. It had a massive yeti body and a crow’s neck.
“This body
