That was when Rolonia recovered from the earlier blow and cracked her whip at Goldof. Fremy charged toward him, too, reloading in preparation for a near-contact shot. As Adlet toppled backward, he landed with practiced technique and tossed a poison needle at Goldof.
The very next moment decided the fight. Goldof dodged the needle, released Adlet, and rocketed backward. In his hand, he now held a twenty-centimeter-long spike.
“Yaaaagh!” he screamed as he threw the weapon he’d stolen from Adlet at the stealth-fiend right beside them—which had been dispassionately observing them.
That missile was called the Saint’s Spike—one of a set of four, the most powerful weapons Atreau Spiker had ever made, entrusted to Adlet.
Only one weapon could kill the stealth-fiend, which had its fangs sunk into Nashetania’s head, with a single instant, infallible attack—and that was Adlet’s Saint’s Spike. Goldof had not been stuck frozen and passive. He had been waiting. Biding his time for Adlet, the one with the weapon that could save Nashetania.
“Guh…gurgle-ugh…gyahh…gahhh!” The Saint’s Spike piercing its flesh, the fiend writhed and spasmed. As Rolonia’s whip skimmed his body and Fremy’s bullets thudded into his armor, Goldof sprinted toward the fiend with zero hesitation.
“!” His behavior confused Fremy and Rolonia. Then they turned in the direction of the screech. To them it must have looked like Goldof had suddenly flung the spike at nothing, and then that nothing screamed.
“What was that?!” said Fremy, firing at him. Goldof turned aside to avoid the bullet, but it grazed his cheek, taking a strip of flesh with it.
“WaityoutraitorrottenGoldofyou’renotwatchingmespillyourblood!” Rolonia’s whip cut through the air.
“Your Highness!” Goldof yelled, and then he plunged his hand into the fiend’s mouth to grab Nashetania’s shoulder. Feeling her presence filled his heart with joy. He’d done it. Tasting the feeling of accomplishment, he dragged her out of the maw. “Your Highness!” he cried again, and then, with Nashetania in his arms, sprang sideways. Rolonia’s whip, Fremy’s bullet, and Adlet’s poison needle all landed where Goldof had just been.
It was too early to relax. He had to stop the three of them and make them understand that the battle was over. “Your Highness! Release Chamo! Hurry!” he kept yelling at the unconscious Nashetania. She just barely opened her eyes, gazing into his face. Then she smiled.
Meanwhile, back in the pit, Hans and Dozzu’s fight had reached its climax.
The residual sparks from the lightning had burned off Hans’s clothes, leaving him naked from the waist up. He was red all over and flecked with burn marks. There was a deep gash in Dozzu’s right foreleg and a large wound on its face. The situation was about even, as were the skills of both parties. However, Hans was at a disadvantage. He had to kill Dozzu as quickly as possible so he could head out to look for Nashetania—even if there wasn’t much time left.
Mora watched over their fight with the feebly panting girl in her arms. She mustered all her strength to pour energy into Chamo. If there was even the slightest break in the stream of energy, Chamo would die.
“Cat…boy.”
Chamo spoke, which startled Mora. She should have already been too drained to speak.
“Catboy…” She was smiling. The strength had returned to her eyes.
“Chamo? It couldn’t be…”
“Chamo’ll help you out!” The girl opened her mouth wide and shoved a finger down her throat. Up came buckets of blood, along with a black fluid, and before their eyes, the fluid took the form of her slave-fiends.
The moment the youngest Saint shouted, Dozzu turned away from Hans to dash away. Hans didn’t follow it, running up to Chamo instead. “Chamo!” he said. “They saved ya?!”
“Catboy! You can’t relax yet! We’ll kill them all—Goldof, and that little animal, too!” From her attitude, one wouldn’t think she’d been dying just moments ago. No, she must have still been in pain. But even after coming back from death’s door, she was as belligerent as ever.
“CHAMO HAS BEEN SAVED! ADLET! CHAMO HAS BEEN SAVED!” Mora’s enhanced voice thundered.
As Dozzu escaped, it glanced back at them. To Mora, it seemed to be smiling.
What had happened? Utterly confused, Adlet stood facing Goldof. A fiend had suddenly appeared, and then Goldof had immediately pulled Nashetania out of its mouth. Adlet didn’t understand, so he decided to ignore all that and just attack. That was when Mora’s mountain echo reached them. All three of them, right about to descend upon Goldof, froze at the same time.
“It’s over? Why?” Rolonia murmured.
Fremy’s eyes were wide. Did this mean Nashetania had surrendered? What was that creature that Goldof had killed with the Saint’s Spike?
Adlet was half joyful and half confused. He couldn’t understand what was going on here. He eyed the girl in Goldof’s arms. She wore no armor, carried no sword, and her clothing was in tatters. She was wounded all over, and most noticeably, her left arm was missing from the shoulder. It looked painful for her to even breathe. Cradling her, Goldof glared at the trio as if to warn them that if they took so much as one step forward, they were dead.
“It sounds like…Chamo’s been saved.” Fremy lowered her gun. She must have been unable to judge whether or not she should fight Goldof and Nashetania.
“What a relief! We did it! We did it, didn’t we?” Rolonia cheered, now back to normal and sounding elated.
Fremy asked her frostily, “Did what? What did we do?”
Rolonia couldn’t give her an answer.
“Thank you…for stopping,” said Goldof. “Don’t…kill her. She can’t…hurt you anymore. We don’t…intend to…fight anymore.”
Adlet considered his next course of action. Nashetania was their enemy—as was Goldof. Though he didn’t have a full handle of the situation, that much was still true. Should they kill the pair here and now?
No, we shouldn’t, he thought. “Fremy, Rolonia, put away your weapons. Leave them be.”
“…Adlet…I…” Goldof began.
“I know,” said Adlet. “You don’t want to fight anymore, right? First, tell us what happened.”
“I’ll tell you…everything.”
Fremy and Rolonia put their weapons away, but Goldof still didn’t let go of the young
