Copyright
Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers, Vol. 1
Ishio Yamagata
Translation by Jennifer Ward
Cover art by Miyagi
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
ROKKA NO YUSHA
© 2011 by Ishio Yamagata, Miyagi
All rights reserved. First published in Japan in 2011 by SHUEISHA, Inc.
English translation rights arranged with SHUEISHA, Inc. through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.
English translation © 2017 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First Yen On eBook Edition: January 2020
Originally published in paperback in April 2017 by Yen On.
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ISBN: 978-1-9753-1161-2
E3-20200108-JV-NF-ORI
Prologue
The Forest of Peril
The legends speak of a time when evil will awaken from the depths of darkness to transform the land into hell. They say that the Spirit of Fate will select six Braves and bestow upon them the power to face this great danger.
The story that follows is about those Braves, destined to be the saviors of the world. But the most important point concerning their story is this: There are most definitely six Braves chosen to save the world. Not five, not seven. Only six.
A boy ran through a forest enshrouded in deep fog. He was a young swordsman, his long red hair fluttering behind him. He wore light leather armor over hempen clothes, with an iron-plated headband tied about his forehead. In his right hand, he grasped a rather small but sturdily made sword. Most noticeable, though, were the four wide belts wrapped around his waist. Affixed to those belts were a few dozen small pouches.
The boy’s breath was ragged. He was wounded. His coarse clothes were torn in a number of places, exposing sharp gashes in his skin. His leather armor was charred, and both arms were covered in burns. Blood poured from his wounds, dyeing his shoes bright red. Wounds of this degree would have long since brought a normal man to his knees.
The boy’s name was Adlet Mayer. He was turning eighteen. As he ran, he looked nervously over his shoulder. The fog and dense leaves obstructed the light, making the forest dark. He could just faintly pick out a figure through the murky fog. He was being followed. His pursuer pressed closer, only about thirty meters behind. This is bad , he thought, and it was that moment when a voice echoed through the forest.
“There you are!” The cry came from a girl. Her voice was high and soft, like the trill of a baby bird.
“Ngh! ” Just as Adlet heard her, a blade sprouted at his feet. It was silver, about three meters in length, springing up from empty ground, its point aimed precisely at Adlet’s heart. He swung his sword with a backhand stroke. The quartz decoration fitted into the hilt of his weapon just barely protected him from being skewered. The impact threw him backward, and the blade that had assailed him shattered into fragments. As he rolled away, he plunged his sword into the ground. Then, lifting his body with the strength of his arms, he leaped. Three more blades immediately rose from the ground. Adlet just barely skimmed over their tips.
“Did I get him?” asked his pursuer.
Adlet landed on the ground and replied. “Not even close. When you’re trying to finish someone off, you’ve got to be quieter about it,” he said, setting off running once more. He ran until his tormentor disappeared into the fog and he couldn’t see her anymore. “Try harder! You’re not gonna catch the strongest man in the world like that!”
“You just won’t give up!” The girl persisted in her pursuit.
Adlet cradled his right arm as he ran. To be honest, he hadn’t fully dodged that last attack. Blood flowed from a gash in his upper arm. That bragging had been the most he could manage, a bluff for the sake of hiding his injury.
As Adlet fled, he looked at the back of his right hand. A strange crest was tattooed upon it. Roughly the size of a baby’s palm, the design was a filigree circle with a six-petaled flower in the center. The crest glowed faintly, a pale shade of crimson. Gazing at it, Adlet muttered, “I’m not gonna get killed. A Brave of the Six Flowers isn’t gonna die in a place like this.”
The crest on Adlet’s right hand was commonly referred to as the Crest of the Six Flowers. It was proof that he was one of the chosen Braves fated to save the world.
The legends speak of a fearsome creature that slumbers at the westernmost tip of the continent. It is said to have a repulsive shape and power far beyond human comprehension. Its only purpose is to kill. When this creature awakens, it—in the company of tens of thousands of servants known as fiends—will overrun the world, transforming it into hell. This creature has no name. It is referred to only as the Evil God.
The legends speak of a time when the Evil God ends its enduring dormancy and rises once again. It is then that the Spirit of Fate will choose six Braves. They say that a crest in the shape of a flower appears on the bodies of those so chosen. These six are the only ones capable of defeating the greatest threat humanity has ever known.
And now, Adlet Mayer has been selected as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers. And so, he sets forth on a journey to defeat the Evil God. He heads for the land where the dangerous creature once slept to find the other Braves, those similarly marked by fate.
But…
“You still won’t give up?”
The voice of his pursuer drew nearer on his heels. Blades continued to vex him from beneath. Adlet ran desperately to evade both. Blood loss clouded his eyes. His fingertips were frozen, and his feet stumbled. But he couldn’t stop. If she caught him, she would kill him.
What am I doing in a place like this? Adlet wondered. What he should have been doing right about then was attacking the lair of the Evil God. He should have been fighting the fiends that blocked his path, together with the others chosen by fate. But instead, this girl was chasing him down, and he was going to die.
“I’ll get you this time!” The girl fired off attacks in Adlet’s direction in rapid succession. Cold steel skimmed by his hair, slicing his armor.
“Ngh! ” He threw himself to the ground to avoid the blade careening at his chest and then stood again immediately, breaking into a sprint. The next blade came from directly underneath. He dodged it with a leaping roll to the side. Her aim wasn’t precise, but her attacks were fierce. Out of every few dozen, one or two would come right at him. With each attack he dodged, little by little, the margin of error grew smaller.
“!” Two blades came at him from both sides. One of them gouged into his torso. It sliced throug
h his ribs, the impact sending him tumbling to the earth. Blood spurted from his throat and mouth. Adlet pressed his injured side, curling up. He couldn’t even stand anymore.
His pursuer was already so close that Adlet could see her clearly. “I’ve finally caught you,” she said. The shape of a girl emerged from the shade and fog that hung beneath the trees. Her appearance was dazzling. She was clad in white armor, and the hilt of the slender sword she held was inlaid with jewels. On her head, she wore a helmet designed to resemble rabbit ears. Bright flaxen hair, large red eyes, full lips, beautiful, distinctive features—just seeing her standing there, he could sense her nobility and dignity. Everything about her was elegant.
Adlet called her name. “Nashetania.” Adlet knew—he knew that on her chest she bore a Crest of the Six Flowers, just like the one on Adlet’s right hand. He knew that she was also one of the six Braves chosen to defeat the Evil God. And now, he was about to be killed by one of his own, a comrade he was supposed to be fighting alongside.
“Listen, Nashetania.”
“To what?”
“I’m your ally.”
Nashetania giggled and then pointed her slim sword at Adlet. Its blade extended to pierce Adlet’s ear. “It’s far too late for that sort of nonsense.” Nashetania was smiling, but she regarded him as if he were vermin. “You’re a fool. If you had only surrendered and confessed, you could have had an easier death.”
“I’m not gonna confess to anything. I haven’t done a single thing wrong.”
“It’s no use. You won’t deceive me again.” Nashetania quietly sighed. “You hatched a plan to trick us. You fooled us all and even hurt us. It’s quite clear that you are the impostor.”
“I’m not lying. You’re the one getting tricked. The enemy is using you to try to kill me.” But she wasn’t listening. “I haven’t killed any of our allies. I’m not scheming to trap everyone, either.”
“I’ve told you, you shan’t fool me anymore.”
“I’m not lying to you! Listen to me, Nashetania! I’m not the seventh!”
The tip of Nashetania’s blade hovered over Adlet’s heart. “No. You are the seventh.”
The legends speak of a time when the Evil God will rouse from its deep sleep. It is then that the Spirit of Fate will choose six Braves. On the bodies of these six Braves will appear a crest in the shape of a flower. Only the Braves of the Six Flowers are capable of defeating the Evil God and protecting the world.
But…
When the time came, there appeared seven warriors bearing the Crest of the Six Flowers. All seven warriors bore crests that were genuine. Why was there one extra? Adlet knew why. One among those seven was the enemy—plotting the downfall of the true six, infiltrating their number in order to kill them. But among the seven Braves who had come forth, who among them was the enemy? Adlet still didn’t know the answer.
Chapter 1
A Departure and Two Meetings
Three months earlier, Adlet Mayer had been in the Land of Bountiful Fields, Piena, situated in the center of the continent. It was the greatest nation by every metric—in landmass, population, military strength, and also the prosperity of its inhabitants. Regardless of the category, no other country surpassed its grandeur. The royal family’s influence echoed throughout the entire continent, and it was fair to say that Piena was the preeminent power in the land, effectively reigning over all.
At that time, the annual Tournament Before the Divine was being held in the royal capital of Piena. Since the greatest country in the world was hosting this tournament, the scale was of course grand. Competitors included knights of Piena, tough-guy infantrymen, well-known representatives of every nearby nation, famous mercenaries, and finally, Saints bestowed with the power of Spirits. Even unaffiliated fighters and city dwellers with confidence in their abilities were participating. The tournament opened its doors to all sorts of people, with the number of competitors exceeding fifteen hundred.
However, Adlet Mayer’s name was not on the tournament list.
“And for the semifinals! On the western side, Batoal Rainhawk, captain of the royal guard of the Land of Bountiful Fields, Piena!”
An old, gray-haired knight emerged from the western side of the coliseum. The arena filled with cheers.
“And on the eastern side! Representing the Red Bear mercenaries, Quato Ghine of the Verdant Land, Tomaso!”
A man so gigantic he could have passed for a bear emerged from the east to face the knight. The cheers for him were no less enthusiastic than those for the old knight.
The monthlong tournament was finally approaching its finale. There were only three competitors and two matches remaining. The stands were packed with an audience of more than ten thousand.
The coliseum sat in a temple adjacent to the royal palace—in fact, you might even say that this arena was itself the temple, where the Spirit of Fate was worshipped. A statue of a holy woman holding a single flower stood at the southern wall, warmly watching over the two warriors.
“To both combatants: Know that this is not a regular duel. You battle before the great king of Piena, and before the Spirit of Fate that safeguards the peace of our world. We wish for a fair and noble battle, one worthy of the Spirit’s witness,” the high chancellor instructed them, facing the pair.
But neither of the warriors paid any heed. They glared at each other with enough intensity to generate sparks, or so it seemed. As the audience looked on, they, too, were gradually drawn into the tension. This year’s tournament had special meaning. There had been plausible-sounding rumors that the winner would be chosen as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers.
“As you know,” continued the high chancellor, “he who wins this battle will fight the victor of last year’s tournament, Her Highness Princess Nashetania. The cowardly and the base are unworthy of facing her. So both of you must…” The high chancellor of Piena droned on for quite some time. Few noticed the rather quiet, unusual event that occurred as he spoke.
A single boy approached from the coliseum’s southern gate. The guards made no attempt to stop him. The high chancellor’s personal retinue scrutinized the boy but didn’t make a move, either. Nor did the audience pay him much mind. His demeanor was so casual, people believed stopping him would have been out of line.
Long red hair spilled off his head. He wore plain clothes—no armor, no helmet—and a wooden sword was slung over his back. Four belts were strapped about his waist, with a number of little pouches fastened to them. The boy wedged his way in between the two warriors and said, smiling, “Pardon me, guys.”
The high chancellor, shocked at the sudden intrusion, berated this interloper. “Who are you?! This is beyond rude!”
“My name is Adlet Mayer,” the boy replied. “I’m the strongest man in the world.” The two warriors who had been about to fight the decisive semifinal match glowered at this upstart—Adlet Mayer. But Adlet paid them no mind. “I’m here to notify you of a change in the matchups. It’s gonna be Adlet, the strongest man in the world, versus you two.”
“Just who do you think you are?! Are you mad?!” The high chancellor’s face was turning red.
But Adlet ignored him. At this point, the audience broke into murmurs, finally noticing that something was amiss.
“Come on, hurry up and kick this idiot out,” said the mercenary, irritated his fight had been interrupted. Finally, the high chancellor’s personal guard remembered their duties and lifted their clubs.
Adlet grinned. “Aaand the match begins!” His hands moved faster than the eye could see. Something flew from his fingertips, hurtling at the faces of the four guards. The soldiers clutched their faces and began moaning in pain.
“You guys really are good,” said Adlet. He wasn’t looking at the honor guard. His eyes were on the old knight and the mercenary who stood on either side of him. Both of them held, pinched in their fingers, the poisoned needles Adlet had thrown. The points had been dipped in a nerve toxin that stimulated pain receptors.
The poison was mild, but it would cause pure agony for about thirty minutes.
The mercenary and the old knight drew their swords simultaneously. It seemed they had finally realized that the intruder was not just any idiot. The mercenary swung at Adlet, holding nothing back. Though his weapon was simply a dull practice sword, the blow would most certainly mean instant death if it connected.
“Heh!” Adlet chuckled, ducking the attack. Without waiting even a second, the old knight charged him from behind. But Adlet reached into the pouches on his belt with blinding speed. He produced a tiny bottle with his right hand and turned to toss it.
The old knight grunted, slapping away the bottle with the flat of his sword. The little bottle had only contained water, but it was distraction enough to give Adlet an opening. The old knight and the mercenary went on the defensive, putting some distance between themselves and Adlet as they occupied positions to his front and rear. If this were a regular fight, the situation would have spelled inevitable defeat. But Adlet had found a sure way to win.
He pulled a small ball of paper from one of his pouches and threw it on the ground. Instantly, there was an explosion at his feet. Smoke surrounded Adlet, concealing him.
“What the hell?!”
“What trick is this?!”
The old knight and mercenary simultaneously voiced their astonishment.
Of course, neither of them would be undone by mere sleight of hand. Adlet moved fast. Exceptionally so. Within the cloud of smoke, he extracted another tool from one of his pouches. While his two opponents were still baffled by the smoke, he laid the groundwork for his victory. First, Adlet leaped at the old knight, pulling out the wooden sword at his back as he struck.
“Not good enough!” the knight yelled.
The moment the old warrior blocked his attack, Adlet released the wooden sword. He used both hands to hold down the old man’s arms, moved his face close, and then clacked his teeth together.
Perhaps the old knight hadn’t seen the striking flint set on Adlet’s teeth or the spray of high-purity alcohol that spurted from his mouth.
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