“Gah!” the old knight cried out as flames erupted in his face.
Still grasping one of the old man’s arms, Adlet turned his back to his adversary, then hurled him over his shoulder. The knight’s back hit the ground, and he could move no more. Adlet immediately spun around, but not to face his remaining opponent. His attack was already done.
Slowly, the haze of the smoke bomb cleared. The mercenary was crouching low within the cloud, holding his legs as he shrieked in anguish.
“Sorry. Those poison needles hurt, don’t they? I would’ve preferred defeating you with different methods, if I could.” Adlet furrowed his brows as he smiled audaciously.
Something resembling large thumbtacks was scattered in the spot where Adlet had been standing scant moments earlier. They weren’t really noticeable unless you were looking for them—they were painted a pale gray, the same color as the ground in the coliseum. The points of the tacks were coated with that same nerve toxin that inflicted horrific pain. The mercenary had charged through the smoke, intending to catch Adlet from behind, only to step on those spikes. Had he been wearing iron leggings or sturdy leather footwear, the attack might easily have been deflected. However, it seemed the mercenary valued quick footwork in particular, as he wore light and nimble cloth shoes. When Adlet had first sized up his opponents, he had paid special attention to their feet.
“How do you like that? I win!” Adlet yelled.
The audience was dumbstruck. Just hearing his announcement apparently wasn’t enough to make them believe that some nameless interloper could come in and defeat two top contenders at the tournament in under ten seconds.
“Wh-what are you all doing?! Come here, now! Surround him! Surround him and capture him!” The high chancellor, panicked, yelled at the soldiers encircling the arena. The soldiers needed no additional prodding—they removed the covers from their spears, advancing toward the center of the coliseum.
Right before their attack, Adlet turned to the holy statue that watched over the battle and shouted, “My name is Adlet Mayer! I’m the strongest man in the world! Do you hear me, Spirit of Fate? If you don’t choose me as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers, you’re gonna regret it!”
The guards charged Adlet. At this point, the audience finally seemed to realize what was going on. “Royal guard! Draw your swords! Catch the boy!” The audience in the spectators’ seats spilled into the arena as well. The fallen knight and mercenary rose and faced Adlet once more. This arena for sacred battles, where warriors demonstrated their strength before the Spirit, was now host to a chaotic brawl.
And so, from that day forth, Adlet Mayer’s name resounded throughout the land…as the Wicked Trickster Adlet, the Cowardly Warrior Adlet, the worst Brave candidate in all of history.
One thousand years ago, a monster appeared on the continent. Little was known about the creature, such as where it came from, why it was born, what it felt, what it wanted, or even if it had will or sentience in the first place. No one even knew if it was actually alive. The beast just appeared suddenly, without warning.
Some testimonies remained from the very few who had encountered the creature and survived. The monster was a few dozen meters in length. They said that it did not have a static form, but rather resembled living, shifting mud. It was the only one of its kind that had ever appeared in the world. Its body emitted toxins; acid that melted everything it touched oozed from the beast’s tentacles. Then it began attacking humans. It did not eat them or play with them. It simply killed for the sake of killing. It divided its own body, creating monsters to serve as its minions, and killed even more. This foul pestilence had no name, because there was no need to give it one. There was no other creature that could even occupy the same category. This monster was simply called the Evil God.
At the time, the continent was ruled by the great Eternal Empire of Rohanae. The empire dominated the whole world, but even after bringing the strength of its entire army to bear, it had been unable to defeat the Evil God. The nation was laid to waste, its royal line died out, and its towns and villages were razed to the ground.
Just as the people despaired, accepting that it was their fate to be destroyed, a Saint came to them. With a single flower as her only weapon, the Saint stood against the Evil God. She was the only one in the world who could fight it.
It was a long, long battle. Finally, the Saint chased the Evil God to the westernmost tip of the continent and defeated it. When she returned, the Saint said, The Evil God is not dead. One day, it will awaken from its slumber in the west and transform the world into a hell. And so she prophesied: When it reawakens, six Braves will appear to inherit my power, and they are destined to subdue the Evil God once more. She described how the crest of a six-petaled flower would appear on the bodies of the chosen warriors. And that is why they were called the Braves of the Six Flowers.
Twice the Evil God rose from its dormancy, and twice, six Braves appeared—just as had been foretold—and sealed it away once more.
To be chosen as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers, there was a condition: A Brave-to-be had to demonstrate his or her power at one of the temples to the Spirit of Fate that the Saint of the Single Flower had constructed. There were thirty of these temples across the continent. Easily more than ten thousand candidates would come from all over the land to demonstrate their strength at these temples. When the Evil God woke, the best six among them would receive the Crest of the Six Flowers. To be chosen as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers was the greatest honor for a warrior. They all dreamed of being chosen as one of the Braves, and Adlet was no exception.
Rumor held that the Evil God’s resurrection was nigh. Over the past few years, a number of omens had been observed. It could happen as late as the end of the year or as soon as the very next day.
“……I regret my actions. I accept that I’ve done wrong.” It was three days after the semifinal match of the tournament, and Adlet was imprisoned in a jail for the most heinous of criminals. The high chancellor stood on the other side of the bars, a sour look on his face.
Adlet was seriously injured. His head, shoulders, and both legs were wrapped in bandages, and his right arm hung in a sling. Even Adlet couldn’t have escaped unscathed when so outnumbered. He took a seat on the cold bed, faced the high chancellor in front of his cell, and spoke. “Just so you know, I did want to enter the tournament legitimately. But there were these rules and stuff, and they just wouldn’t let me into the arena,” he grumbled. The Tournament Before the Divine had rules. The weapons allowed were limited, permissible tactics were restricted, and foul play or attempts to catch one’s opponent by surprise were forbidden. Had he followed the rules, Adlet would have been useless. “As you know, I’m the strongest man in the world, but those rules kinda cramped my style. So I had no choice but to ignore them and invite myself in.”
“What is your goal?” demanded the high chancellor.
“Duh. To be chosen as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers.”
“A Brave? You? A scoundrel like you, chosen as one of the honorable Braves of the Six Flowers?”
“Oh, I’ll be chosen. Of course I will. ’Cause I’m the strongest man in the world.” Adlet smiled, and the high chancellor struck the iron bars. This old guy sure lacks self-control , thought Adlet.
“You feel no remorse at all!” the old man accused.
“Yes, I do. I really do. I injured a lot of people, like the soldiers in your personal guard and the royal guard.”
“And how do you feel about having made a mess of this sacred tournament?”
“What does that matter?”
The high chancellor emitted an incomprehensible sound and drew his sword. His bodyguards desperately restrained him as he attempted to pry open the lock of Adlet’s cell. “Listen, you! You’ll stay in here forever! You’re headed for the noose! Absolutely!” With his soldiers escorting him, the high chancellor exited the jail.
Adlet sprawled out on the bed and shrugged as if to
say, What a mess.
He remembered his confrontation with the old knight and the mercenary three days earlier. Both had been terrifyingly strong. If Adlet had made even one wrong move, he would most likely have lost. But he’d still managed to pull off a victory. It hadn’t been a pretty fight, but still, he had won. That was proof enough that he was the strongest man in the world.
“Now that I think of it, that was the only letdown,” Adlet muttered as he rolled around on his bunk. He was thinking about Princess Nashetania—Nashetania Rouie Piena Augustra, the crown princess of the Land of Bountiful Fields, Piena. She was of noble birth, first in line to inherit the crown, and also the strongest warrior in Piena. He had heard she was a Saint, wielding power she had received from the Spirit of Blades, and capable of conjuring blades from thin air at will. Nashetania had been the victor of the sacred tournament the previous year. The winner of the match that Adlet had interrupted would have competed with her in the final round. Adlet had wanted to battle Nashetania. Even if he couldn’t fight her, he’d at least wanted to see her face. He’d figured that if he defeated the two men, with any luck, she might have turned up. But in the end, she was a no-show. Well, it doesn’t really matter, anyway , he thought, yawning.
“Oh. I found you.” Just then, a voice addressed him from the other side of the bars. The person standing there looked out of place in the somber prison.
“Who’re you?” asked Adlet.
The maiden was beautiful and blond with a wonderful, soothing smile. She wore a maid’s black uniform, but it didn’t suit her. It would have been more fitting on a plainer girl. “You’re Adlet, right? Pardon me, but could you come over here?” His visitor beckoned him to come close.
Confused, Adlet got up, moving toward the bars. When he approached her, a sweet smell like apples wafted toward him. It was a pleasant, enchanting scent that he had never smelled before.
“Please, shake my hand.” Suddenly, the girl passed her hand through the space between the bars.
“Huh?”
“I apologize for the sudden intrusion. You put on such a show in that fight three days ago. It left quite an impression on me. You’ve made me a fan.”
“…Huh? What?” The girl’s scent had melted all the circuits in his brain, and that was all the reply he could muster.
“Please shake my hand. Come on.”
Adlet did as he was told and lightly grasped the hand she extended. It was so soft, he marveled that such suppleness could even exist.
Lightly pressing her palm in his, the girl said, “You’re really anxious, aren’t you, Adlet? Is this perhaps the first time you’ve ever held a girl’s hand?” She covered her mouth as she gave him a mean smile.
Adlet panicked and released her hand. “Wh-what’re you talking about? I’m totally calm. I’ve held girls’ hands lots of times.”
His guest giggled. “You’re blushing.”
When she laughed, it felt like the apple scent she exuded became even stronger. Adlet looked away, covering his flushed cheeks.
“You’re such a great fighter, but you can’t handle girls?” she teased.
“Come on. Adlet Mayer is the strongest man in the world. There’s nothing the strongest man in the world can’t handle.”
“I’m glad I came down here. You really are interesting.” She laughed. “I want to know more about you. Can we talk?”
Adlet nodded. The apple-scented girl gave him a mischievous smile. Suddenly, Adlet realized that he still hadn’t asked her name.
Adlet Mayer was turning eighteen that year. He hailed from a small, remote country in the west, the Land of White Lakes, Warlow. When he was ten years old, circumstances had caused him to leave the village he called home. He had no lover and no friends. His parents had passed away when he was young. For a very long time, he had secluded himself in the mountains with his master, spending his days training to defeat the Evil God. He had refined his swordplay, honed his body, and learned how to make and use all sorts of secret gadgets. He practiced a unique form of combat that combined swordsmanship with the employment of various tools. He was affiliated with no organization and followed no leader. He was an autonomous warrior, his only goals being to fight the Evil God and the continued improvement of his skills. That was Adlet’s background.
Those who lived by the sword would normally be affiliated with an order of knights or a mercenary band, as fighting with those groups could earn money and prestige. But Adlet had no interest in either of those things—all he cared about was fighting and bringing down the Evil God. There were very few completely unconnected warriors like him, even across the entire continent.
After completing his long training, Adlet had descended the mountain and attempted to enter the martial tournament in Piena to make sure that he was indeed the strongest man in the world, he told her.
The girl who smelled of apples listened to Adlet’s story enthusiastically. He didn’t know exactly what she found so fascinating, though. “So that’s why I came to show the Spirit of Fate that I’m the strongest man on earth. Sorry, it’s not very interesting,” he said, finishing.
The fruit-scented girl applauded by way of reply. Adlet had felt embarrassed at first, but gradually, he’d gotten acclimated to talking to her. Besides, it really was nice to have a cute girl listen to him.
“No, it was interesting,” she insisted. “I really am glad I made the effort to come down here to meet you. Now I kind of feel like I’ve heard the phrase ‘the strongest man in the world’ enough for a lifetime.”
“Oh?” Adlet had a habit of describing himself as “the strongest man in the world.” Whenever he talked about himself, he always added that line. “Well, it’s an undeniable fact that I’m the strongest man in the world, so I’m gonna be proactive about saying it out loud.”
“But can you really claim to be the strongest so easily? You still haven’t beaten Nashetania, have you?” the girl asked with an edge of challenge.
But Adlet paid that no mind. “I hear she’s pretty strong. But I’m stronger.”
“There are lots of other strong people out there.”
“Of course. But I’m convinced there’s nobody out there stronger than me.”
“What basis do you have for that conviction?”
“I know I’m the strongest man in the world. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” she pressed.
“I know it. The Spirit of Fate knows it, too. Now all I have to do is show it to the Evil God and everyone else in the world.”
“You really do have amazing self-confidence.”
“It’s not confidence. It’s unmistakable fact.”
The girl smiled, not quite sure how to reply.
Well, I’m not surprised she’s confused , Adlet thought. This was her first time meeting the strongest man in the world, after all. “By the way, can I ask you something?”
“Of course. What is it?” she replied.
“I’d like to get out of here. Do you have any good ideas?”
“You want to escape? Why?”
What an unflappable girl , thought Adlet. He’d been expecting a slightly different reaction from her. Adlet told her about how the high chancellor of Piena had been wailing about putting him to death. The prison sentence had been inevitable, but the death penalty would pose a bit of a problem.
The girl put her hand to her jaw and deliberated. “I believe you’ll be all right. The high chancellor is angry, but I doubt he can put you to death since there were no serious casualties.”
“Oh, well, that’s good.” Adlet was relieved. Escaping from prison in his condition would have been a bit rough. “What happened with the tournament after I was taken away? Was it called off?”
“No. It is as if your incident had never happened. Yesterday they had a rematch, and the mercenary Quato won the semifinals by a narrow margin. Nashetania scored an overwhelming victory in the final match.” Adlet had the feeling she’d just invoked the princess’s name without using her ti
tle, but that was probably his imagination.
“That’s surprising,” he said. “So the mercenary won, huh? The old man was a little better, though.”
“It seems you injured Batoal’s shoulder with that throw.”
“I tried to hold back, but I guess it wasn’t enough. I feel kinda bad about that.”
After that, Adlet and the girl’s conversation turned to more trivial things, like how seeing the magnificence of Piena’s capital had left him awestruck and about his troubles on account of how expensive everything was there. The girl was friendly and easy to talk to, and they became absorbed in the conversation.
“Oh!” A serious expression suddenly overcame his visitor, as if her memory had just been jogged. “I forgot. I came to tell you about something. This isn’t the time for chat.”
“What is it? Sounds like it’s nothing good.”
The girl held her breath, speaking in a whisper. “Do you know about the Brave-killer?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Have you heard of the knight of the Land of Golden Fruit, Matra Wichita?”
“Yeah, I know the name.” There were a lot of rumors going around about who would be chosen to be the Braves of the Six Flowers, and that name had come up many times. They said he was a prodigious young knight and the greatest archer in the world.
“And do you know Houdelka of the Land of Silver Sand? And Athlay, the Saint of Ice?”
Adlet nodded. Both were the names of famous warriors. “Did something happen?”
“They were killed. And we don’t know who did it.”
“Fiends?”
“Probably.”
The creatures known as fiends, minions of the Evil God, prepared for the revival of their lord by secretly readying themselves to attack the Braves of the Six Flowers. They infiltrated the continent, carrying out all kinds of plots—and now it seemed one of them was going around eliminating anyone likely to be chosen as a Brave.
“They’re not the kind of people who’d be taken out that easily by some fiend,” mused Adlet. “How the hell would they—?”
Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers, Vol. 1 Page 2