But there was one thing about Goldof that distinguished him from the other boys: He was born exceptionally strong. He grew at double the speed of the other children, and his strength increased at twice that rate. Goldof had everything: reflexes, athletic talent, and the unique sharp instinct of a first-rate warrior. Why was he so strong? No particular reason at all. He’d never had a teacher, never labored for it, and had never once had any ounce of desire for it. He was just strong for no reason.
This was not necessarily a good thing. Goldof knew this firsthand.
The first time he killed a living being was when he was four years old. A stray dog had tried to bite him, so he swung it around by the tail, and it died.
The first time he’d broken a person’s bones was when he was seven. He’d picked up a little ring by the side of the road and was on his way to take it to his father when a boy around his age came in to snatch it away. When Goldof grabbed the boy’s arm as hard as he could, he heard a horrible sound in his grip. The boy crumpled, wailing. Goldof merely looked down at the squalling boy.
The first time he’d gotten into a fight had also been at seven.
The boys of the slums were all in gangs. They banded together to protect themselves from unfair violence and also to coordinate for a chance to pilfer from adults. They plotted their revenge against Goldof, and late one night they all took up their preferred weapons and boxed him in.
They punched him and kicked him, but Goldof didn’t say anything. He didn’t apologize to them or cry. When they hit him in the head with an iron bar, he remembered none of what happened next. A few minutes later, Goldof’s fists were drenched in blood, and all of his attackers prone on the ground. Of the nine boys, two were wounded so badly they would never recover.
Goldof killed someone for the first time when he was eight. His father, the petty thief, had stolen a wallet from someone he perhaps shouldn’t have. Some oafish men were kicking him around on the street. Goldof grabbed one of the men from behind by the hair, threw him to the ground, and snapped his neck. Instantly, the man lay still.
Two small girls came running out of the crowd that had gathered around the scene. They flung themselves on the man’s body and cried, jeering and hissing at Goldof. The dead man was the girls’ older brother. When one of them came at him with a knife, he kicked her as hard as he could in the stomach.
Goldof first hit his father at the same age.
In their back-alley hut, Goldof’s father had grabbed him by the collar, ranting and yelling at him. You’re so violent, everyone resents me, too. I can’t live in this town anymore! How could you?! This is your fault! his father howled, crying.
Goldof head-butted his father in the face and kept on kicking it beyond all recognition. His father apologized and then begged for his life. When Goldof stopped, the man scuttled away in panic. The boy never saw him again.
He had hit people more times than he could count. Sometimes it was to protect himself. Other times it was for utterly trivial reasons. Ever since he was young, his heart had burned with hot coals. Those coals easily ignited whenever something rubbed him the wrong way. It didn’t matter if the cause was something small or even if it was Goldof’s fault. When the black flames flared up, Goldof plunged everything around him into a sea of blood—be it a little girl or even his own father, his only family. And once those flames were burning, Goldof could not snuff them out.
Everyone hated him. When good people saw him, they looked away. The boys his age hid or ran from him. Even the worst and the roughest wouldn’t accept him. When they fought, it was ultimately about survival. Their way of life was incompatible with Goldof’s. He only hit to break and to harm. They talked about him behind his back, always searching for a chance to kill him.
It wasn’t that hitting people was fun for Goldof. Winning didn’t make him happy, and he wasn’t proud of being strong, either. He just wanted a normal life, to take pleasure in the small things like playing with friends and having a relationship with his father. But each time the black flames flared up, someone near him was injured. Goldof couldn’t do anything about it.
Goldof spent his boyhood as a target of hatred and fear. Eventually, he discovered a single truth: The world didn’t want him. There wasn’t a single person in the world who wanted him to be alive—himself included, most likely.
And then, when he was ten years old, the boy loathed by everyone met a girl.
Goldof noticed that for the past few days, there had been a lot of noise in town. The soldiers of the noble ruling the city had been lurking about the streets. And these soldiers had never been much for maintaining the peace—they did nothing but extort the citizenry. They came to the slums, too. The neighborhood thugs were staying quiet and in hiding so as not to be blamed for anything.
At the time, Goldof was keeping himself fed by rag-picking. Whenever he showed up, the people of the neighborhood always looked away. Women and children quickly made themselves scarce. Even the merchant who bought the items of value that Goldof scrounged from the trash didn’t talk with him more than was necessary. That was Goldof’s day-to-day at the time.
The soldiers seemed to be searching for something in the back streets. They proceeded along the road, going into houses, scouring furniture and closets. As Goldof picked through trash, he eavesdropped on the soldiers’ conversation. It sounded like they were searching for a girl. Goldof didn’t know who she was or why they were searching for her. But from the bits of conversation, he understood that if the soldiers found her, they’d be paid very handsomely. The reactions of the residents varied; some were trying to find the girl to get rich quick, while others worried that this might bring trouble. Goldof was not going to get involved with any of it, however.
“Hey, kid. Have you seen—” one soldier called out to him.
But before the soldier could even finish speaking, Goldof glared at him and said, “Move.” That one word made the soldier flinch. Wordlessly, Goldof passed the man by. He avoided interaction as much as possible. Avoiding people meant he could go without hurting anyone, or himself. Goldof had acquired this worldly wisdom at the age of ten.
“It’s best if you don’t talk to him, sir. He’s crazy.” Goldof faintly overheard a man behind him speaking to the soldier. Fortunately, the black coals did not flare to life. If they had, he probably would have beat to death both the man who’d said that and the soldier.
Goldof exchanged the once discarded items for money, bought his bread for the day, and headed home. He lived in a little hut in the filthiest district of the slums.
He was about to open his half-broken door when he noticed that someone was inside.
“…”
Was it a petty thief who didn’t know about Goldof and had the poor luck to be searching his house? Or was someone with a grudge against him trying to set his place on fire? The black flames began burning inside him. Guess I’ll kill him, Goldof thought, opening the door.
But then suddenly, it was as if Goldof was frozen; he couldn’t move at all. “…Who are you?” he asked.
Inside his home was a girl. She lay curled up on the ground, her eyes closed. Her clothes were rags that even the children of the slums wouldn’t wear. Her face was rather dirty, and her cheeks were sunken. Her long, golden hair shone softly.
The moment Goldof saw her face, the fire burning inside him was immediately snuffed out. It was the first time in his life this had happened. The black flames had flared up, but he’d gone without hitting anyone.
The girl was beautiful. She had to be in her early teens. Goldof approached her and gently reached out for her cheek. Just before his fingers touched her, his hand stopped one centimeter from her face. For some reason, he felt like he wasn’t allowed to touch her—that if he did, she’d break.
“…Oh.” The girl on the floor opened her eyes and looked straight at Goldof. That alone was enough to stun him, like he’d gone and done something he shouldn’t have.
The girl looked at him, frozen with
his hand outstretched, and tilted her head. “Is Meenia all right?” she asked, and rose.
Not understanding what she meant, Goldof was unable to reply.
“Oh, are you not one of Barbitt’s men, mister?” Barbitt was the name of the noble who ruled the town. That was when Goldof realized this was the girl the soldiers were looking for. “I’m not going to run. Relax, please. Also, I think capturing me unwounded will net you the biggest reward.”
Sitting on the floor, the girl wrapped her arms around herself. Goldof could tell she was afraid. He didn’t know what to do, so he simply kept silent.
“Um…are you not going to capture me? Are you…the person who lives here?”
Goldof nodded, and the girl bowed her head to him.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I just barged into your home. I was so tired, I just wanted to rest. I can’t do anything for you now, but I will make it up to you.”
He tried to reply, It’s no problem, but the words wouldn’t come out. The girl’s face kept him spellbound. He couldn’t see anything else. It was like he’d forgotten everything in the world besides himself and her.
Then suddenly, a noise came from outside the hut. “Have you searched this house?!”
“Not yet!”
Soldiers burst into the hut without knocking. When they saw the girl, their eyes widened, approaching her with greed. “We’ve finally found you! You’re not getting away again.”
The girl stood up without a word. Her face drained of all color, stiffening in fear. Her legs trembled.
“Come with us. You can’t tell us no.”
“…I…under…stand,” she said. The soldiers ignored Goldof’s presence entirely. They grabbed the girl by the arm and dragged her out of the hut.
Instantly, the black flames flared again in Goldof’s heart. They roared hot, more powerfully than they ever had before. He didn’t know who that girl was or why the soldiers were chasing her, either. But he felt like he had to kill all of those soldiers immediately. He clenched his fists and took a step forward.
But then the girl yelled, “The gentleman over there!” Her sudden cry surprised the soldiers. Goldof froze before he could punch them. “He…was not a part of this.”
The soldiers looked at Goldof and shrugged.
Then the girl smiled at him and said, “Mister, I’ll be okay. Please, don’t worry about anything.”
The moment she spoke, the flames that had been burning in Goldof’s chest were again instantly extinguished. If she says there’s no need to fight, then I don’t need to fight, he thought.
Surrounded by soldiers, the girl left the hut. Goldof watched her go in silence. She looked back one last time, bowing her head to him. “Mister, thank you very much, truly. I will not forget this debt.” The soldiers were confused as to what she meant. But Goldof just stood there. He didn’t know what he should do or why the girl had thanked him.
“…Oh…I get it.” Then, after a while, he figured it out. The girl had realized he’d been about to attack the soldiers. She had thought the soldiers would kill him if he did, so she had stopped him. Then she had thanked him for trying to save her.
The girl had defended him. She might have been able to get away during the fight, but she had prioritized Goldof’s life instead.
The moment he understood that, he dashed out of the hut.
Later, Goldof would find out that the girl’s name was Nashetania Rouie Piena. A year after she and Goldof first met, the name Augustra would be added to that, as the title of the successor to the throne.
At that time, there was great political unrest in the Kingdom of Piena. The king, Nalphtoma, had suddenly gone mad. He’d started ranting about a heretical sect running rampant throughout the nation, and how these heretics who worshipped the Evil God planned the destruction of the world and plotted to kill him. Nalphtoma caused a bloodbath, slaughtering innocent citizens and aristocrats in the name of “saving the world.” Finally, he accused even his own daughter, Nashetania, of heresy.
No matter how much the high chancellor and the knights investigated, they could find no such profane cult in Piena. But that didn’t cure Nalphtoma of his delusions. Eventually, he ordered that Nashetania be disinherited and executed, and then he selected a distantly related prince from a different nation to be his successor instead. He rewarded those who killed the most heretics and bestowed important posts to them.
And so a civil war began. Many accused innocent nobles of crimes in an attempt to gain wealth or status for themselves. The king would either divest these nobles of their status or execute them.
Nashetania’s life had been in danger, and so she was left with no choice but to disguise herself as a commoner and flee the capital. Three years later, she would become the Saint of Blades, but at this time in her life, she was still just a powerless girl.
The day Nashetania had met Goldof, she and her retainers were supposed to have gone to the noble who governed the town. But that noble had betrayed Nashetania instead, apprehending her knight guards and the maids who attended her. Without her guards, Nashetania had fled until eventually she had become separated from her one remaining maid, Meenia.
Finally, Nashetania had arrived at a tiny hut on the edge of the slums, where she had met Goldof.
Goldof ran outside his hut, the black flame searing in his chest. Eyes bloodshot, he panted like an animal. There was nothing in his head but the urge to fight.
He searched for the girl and the soldiers, but they had already withdrawn from the slums. He grabbed people on the street and half tortured them to find out where the girl had gone. Most of them knew nothing, but he did find one person who’d been eavesdropping on the soldiers’ conversation. They said that the girl was going to be taken to the noble’s estate and killed there. Goldof asked around for more detail about the girl’s location. One person had witnessed her being loaded into a four-horse carriage and escorted out of the city.
“…The noble’s…estate…” Goldof muttered. Then he seized a nearby carpenter’s biggest hammer and headed out of town.
He sprinted along the main road. The noble’s estate was about a half day’s walk away. No matter how fast he ran, he was not going to be able to catch up to a carriage. The sun set, wreathing his surroundings in darkness. A wolf howled as Goldof kept his pace down the road.
When he arrived at the noble’s estate and neared the front door, two gatekeepers brandished their spears at him. The black flame burned in his chest hotter than it ever had before. But this time the heat was not unpleasant. Howling like a beast, Goldof attacked the gatekeepers.
He didn’t remember very well what happened after that. Weapon in hand, he struck down everything within reach. When the hammer broke, he stole a spear from a soldier and swung it around recklessly. But as strong as Goldof was, he was still barely ten years old, and this was also the first time in his life he’d ever used a weapon like this. There was no way he could match armed and formally trained soldiers. They stabbed him in the side, hit his head with a spear shaft, and pierced his foot with an arrow. But still Goldof’s knees would not lower to the ground.
His consciousness dim, his vision hazy, Goldof noticed that there were others fighting with him. Ten knights had broken into the estate and were fighting the soldiers.
“The princess is safe!” someone yelled, and the moment Goldof heard that, he passed out.
When Goldof opened his eyes, he found himself swathed in bandages and lying on a soft, unfamiliar bed. He asked the young knight by his bedside where he was. The man replied that it was one of the Black Horns knights’ barracks. He also explained that this was a special sickroom for nobles only, but Goldof was getting special treatment.
Goldof’s next question was, “Is that girl safe?”
The knight laughed and replied, “Yes, Princess Nashetania is safe.”
That was when Goldof first learned the girl’s name. The knight was surprised to learn he hadn’t known who Nashetania was. “You’re saying you fought tha
t hard for a girl whose name you didn’t even know?”
Goldof nodded, and the knight shook his head as if to say, I can’t believe it. But Goldof let that drop. What he really wanted to know about was Nashetania.
According to the young man, the Black Horns knights, one of the twelve knight orders of the Kingdom of Piena, had rescued Nashetania. By the time Goldof met Nashetania, the captain of the knights, Gazama, had already known that she was in danger. Gazama had spearheaded an attack on Barbitt’s estate to rescue her. That had been merely half an hour after Goldof barged his way into the estate. The Black Horns knights had killed Barbitt, and Nashetania was now under their protection. Three knight orders had declared they would stay by Nashetania’s side, so there was no longer any danger to her life. What’s more, Barbitt’s plan had apparently been to take the princess to the capital and kill her there. At the time Goldof attacked the estate, her life had not yet been in danger.
In other words, even if Goldof hadn’t come to fight for her, the Black Horns knights would have saved Nashetania anyway. Basically, his fierce struggle had been entirely pointless. But the young knight said, “Your courage in facing the enemy all alone to save the princess was greater than that of any. Every knight should learn from your example.” That confused Goldof—this was the first time in his life anyone had ever praised him for anything.
A knock sounded on the sickroom door. The knight snapped to attention and ushered in the guest. Wearing a simple white dress, Nashetania approached his bedside with graceful steps. Goldof felt hot, and his heart pounded so hard that blood oozed out from his unhealed wounds.
“So you’re all right. First, let me ask your name.” Nashetania spoke gracefully. She seemed completely different from when they had first spoken.
Blushing, he introduced himself.
“Goldof…That’s a nice name.”
He couldn’t even hear what she was saying. He was so entranced, he couldn’t think.
Rokka: Braves of the Six Flowers, Vol. 3 Page 11
