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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7 Chapter2

2017-08-08T16:36:05Z

72.220.80.48: /* Part 1 */

==Chapter 2: Intentions==

=== Part 1 ===

It had been three days since the commemoration ceremony. The imperial court of Solon had, of late, constantly been wrapped in a gloomy atmosphere, but this morning, things were slightly different. The previous day, Colyne Isphan, who oversaw matters relating to the Emperor’s audiences, had received a request for an audience from Princess Vileena.

Originally, the Princess’ turn should have been in the evening but, when the Emperor had been personally reviewing the schedule, he had granted his permission for her to have the very earliest audience.

The audience hall was unusually full for that hour of the day, probably because people were curious about whether the Garberan princess had finally decided on her own course of action. Which day she would announce as her departure date had become the subject of many a bet, and most of the nobles living in or around Solon had shown up.

“Lady Vileena Owell, princess of Garbera.”

With the announcement from the crier, a slender foot stepped onto the red carpet that was stretched out along the audience hall. The foreign princess who had been supposed to become the Crown Prince’s wife walked forward, her back straight and her steps steady. Gossip held that she would be haggard from her fiancé’s death and from fretting over the uncertainty of her own fate, yet her gaze was firm.

Her platinum-colour hair tumbling along her back, Vileena kneeled before the throne.

“It is a great honour to be able to meet with you, Your Majesty.”

After having given her greetings, Vileena imparted the purpose of her audience. And the assembled crowd, desperately trying not to let their curiosity show on their faces, heard something somewhat unexpected.

“I wish to be allowed to leave Solon for a short while.”

''Solon? For a short while?''

The people there looked at each other. They would have understood it if she had said that she wanted to leave Mephius, but she had expressly limited herself to ‘leaving Solon’. And only ‘for a short while’ at that.

''What now, at this point in time?''

A disappointed expression appeared on the gawkers’ faces. Among them, however, there were some who whispered –

''No, don’t be too hasty. She must be hesitant to suddenly bring up going back to Garbera, so she’s saying things in a roundabout way''.

However –

“I would like to go to Nedain. I have heard that Lord Rogue Saian is there.”

Silence descended upon the hall the moment that Rogue’s name was brought up. Rogue Saian was being kept away from Solon, having incurred the Emperor’s wrath for turning a blind eye when the Prince – against the Emperor’s wishes – had taken reinforcements to Garbera. The people who had gathered out of idle curiosity all fearfully looked up to see what the Emperor’s expression was.

Sitting on the throne in his usual posture, his chin resting on his hand, Guhl Mephius asked, “What business do you have with Rogue, Princess?”

He was currently showing no hint of anger. Faster than the nobles could pat their chests in relief, however, Vileena replied –

“I have heard that the survivors of His Highness the Crown Prince’s Imperial Guards are with Lord Rogue. I have yet to thank them for rescuing my native country. Therefore, as a matter of honour, I wish to call upon them,” she announced in a clear voice.

It was silent no more as a babble broke from each person’s lips. Vileena’s words were endorsing Gil’s action of defying the Emperor. Besides which, she had deliberately spoken of “honour” with regards to the people who had allowed or assisted those actions. In other words, it was the same as her declaring to Emperor Guhl that – ''what you did was not honourable''.

''W-What is she saying?'' One noble stole a glance at his neighbour. ''I know that the Princess is valiant, but she can’t possibly be defying His Majesty to his face?''

''No, she’s just an ignorant kid. She thinks that it’s fine for her to say whatever she pleases.''

Entirely heedless of the tense atmosphere that had suddenly enveloped the great hall, the Princess awaited the Emperor’s words with her head still bowed.

One second passed. Then two. The three.

The aides to the Emperor had never felt time pass so slowly. It was as though the silence itself had turned into the fangs and claws of some demon which was ripping at their fragile hearts.

“Oh?”

When Emperor Guhl Mephius’ voice sounded like a low growl, everyone’s shoulders jerked. All of the retainers looked downwards, as though trying to avoid the roared rebuke which was about to descend upon the hall like a crash of thunder. However –

“Envoys from Garbera are expected to arrive next month, however...” what Guhl said made it seem like he did not mind the princess’ words.

“I will take about a week,” answered Vileena.

“In that case,” Guhl gave a faint smile, “you didn’t need to go out of your way like this, Princess. What you have seen of Solon and Apta was also hurried. You should take this time to stretch your wings.”
The Emperor spoke generously, but given that Vileena had thus “gone out of her way”, it could also be taken as her wanting to criticise the Emperor’s way of doing things in front of both him and his retainers. Guhl being Guhl, he laughed at having “gone out of his way” to point that out.

The tension in the hall did not subside until the Princess excused herself from the Emperor’s presence. Thinking about it calmly, Vileena was a guest from another country; even if what she said did not fit in with the Emperor’s thoughts, he could not unilaterally punish her.

Everyone recognised, however, that if anyone other than the princess were to speak such an inconvenient truth then, even if they were someone of as much influence as Simon, they would only end up being imprisoned. It was easily the most difficult thing about the Emperor.

''Or rather…'' There were probably one or two people whose thoughts ran along these lines: or rather, if he acted tyrannically even towards Vileena, a guest left in their care by a foreign country, it would indicate that he no longer had the calibre needed to be emperor, and there would then be a good chance that Mephius’ retainers would unite and confront him.

The Emperor, however, remained entirely clear-sighted. It was just that, although he was clear-sighted, he was also unusually self-righteous.

Guhl Mephius was a difficult ruler.

Vileena left Solon three days after the audience. Arrangements had been made for an air carrier, but she had chosen to travel by horse-drawn carriage. Accompanying her were more than fifty soldiers, assigned to guard her, and Theresia, her lady’s maid who had travelled with her from Garbera. A ferry had been hastily sent to Nedain, and it was said that more soldiers would come from Nedain, and would meet up with them along the way.

“Princess, the weather really is lovely,” said Theresia, looking out of the carriage window.
Vileena smiled faintly. “You seem to have something you want to say. Theresia, whenever you break the ice like that, it means you’re either going to scold me or give me advice. And you first start talking about the weather to sound me out.”

“You are very discerning. Why did you not consult with me at all? About having an audience with His Majesty. Saying that you want give thanks for the reinforcements to Garbera simply sounds like sarcasm against the Emperor.”

“I thought that if I had told you, you wouldn’t have agreed, Theresia.”

“Of course not.”

“Even I’m not just a thoughtless child. I only acted after very, very deep consideration.”

''How so?'' Theresia did not say anything, but the curve of her mouth conveyed her feelings. Vileena pretended not to have seen and instead, like Theresia, looked up at the sky through the window. The weather was not as clear as the former head Garberan lady’s maid had said, but a sky so blue it pierced the eyes occasionally peeped through the gaps in the grey clouds.

''Still…'' Theresia studied her young mistress’ profile. If Vileena had consult her, she would naturally have voiced her opposition, but she would also, from the bottom of her heart, would have supported her in whatever she wanted to do.

''How long has it been now since Crown Prince Gil passed away?''

That confused and chaotic time in Apta Fortress spontaneously resurfaced in her mind. Prince Gil had been shot…

When she received the news, Vileena muttered a single word – “Impossible” – and raced through the fortress. It was said that Gil had been shot when he had gone out onto a balcony, and that he had fallen into the River Yunos. A search party had immediately been assembled. Vileena herself had joined the line of airships. Flying in the middle of the night was, of course, dangerous; Theresia had called out to stop her, but Vileena did not even appear to hear her, and flew along the Yunos to the limits of her ship’s ether reserves.

When she returned temporarily to replenish them, a new piece of information had arrived. A search party had seen soldiers from the Black Armour Division racing along the opposite bank. Part of the search party had been sent out as messengers to the Taúlian side to request permission to cross the border. Meanwhile, with every second lost unbearable to her, Vileena flew as close to the border as she could.

Even when the river’s surface started to reflect the morning light, there was nothing to show for these efforts. Having run out of ether and returned to the fortress for who knew how many times, Vileena received yet another fresh piece of news.

One of the Imperial Guards’ search parties had run into the Black Armour Division, which was attempting to flee by crossing the border with Taúlia. They had all but annihilated one another. Amongst those of the guards who had fallen victim during the fight, and who did not make it back to Apta, were two that the Prince relied on: Orba and Shique. The Princess knew both of them.

Hearing of the deaths of those she knew one after another, and exhausted from having flown all night, the Princess was no longer able to stand. For a fourteen-year-old girl, it must have felt as though the world she had known was collapsing. Theresia had hurriedly run over, had called for help, and had brought the Princess back to her room in the fortress.

After that, time slipped by with dizzying speed. Help arrived from Birac and Solon to assist in the search, and a battalion’s worth of airships was added. Taúlia also helped search along the border, but nothing came of that either. Even when she had been urged to return to Solon, Vileena had refused to give up until the very end and flown a ship as often as humanly possible, until finally, a messenger had come directly from the Emperor, whom she could not defy.

Theresia remembered that last day in Apta.

Having asked permission from the chamberlain attached to the Prince, a boy called Dinn, Vileena had entered the Prince’s private room. It seemed as though the Princess, having finally resigned herself, was looking for a keepsake with which she could immerse herself in memories or keep hidden on her person. However –

“He is a ‘liar’,” Vileena’s blueish eyes glittered. “The kind of person who deceives his friends to trick his enemies. At Zaim Fortress, at Mephius’ Founding Festival, and also in the battles between Apta and Taúlia… he is always like that.

“How did I not notice until now? The Prince is deceiving us again so he must be planning something. How many times does he think he can trick me? Right, Theresia, lend me a hand. There is definitely a secret somewhere in this room. Or maybe a letter to me…”

With the accumulated exhaustion from the previous days, Vileena was in a kind of manic state. Sorrow and despair forgotten, her young mistress’ face was wreathed in cheerful smiles – Theresia found it wretchedly painful. It seemed to her that during the time spent searching the Prince’s room, each minute, each second, would erode the Princess’ buoyant feelings, that cruel reality would sink in like water being absorbed by silk floss, and that in the end, she would be crushed by sorrow and despair even greater than before.

Her prediction proved correct. The sky outside the window had grown bright and the ship had arrived to pick her up, but up until the last moment, Vileena had stayed in the Prince’s room. In the end, she had finally stopped walking around the room, stopped rummaging along the shelves, stopped talking to Theresia even, and had simply stood vacantly in place.
Theresia could not find the words to say to her mistress who was in that state.

''Prince Gil Mephius is cruel''.

To his fiancée, who had traveled far from another country – and one which had, until just before, been an enemy that fought continuous, bloody battles against them – he had never once spoken gently nor given a single gift. Even though her ever self-willed princess had made great efforts to repress herself, to grow familiar with this country, and to try and understand the Prince; every time, he would dodge the issue, immerse himself in his work, and leave the Princess to experience solitude.

''Truly cruel''.

Yet even so, finally... finally, Theresia had observed that a mutual exchange of feelings had started to bud between the young pair. Which was why she could not forgive him. For having disappeared so abruptly. For having left Vileena alone in this country.

After they had returned to Solon, Vileena had spoken less and less. It had been better in Apta, where she had gone searching each day until she was utterly exhausted. At least there had been something that needed doing. She had not been tormented then with her own ominous thoughts, nor had she felt as though her body were being ripped apart by grief.

''It’s like the soul has been plucked out of her body'' – Theresia had not been alone in thinking that.

Two weeks later however, Vileena changed again. She had been sitting alone on her bed, her head bowed and her expression listless, absorbed in her own thoughts.

''I’m not doing this right'' – Theresia had thought suddenly as the conversation was about to peter out. Anxious not to run out of topics to talk about, she had brought up the Imperial Guards who had once served the Prince. Theresia had heard that the survivors from the battle with the Black Armour Division had been incorporated into Rogue Saian’s division. Among them were Gowen, the commander of the Guards, and Pashir, who had fought the masked Orba in the finals of the Founding Festival’s gladiatorial tournament. There was also Gowen’s adopted daughter, Hou Ran, who, unusually for a woman, worked as a dragon handler.

As soon as she heard about it, Vileena’s eyebrows twitched. ''Dammit'' – Theresia instantly thought. She knew the habits of the girl she had served for many years, so how could she not realise that Vileena had hit upon some idea or another?

Rogue Saian had angered the Emperor and was currently being kept away from Solon, in a town called Nedain. Theresia had already somewhat resigned herself when she had brought up that last, desperate conversational gambit.

And, as expected, Vileena and Theresia were now being jolted along in a horse-drawn carriage on the highway to Nedain.

Theresia sighed. There was nothing unusual about the speed of Vileena’s decisions and actions. Although Theresia had felt her blood run cold when she had heard that the princess had spoken what sounded like defiance towards the Emperor, she did not, in fact, think that going to Nedain was a bad idea.

She did not know what her mistress intended to do over there but, when someone close to you died, it was only by sorting through the many things coiled up inside you – including those that, from an outside perspective, seemed utterly unrelated – that you could learn to accept reality. Theresia herself had sometimes done as much when her parents and younger brother had passed away.

Still –

“Princess,” in this situation, Theresia definitely had to give her mistress a warning. “Princess, I am on your side no matter what.”

“Of course I know that.”

“That being the case, there is one thing that I would like you to listen to me about. The lord of Nedain, Jairus Abigoal… I believe that you are already familiar with the name, Princess.”

“Uh humm…”

Vileena gave a slight nod. That sound, which was like a cross between ‘uh huh’ and ‘hmm’, was very much like the one that her grandfather, Jeorg, made when he wanted to show someone he trusted that he was listening to what they were saying. When Vileena imitated her grandfather like that, it was usually when she was putting on an important air and wanted to hide her intentions from the other person.

“I earnestly ask you not to interrogate Lord Abigoal directly, or to scold him, as you did with His Imperial Majesty. Princess, your position here in Mephius is currently a very delicate one. Please do not stir things up even more.”

“I know,” answered Vileena, resting her cheek on her hand.

She had heard that Lord Jairus and a young noble who served him, called Raymond, had quarrelled in the Emperor’s presence. Afterwards, Raymond had summarily been dealt with by being thrown into prison. Theresia naturally understood that her mistress was uneasy about this. Knowing Vileena’s personality, she might well berate the domain lord to his face and cause an unnecessary uproar.

“Promise me, Princess.”

“You’re so persistent. I won’t interrogate him and I won’t scold him. I promise,” Vileena said, unconcernedly.

The carriage continued along the highway at a leisurely pace. They were to arrive in Nedain on the evening of the third day after they had left Solon, and it was that day that they met up with the guards which had been sent from Nedain.

“Princess,” Theresia called out as she looked through the window. Leading the horse riders was an old soldier with tanned skin: Gowen, who had once been the commander of the Prince’s Imperial Guards.
He came up to the carriage and gave his greetings to the princess. At the same time, he said not a word about the Crown Prince.

“Uh hum,” Vileena nodded graciously while casting a somewhat thoughtful eye on the veteran soldier.

=== Part 2 ===

On the day of the Garberan princess’ departure from Solon, Imperial Princess Ineli Mephius was irritably pacing around in her own room.

She was the daughter of Melissa, Guhl’s second wife, and she too had tended to stay indoors ever since she had been informed of the Crown Prince’s death. Although in Ineli’s case, the reason was slightly different than it had been for the royal princess. When she had gone to Apta, the suspicions she had harboured that the crown prince might actually have been an impostor had turned into conviction. Just when she had believed that things would be turning interesting, she had heard the news that the Prince had been killed.

''It can’t be''.

Ineli could not accept it. Not only because her hard-earned amusement had fallen apart in her hands, but also because she had assumed that the impostor, who had survived the imperial palace and the battlefield, would not die so easily.

''Who was that man?''

His face was so like her step-brother’s, it was almost scary. Even his father, Emperor Guhl, had not noticed anything when they met. The person inside, however, was completely different from the Gil that Ineli knew well. This man made brilliant use of soldiers, had seemed almost indifferent when confronting Zaat Quark who had a gun pointed straight at him, and on top of that, he was a outstanding swordsman.

She had once wondered whether he was someone of high standing, however, if that was the case, it was inconceivable that someone so talented and whose face looked exactly like the Crown Prince’s could have failed to attract attention within Mephius. Had someone brought a boy from another country, or found a slave or some other lowly person who happened to resemble Gil? Had that someone, judging that he could be of use as a body double, then trained him through long years of education?

''Then, that someone…''

While Ineli was chewing her thumb and deep in thought, there was a knock at the door. She frowned, narrowing her eyes.

“Didn’t I say that no one was to come in?” She demanded in a shrill voice. Recently, she had often raised her voice against the ladies’ maids and noble young ladies that she normally got on well with.
“I beg your pardon, Princess. Your sister, Princess Flora, says that she earnestly wishes to see you.”

“Flora?”

Ineli twirled her golden hair around her finger. It was unusual for her younger sister to come and see her in person; she reluctantly gave permission for her to be allowed in.

Lead in by a tall lady’s maid, Flora timidly made her appearance. Like Ineli, she was Melissa’s child from her previous marriage, and she was five years younger than her sister. She had just turned eleven during that year’s Founding Festival.

At eleven, Ineli had already made her debut in high society and had been assigned a great many private tutors, so she remembered being busy every day. Flora however was introverted by nature and, in the past, her health had been frail. She did not have any close friends, and since her mother had become empress, she had rarely had the opportunity to leave the Inner Quarters.

“What do you want? Please make it short.”

Ineli stopped the lady’s maid who was about to lay out tea and coldly had her leave. Half-hidden behind the tall lady’s maid, Flora was hanging her head low. Unlike Ineli, who had inherited their mother’s blond locks, Flora had their father’s dark, reddish-brown hair. Perhaps it was because she had delicate features, but she gave a slightly subdued impression compared to her mother and sister’s flamboyant beauty.

The uncomfortable silence stretched on and Ineli was just about to irritably open her mouth when the lady’s maid explained in Flora’s place.

“Her Highness said that she wished to read a book with her older sister.”

“A book?”

Ineli noticed that Flora was carrying a largish book in her arms.

''You still have that? Treasuring something like that…''

She felt fed up. It was a book full of illustrated fairy-tales that their deceased father had bought when they were very young. Originally, it had belonged to Ineli, but Flora loved it and, when she was little, she would often ask her older sister to read it to her. And so, some years back, Ineli had given it to her during the Founding Festival.

That was the year after their father had passed away.

In a very grown-up gesture, Ineli closed her eyes and shook her head.

“There’s no need to read it anymore because it’s already been read more than enough. Flora, you should stop with such childish books and read something that at least will help you improve yourself. Like Mother said, you will soon be getting dancing and painting instructors. Now, hurry on back to your room.”

“…Yes, Older Sister,” Flora, still concealed behind the lady’s maid, replied in a fading voice. With trudging footsteps, she left the room.

Once the door had shut, Ineli put her hands to her narrow waist and shrugged her shoulders in apparent exasperation.

''Wouldn’t it be nice if I could also act so childishly?''

Her irritation was not only due to the matter about Prince Gil. That morning, when the imperial family had been sitting together for breakfast, the Emperor had suddenly declared that, “Ineli will be seventeen before long. It will soon be time to think about a partner for you.”

Even as she was responding to Guhl’s words with a smile, Ineli’s heart felt chilled. By “partner”, he meant of course Ineli’s marriage partner. She did not know whether those he had in mind were from inside or outside of the country. Still now that it was rumoured that Princess Vileena, the cornerstone in the peace with Garbera, would soon be returning to her country, she had heard speculation that there was a high chance that Princess Ineli would be betrothed to someone from the Garberan royal family, and also that Taúlia had been sounding out how to consolidate the alliance through marriage.

''This isn’t funny''.

At this point in time, she absolutely did not want to leave Mephius for a foreign country, At this point in time, she absolutely did not want to leave Mephius for a foreign country, or marry either an unrefined Mephian aristocrat or loutish military man.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v07 073.jpg|thumb]]

Ineli was a sixteen-year-old maiden, and she had already gone through puppy love with one of her private tutors. There was no one in her heart at present and, unlike others, she did not yearn for love itself. She did harbour a woman’s rejection of being married just to serve as a political tool, but more importantly, the thought of becoming nothing more than a prop to support her husband from behind filled Ineli with dread.

''I am not a princess who is a mere figurehead. I will one day leave my name behind throughout the country, no throughout the world''.

It was thanks to that conceit in herself that she had been able to overcome the shock of the Emperor’s words that morning, or, indeed, of her step-brother’s death.

She had to make her move while there was still time. First, she needed to prove that she was sufficiently competent to act as the Emperor’s right-hand.

''And for that, I need to solve the mystery of Gil Mephius. That man was definitely an impostor. But if I tell that to Father at this late hour, I’ll just be laughed off''.

Which reminded her that before and after the Founding Festival, a noble called Fedom Aulin had very conspicuously gotten closer to Gil. When Ineli had suspected the Prince of being an impostor, she had personally asked Fedom some leading questions. From what Ineli had observed, Fedom was nowhere near as clever as he believed himself to be. Fedom had feigned unconcern, but he had not been able to hide the turmoil in his eyes.

If Fedom had plotted to replace the Crown Prince with a body double, then that was, of course, a heinous crime that could have overthrown the country. Furthermore, since “Prince Gil’s death” had been officially announced when the impostor had died, that meant that the real Gil Mephius had already passed away. And if Fedom Aulin was involved in ''that''…

''Then this might also be some kind of plot of Fedom’s. After all, Gil Mephius’ body still hasn’t been found. Since he defied the Emperor over those reinforcements, they must have been afraid of being rebuked for it, and that if there was an in-depth investigation, his real identity would be discovered – so they had him temporarily vanish while actually, behind the scenes, Fedom would be gathering sympathisers to overthrow Father and, when the time is right, Crown Prince Gil will once more appear on stage…''

Ineli was not a person of extraordinary insight. She was the type to easily get emotional and did not ponder deeply over intellectual matters. However, her almost obsessive belief that the impostor Gil had to be alive so that she could take revenge on him had brought Ineli very close to the truth.

''I need to meet with Fedom''.

Just as Ineli had come to that conclusion, there was once more a sound at the door. A lady’s maid informed her that a messenger had come from Ineli’s friends, Baton Cadmus and Troa Hergei. They had once gone together with Gil to Rogue Saian’s residence. Thinking about it now, she was sure that Gil had been replaced since around that time.

The messenger had brought an invitation to go out and have fun with them. She had been confined in the palace’s Inner Quarters for so long that it must be stifling for her, so would she not come out with them, to the gladiator arena, or on a long horse ride, or wherever?

Ineli snorted and told the lady’s maid to give some suitable excuse to send him away.

''At a time like this. Flora too, but really, how long are they all going to remain children?''

As far as Ineli was concerned, her own thoughts and concerns were, at any and all times, her highest priority, and anything else was utterly trivial.

''Brat''.

Ineli suddenly started, eyes wide. Her clear white skin rapidly turned red as the blood rushed to her head.

''You don't know anything. Any more whining from you and I'll strangle you with my own hands. Got it, little girl?''

Ineli’s slender shoulders shook, the muscles along her back shivered, and before long, her entire body was trembling. The time when Gil Mephius’ impostor had called her a brat vividly came back to her. She unconsciously ground her teeth.

''That man has to be alive. So that I can kill him with my own hands. No, even if he really is already dead, if I have to, I’ll invite sorcerers versed in the deepest mysteries of magic from the east to revive him so that I can kill him all over again!''

At about the same time, as though to replace Vileena, an air carrier arrived in Solon. The one who appeared from within it, almost seeming to tumble out of it, was Nabarl Metti. Outwardly, this military officer had gone to Kilro to help its newly appointed lord, Indolph; but, needless to say, he was in fact one of the anti-Guhl faction who had responded to Fedom’s appeal.

Just after Nabarl’s departure from Kilro, the assembled members of the anti-Guhl faction had been looking very pale, but Nabarl’s own complexion was every bit as bad as theirs. While getting ever closer to where Emperor Guhl Mephius was, he looked as though he might swoon at any moment.

''W-What should I do?'' He kept asking himself over and over.

The journey by air carrier had been like the very road to the scaffold, or to the gladiator arena where flesh-eating dragons awaited. He was as nervous as a cornered beast, he screamed at the slave women who were helping him get ready, even though they had not done anything wrong, and swung his fists at them. There was a side to him which had always held women in contempt.

Now that he had arrived in Solon, he still had no clear answer. Just as Fedom and the others had feared, he had considered confessing all the information he had about them and saving only his own skin from punishment.

''But… would the Emperor even let me off the hook with just that?''

After having first been tortured and made to cough up everything he knew, his people and his property might be seized, and his very House destroyed. Nabarl was portly for a soldier and, partly because of that, sweat was streaming endlessly down his forehead.

He was kept waiting, not in the great hall used for audiences, but in one of the rooms of the main palace that were reserved for the Emperor’s private use. It felt as to him as though his large body was wasting away with every passing minute.

Half and hour later, Guhl invited him in. A map was spread out on the desk before the Emperor. Next to him were gathered several men who served as his staff officers.

“I haven’t summoned anyone else,” Guhl began to talk.

“Aye,” Nabarl’s voice was hoarse as he answered.

“Nabarl.”

“A-Aye.”

“In the past, you always advocated seizing Taúlia by force and breaking free of the stalemate between the three central countries, did you not?”

Guhl brought out several documents. Before the start of the ten-year war with Garbera, Nabarl had certainly argued in favour of attacking Tauran, and he and his father had elaborated a strategy that they had sent to the Emperor. In the end, when the war with Garbera broke out, his opinion had been quelled.

“It was an argument made ten years ago, but a very interesting one. Here are the reports collating the information from the spies sent to the west. I will leave this to you. Work out a new strategy in cooperation with the staff officers.”

“Ay… Ah?”

As he stood to attention, sweat was glistening all over Nabarl’s brow. In front of him, Guhl smiled ominously.

“Still, we don’t have that much time. We can wait no more than a week… You can do it, can’t you?”

=== Part 3 ===

Oubary Bilan’s mansion had burned down…

A visitor arrived when he received that information. Noue Salzantes waved the hand he wore his lapis lazuli ring on and the messenger disappeared through another door as his new visitor entered the room.

“Did someone come?”

Zenon Owell, second prince of Garbera, entered the room and asked without any preliminary. Noue had slowly gotten used to this prince’s personality, which was a perplexing mix of the brusqueness of a soldier who galloped through battlefields with the decorum and splendour of an aristocrat.

“It was no great matter, so I had him leave.”

“Oh? It wouldn’t have been a problem to keep me waiting.”

Noue and Zenon. Once upon a time, they would never even have been seen together at the palace. As for being close enough to come and go from each other’s private chambers? Well, those who knew them best were the most astounded at the abrupt change. Zenon had disliked Noue enough to publicly declare that the other’s ingenuity was contrary to the path of chivalry; while Noue, although never openly arguing with Zenon, his social superior, had always had a sardonic gleam in his eye and had clearly looked down on him.

When Lord Eric of Ende had surrounded Zaim Fortress, Noue and Zenon’s actions had hindered one another. Their thoughts and intentions had been at odds with each other and, because of that, Zenon had, in very little time, almost been captured by the enemy. Had Imperial Prince Gil of Mephius not arrived with reinforcements, that would certainly have been his fate.

However, it was precisely because they had fallen into that predicament that the two of them had repented their own over-confidence and come to recognise the other’s skill.

For a while, the two of them made idle conversation. The tea which was brought in had been chilled to Noue’s liking. Garbera, which made vigorous use of air carriers, possessed a cave in a land across the northern sea in which they stored ice shaved from the perpetually snow-capped mountains there. Several times a year, that ice was sold at high price on the markets. Although Noue was known as a dandy, his room was furnished very simply, and he preferred not to spend too much money on his private life. This was one of the few luxuries that he enjoyed.

“It looks like Mephius still hasn’t held Prince Gil’s funeral,” Zenon broached the main topic. “And because of that, we can’t push to take Vileena back. What’s Emperor Guhl hesitating for? I’ve heard one opinion that he can’t accept his son’s death and is escaping into the arms of religion, but I can’t believe that the opponent we fought in the ten-year war would be that feeble-minded.”

“Guhl is already at an advanced age. His first-born son, Gil Mephius, was his long-awaited heir, so it would not be surprising if his love for him ran deep. However…”

“However?”

“According to most of the stories I heard at court, it seems that Prince Gil was, on the contrary, ostracised by his father. Even after he officially became crown prince at thirteen, Guhl was known to remark that if there were a boy with more talent, even if he was only distantly related to the imperial family, he – Guhl – would not hesitate to overturn his son’s position.”

“Hmm,” Zenon brushed back his soft platinum hair, which was so like his sister’s, “I’d also heard rumours that Prince Gil was a ‘fool’. It was to the point that most of our Garberan knights hoped that when he inherited the throne, it would weaken Mephius.”

“I too was a little negligent because of those rumours.”

Noue’s words verged on the dangerous. He had, completely of his own initiative, taken advantage of Mephius’ Founding Festival to try and weaken the country. Because of Prince Gil it had resulted in failure but, at the time, Noue had also attempted to bring about the assassination of Garbera’s princess – in other words, of Zenon’s own little sister.

His actions had been dictated by the belief that this was for the good of Garbera, but even so, Noue questioned whether he would be able to implement the same plan as he was now. ''Have I gone soft? No, it’s just that since the Princess is loved that much throughout the country, I believe that there are other ways of using her.''

Trust and bonds between people were nothing to make light of. Noue believed that he himself was lacking in that area; so Zenon and Vileena, who could well be called unifying forces, were essential to Garbera, as well as to Noue himself.

Zenon, meanwhile, assumed that Noue had been “negligent” in a general sense. Thinking back to the three-way meeting near Zaim between Gil, Eric, and himself; and remembering the Mephian prince’s demeanour, he gave a single nod.

“I thought back then that the rumours were wrong. It’s mortifying to admit, but there’s no denying that young prince was the one who set the pace of the meeting from start to end. Rather than being on bad terms with his father, could it be that Guhl was afraid of his son’s competence?”

“There are reports that he warned the Prince against sending reinforcements to Garbera. It’s entirely natural that a policymaker would not appreciate someone who ignores them and who stands out as a hero. To make things worse, it was the son of his own blood and the heir to the throne. And the Emperor is still passionately attached to power…”

“It’s a situation that would probably be more dangerous than it is now if Gil were still alive.” Zenon shrugged helplessly then glared at the empty space. “Well, things are currently dangerous enough in Mephius as it is. We can’t leave Vileena over there; but, having said that, if we look like we’re trying to take her back by force, sparks might also land on Garbera. When there’s trouble inside a country, it’s easy to point the tip of the spear towards another power. When there’s a foreign enemy, allies have no choice but to band together.”

Zenon had also heard that the emperor of Mephius was trying to draw closer to Ende. Actually, Eric himself had implied as much during their three-way meeting. And when he had been informed that his older brother, Lord Jeremie, seemed also to have forged a connection with Mephius’ emperor through a different route, the colour had completely drained from Eric’s face.

Ende had its own internal problems. But, well, it could not be said that Garbera formed a unified block either.

“What have your brother and His Majesty said concerning what will happen to the Princess?”

“They’re being indecisive,” Zenon grimaced, looking as though he felt personally disgraced. “All we can do for now is wait, we don’t yet know what will happen to the alliance with Mephius – that sort of thing. All I wanted was even one single firm statement that could unite the country.”

To Zenon’s chagrin, the situation within the country was once more growing unstable.

Prince Gil’s death had caused a split in public opinion. Those who had been less than pleased about the alliance with Mephius were actively starting to talk about how fortuitous the Crown Prince’s death was, saying that they should get the Princess returned to them and then settle things with Mephius. According to them, now that Ende was politically unstable, the time was ripe. Those who spoke that way were mostly Ryucown’s adherents. His uprising at Zaim Fortress still exercised a huge influence amongst the knights of Garbera, it was starting to openly be said that he should be honoured for having chivalrously died for his country. Needless to say, Ryucown was a traitor and a rebel, so this was a sign that the royal family’s prestige was declining. The situation might become a trigger to mayhem, but the two of them deliberately avoided touching upon it.

“Still, my poor little sister,” Zenon sighed. “People talk about the fate of a woman born in turbulent times, but she’s only a young girl and she’s been tossed about by fortune every which way.”

Thinking about it, the family that Vileena was to marry into had twice been changed in less than a year.

First, it had been the engagement to Ryucown, which had been decided a year ago. Noue was the one who had laid the groundwork for it, and Zenon had approved of it. However, King Ainn Owell of Garbera had sought to draw closer to Ende as he urgently needed to form a military alliance with them; and so, behind the scenes, he had first persuaded Ryucown and Zenon to agree, and then had started preparations for Vileena to marry Lord Eric of Ende.

However, just as that was happening, they received an offer of peace from Mephius. The negotiations with Ende had been unofficial, so, after some agonising, Ainn Owell had chosen the alliance with Mephius.
The family she was to marry into had been changed again and again, without any account being given to her own desires, then, when it had finally been settled on Mephius, Crown Prince Gil had passed away. Even Noue felt a certain compassion for her. In spite of those feelings however, Noue considered Vileena’s current circumstances with a cool head. He had heard that in Mephius, opinions were divided about how to deal with her.

''It’s possible that by not holding the Prince’s funeral, the Emperor is, in fact, actively trying to induce the Princess to stay'' – was how he saw things. The Emperor might be planning some kind of large-scale action in the near future, and was deliberately keeping Vileena in Mephius so that Garbera would not be able to intervene.

While on the one hand paying close attention to what was going on in Mephius, he also had to keep an eye on the interior situation in Garbera.

''I pushed Ryucown forward as a hero while he was alive, so it’s not as though I’m without responsibility in this matter. Should I go and meet his adherents directly?''

Noue did not have much confidence in his ability to persuade people, but they could not be allowed to stage a confrontation with the royal family, and neither could he leave this to Zenon, who was himself royalty.

“You will soon be returning to Mavant?”

“Yeah. I want to re-organise the Order. A lot of the guys from my unit are stationed in Mavant, so there are plenty of people that I want to see again, since it’s been so long.”

Zenon being Zenon, he well understood that with Prince Gil’s death, the relationship between the three countries might once more tear at the seams and collapse. So he would be concentrating his efforts on making preparations.

“Before that, I’m afraid I need to go show myself at the Kotjun House.”

“That…”

Noue just gave a faint smile and refrained from offering his condolences. The Kotjun House was an influential aristocratic family within Garbera but, because of their origins, they were often scorned behind their backs as “the Moneylending House”. Zenon in particular had always kept his distance from them.

“Please give my regards to Miss Rinoa Kotjun.”

“What? I was planning to take you along. You’ll do it much more smoothly than me.”

“Miss Rinoa dislikes me. Probably for the same reason that a certain prince used to.”

His blunt words made Zenon laugh. The tea was going entirely cold.
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7_Chapter1|Chapter 1]]
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| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7_Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume6 Chapter5

2017-08-08T09:24:39Z

72.220.80.48: /* Part 2 */

==Chapter 5: Ether Disturbance==

=== Part 1 ===

The time had finally come.

Resolve burst from Raswan's brow like sparks struck from a flint. His eyes were stretched open wide and as he marched roughly forward, his usual cold expression replaced by one so different that he seemed like another person.

It was in that state that Raswan, fully armed and with more than twenty soldiers following behind him, appeared before the castle gate. The soldiers too wore helmets and armour. Only one in that group was not carrying a weapon: a lone middle-aged man. His face was pale and he appeared to be considerably agitated.

“What is going on?”

It was no wonder that the soldiers standing guard looked astonished. Incidentally, the soldiers acting as guardsmen for Taúlia’s castle – which could more aptly be called a manor – were subordinates of Toún Bazgan, Raswan’s father.

Without stating his business, Raswan simply said, “I’m going in. Move.”

“I will go and fetch Lord Toún. Please wait a moment,” sensing a somewhat dangerous atmosphere, one of the guards headed away from the gate. The gleam of his sword aimed at that soldier’s back signalled the start of Raswan Bazgan’s uprising.

Blood spurted and screams broke out from the assembled court servants. Raswan expressionlessly stepped over the guard’s corpse. He and the soldiers entered the castle.

The guards there couldn’t hide how shaken they were at facing Toún’s son Raswan. Above all, the vigour with which he strode through the castle was no ordinary thing. He gave the impression that if you approached him he would cut you down. Perhaps because the soldiers were overwhelmed by this, Raswan proceeded unimpeded into the castle.

The guards in front of the massive doors to the audience chamber however held their spears crossways and barred his path.

“Stand back.”

“Stand down!”

They shouted in unison but here again Raswan didn’t waste his breath and resorted to force of arms. In the blink of an eye he cut down his fellow countrymen and soldiers, and wrenched open the imposing door to the throne room.

Within were Queen Jaina and Archduke Hirgo Tedos. They were in the middle of a meeting with the goodwill envoys had been sent from the various western countries. Having of course heard the commotion, they had all risen from their seats and had been on the verge of fleeing. Screams arose from the delegates at the sight of Raswan’s drawn and bloody blade, and even Jaina gasped.

At that point, fifty or so soldiers led by Toún Bazgan belatedly drew up behind Raswan. They glared at his soldiers who were blockading the still open door. Both sides unsheathed their swords simultaneously but Toún was so shaken and confused upon learning of his son’s actions that he was unable to give any orders.

“Raswan!” He called out loudly but Raswan neither answered his father nor even turned to look at him, merely fixing his gaze on the throne with eyes as piercing as a hawk’s.

“Have you gone mad, Raswan?” Archduke Hirgo shouted. He was the adoptive father of Bouwen Tedos, the commander of the Fifth Army Corps, and had served since the time of Ax’s father.

Raswan’s mouth twisted into a sneer.

“Mad? No, I have come to claim my rights as a legitimate descendant of the Bazgan line. Since that throne appears to be empty, won’t you give it to me?”

“What nonsense is this!” A tremor passed through Jaina’s cheeks. Her daughter Esmena greatly resembled her and she was usually a very gentle woman, but her expression now was markedly different from that usual. “This throne belongs to the father of the country, my husband Ax Bazgan. You should know that well!”

“The Bazgan throne is the throne of Zer Tauran. Isn’t that Ax’s favourite phrase?”

“What has that got to do with your behaviour?” Hirgo shouted over Raswan’s head to a point behind him. “Toún, seize this lunatic. For all that he is your son, this is nothing less than rebellion against Taúlia!”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v06 193.jpg|thumb]]
The soldiers on both sides were as tense as a drawn bowstring, keeping watch for any sign of movement. But,

“Now, now. Hang on,” Raswan, the person responsible for this mayhem, spoke with startling nonchalance. “I’ve brought someone with me. Let’s first of all hear what he has to say.”

As he spoke, Raswan drew towards him the middle-aged man who was the only unarmed member of his group. He was a craftsman from the town. His face had been drained of all colour from the sudden bloodshed. His breathing was ragged and he seemed about to collapse at any moment.

But the words spoken by that nondescript man threw the hall into turmoil.

“Ridiculous,” Hirgo groaned but even his face had gone pale.

According to the man, roughly half a year earlier one of Governor-General Ax Bazgan’s subordinates had come to see him and had requested that he make a war fan. Moreover, he had asked that it be made to look the same as the one which usually hung from Ax’s waist. He had described the design of the handle in particularly minute detail. The handle of Ax’s favourite war fan encased the sovereign’s seal of the Magic Dynasty.

“You all remember it, don’t you?” As though to thoroughly observe the unrest caused by the man’s testimony, Raswan slowly swept his gaze around his surroundings. “Governor-General Ax Bazgan was captured at Apta during the campaign against Mephius. After that, Taúlia and Mephius suddenly made peace. Do you remember what was said at the time when the war fan disappeared for a while from his waist?”

“You, what are you trying to say?” Jaina asked, her face ashen. Raswan chuckled softly.
“Are further words necessary? Governor-General Ax had the fan, and thus the sovereign’s seal of the Magic Dynasty, stolen from him by Gil Mephius. It was then used to threaten him into binding us in alliance with Mephius. As a member of the Bazgan House, no as a Zerdian, to have lost the sovereign’s seal is a dishonour. Yet Ax went further and in order to deceive those around him, he had this man make a substitute fan.”

The hall erupted into a furore. As Toún’s men looked at each other, Raswan alone listened coldly to his own words. The middle-aged man he had brought along was certainly a craftsman but he had in reality received no request from Ax to make a war fan. As Ax certainly understood that this was a situation which could influence the entire country, Raswan had not immediately been able to uncover any evidence. Ax had probably commissioned it abroad where he could conceal his identity. Or perhaps he had sealed the mouth of the craftsman who made the fan by having him killed in secret?

If he had a little more time, he would have investigated in more detail but he was in a hurry to press on. He had reluctantly and at great cost hired this man who was well-known within Taúlia. Naturally, since he would become a hindrance in the future, Raswan intended to kill him quickly and pretend that he had gotten caught up in the drama of the rebellion.

However that may be, the hall was pulsing with agitation. Raswan took the opportunity to raise his voice.

“That damn Ax no longer has the right to be the head of the Bazgan House. Don’t you agree? I will take back the war fan with my own hands. Don’t we need a new ruler who will push anew for the revival of Zer Tauran?”

“D-Don’t be absurd,” sensing that the mood within the hall was turning, Hirgo also spoke in a deliberately loud voice as he inched his way towards Raswan. “Enough of your speculations. We should verify all this when his lordship returns. Since you deliberately chose a time when he was away, your schemes are as clear as day. Pull back here, Raswan. No matter what the circumstances, your actions are inexcusable.”

“You still don’t get it? If his lordship returns, then what? Do you think that Ax, who has had the sovereign’s seal snatched away from him and who has lost the right to be governor-general, will be able to overcome Garda? Now that the threat is closing in on the whole of the west, Taúlia needs a new leader.”

“I told you to pull back. Stand down now before it is too late.”

Even at the best of times, Raswan was an irascible man. When things didn’t go the way he wanted, creases would wrinkle his brow. He was filled with ample resolve and his nerves were stretched to breaking point for this grand, once-in-a-lifetime performance.

As the distance was short, Hirgo was unable to see it coming. At that moment, Raswan’s right arm swept upwards and brandished his sword, still dripping with blood, over his shoulder.

“Archduke!”

Jaina’s cry was too late. In one strike, Raswan’s blade tore through Archduke Hirgo Tedos from his right shoulder to his chest. Hirgo staggered, a bloody froth dribbled from his mouth then he collapsed backwards. For a moment, there was complete silence.

“S-Seize him!”

Now that it had come to this point, even Toún was forced to make a decision. He waved his right hand and gave his men the order to attack.

A bunch of spears gleamed within the hall. But the spearheads pointed towards Raswan amounted to no more than twenty. Of the remainder, twenty were turned against their comrades and ten were pointed at Toún himself who had just given that order. He had been about to draw his sword and personally charge forward but was stopped in his tracks.

“You bastards,” he muttered in blank surprise as he stared at his subordinates’ faces. He didn’t know of course. That his men who were supposed to come rushing in reinforcement were all being held back in front of the castle gate. More than fifty of the soldiers who followed Raswan were there with their weapons at the ready.

“These are Lord Toún’s orders,” they announced and allowed nobody to pass inside. To make matters worse, the one who was leading them was the vice-commander and Toún’s right-hand man. No one except Toún Bazgan had the authority to countermand his orders, and Toún was inside the castle. Thus the soldiers who came running from elsewhere were disposed of.

Raswan didn’t spare a single glance for his father who was faced with those spears. He looked down at Hirgo’s remains at his feet and, his eyes dark, he muttered:

“I’ll declare war on Mephius and definitely take back the sovereign’s seal with my own hands. And then, Zer Tauran will be restored.”

At that moment, Ax’s daughter Esmena Bazgan had only just returned to her chambers. She had come back from paying a get-well visit to Bouwen who had been moved to a room inside the palace.

Esmena was relieved that her childhood friend’s health seemed to be improving steadily. It was just that having lost so many of his men, he couldn’t help but feel depressed.

“I wonder if there is some way of cheering Bouwen up.”

“You should go and visit him every day, Princess. Lord Bouwen will feel better from that alone.”

“Is that right?”

“That it is.”

“You are all smiling very strangely.”

In fact, the ladies’ maid found it heart-warming and lovely how Esmena was busying herself over Bouwen. As for being in low spirits recently, it was the same for Esmena. While worrying about her childhood friend’s health, the princess’ body and mind were gradually recovering and that made the ladies’ maids happier than anything.

The sunlight was warm; it was just another peaceful day.

Moments later, the atmosphere inside the palace changed completely.

The soldiers guarding the inner quarters thought that they could hear violent footsteps running.

“It seems like there is some kind of disturbance inside the castle. Princess, please don’t set a foot outside of here.” Having said that, they ran off with the same energy that they had arrived with.

Esmena’s heart started pounding.

After that, the ladies’ maids went out in turn and brought back the information they had received from the guards. When Esmena heard that soldiers led by Raswan Bazgan were attempting to seize control in the audience chamber, she felt as though reality was crashing down. She did not have a particularly good impression of Raswan but she would naturally never have imagined that he would plot a rebellion.

It went on. News flew that even Archduke Hirgo Tedos had been cut down. It also seemed that the castle gates were being blockaded and that the other soldiers would not be able to rush in to help. Which meant that the castle’s military strength amounted to the thirty men who were guarding the inner quarters. They had held a discussion behind the locked doors and had apparently agreed that when the time came, they would go and cross swords with the soldiers who were holding the gates.

The ladies’ maids were also thrown into a furore. At the head maid’s instructions, they were piling up sofas and desks in front of the door to build a temporary barricade.

''Lord Gil''. Amidst the flurry of her surroundings, Esmena felt like she wanted to collapse on her bed. Now when her father was away on the battlefield, the only one she could rely on was but a memory.

“Lord Bouwen has left his room,” the lady’s maid who had volunteered to act as liaison with the outside informed them through a gap at the door. “The overseer for the pageboys wanted to stop him but he was carrying a sword and glaring so fiercely it sent him running.”

A sound caught in Esmena’s throat. Archduke Hirgo Tedos was Bouwen’s adoptive father. He must want revenge. Even though he was recovering, he had been badly injured in battle. Could Bouwen really stand up to Raswan alone?

Ah, as Esmena rubbed her shoulders, she felt as though everything she knew was crumbling away. Her father wasn’t here, Archduke Hirgo had been slain, even Bouwen was hurrying towards the jaws of death. Even though the sun had risen on what should have been a normal day like all the others. Thinking about how the world had changed completely in so short a time caused her to feel almost dizzy and Esmena unsteadily sat down on her bed.

Unconsciously she reached for a packet that was leaning beside the bed and hugged it close. Simply from that, she felt as though it were transmitting warmth to her.

''This is the proof of Mephius' alliance with Taúlia''.

She would never be able to forget that voice with which the parcel was handed over.

Originally, it had been a gift from Gil Mephius to her father, Ax Bazgan. However, having brought it back, Esmena did not immediately hand it over to her father nor did she check its no doubt valuable contents, but instead hung on to it for a while. That was unusual for the docile Esmena. She had wanted to bask in the lingering scent of her one encounter with Prince Gil at Apta and for that she was prepared to afterwards face her father’s wrath.

A few days later, she had finally been about to deliver it to him when news of Prince Gil’s death had struck her ears like the toll of a bell announcing the end of the world. Gil’s death and these events happening now all seemed like a bad dream.

''A nightmare. Yes, a nightmare. I have been tormented for so long by a nightmare''.

From the depths of darkness, the sorcerer who claimed to be Garda was calling Esmena’s name. From the other side of those piled up shadows, hands stretched out to grab her hair and shoulders. Esmena felt that these current events were all a continuation of the nightmare that had once afflicted her.

''Lord Gil, please come quickly. Dispel the demons that have taken hold of Taúlia. Dispel my bad dreams. Please''.

As Esmena shut her eyes and held the parcel tight, taking refuge in the warmth of her memories, an eerie laugh crossed her mind.

Startled, her eyes flew wide open. For a moment, it had sounded like Garda’s loud laughter which has terrified her so many times in her nightmares.

''Isn't this supposed to be funny? That Prince Gil is alive?''

But it was a laugh that had been uttered by the Mephian gladiator that she had invited to her chambers previously.

''Gil is dead''.

''Begging your pardon, but what does the princess know about the crown prince? That kind of man should just be forgotten''.

Esmena’s shoulders trembled. Now, the words of that insolent gladiator sounded to her like a rebuke from Gil himself.

She certainly knew nothing about Prince Gil. She didn’t have the right to cry and indulge in sentiment. But… But even so, she felt like she understood. Crown Prince Gil Mephius would certainly scold her if he could see her now.

How would she appear to him, this woman who was crying and frightened, who could only beg for help when the country was in danger?

Esmena Bazgan’s steel-grey eyes were clouded with tears, but determination flickered within them. And when she once more picked up the parcel, she understood its meaning for the first time.

=== Part 2 ===

Blood spurted from the nape of his neck and Orba was on the verge of breaking his stance and falling backwards. The enemy continued to leap towards him..

His sword didn’t connect. It had only been a light thrust to keep it at bay but even so it should have struck the demon’s head, yet it passed right through.

“Guh!”

As he continued to retreat, Orba’s entire body went cold. When it came to battle, no matter what the situation was, his blood would be boiling, yet now it ran as cold as if it were freezing. The feel of the sword that he grasped in his hand. The weight of the steel that was transmitted to his arm. As a swordsman who had faith in his ability to tear down any kind of obstacle, it was impossible not to fall into despair when his sword utterly failed to prevail, and despair in the middle of battle led only to death.

''Sorcery''.

It was something that should no longer exist in the human world, something that perhaps transcended the human world. Orba’s movements had unwittingly lost their vitality. He was unable to do anything but simply continue to retreat until his back hit the wall of a house.

“Don’t mess with me!”

In that instant, Orba’s instinct for survival turned his fear into an anger whose embers’ burned bright. But his blood still ran cold. It was no more than the desperate counterattack of a heavily wounded beast.

The black demon flapped its wings and dived diagonally down, barring its claws downwards. Orba stepped forward to intercept it and was about to swing his sword in a side sweep.

At almost exactly the same moment, the dragon spewed thunder again and as the colour of flames burst into sight to his right, Orba closed his eyes out of reflex.

''Damn it!''

Let alone his blood, it felt for a second as though every one of his bodily fluids had frozen solid.

He halted his sideways swing and was going to pull the sword towards his chest for a single blow from beneath but for some reason his body wouldn’t move that way. His sword moved by an instinct that overcame reason and came into position in front of his face. And that sword parried a blow that came from directly opposite him.

“What!”

Staring wide-eyed, Orba noticed the figure of a demon swooping down from the side. But his awakened instinct told him to prepare for an attack from a different direction than the sight that was reflected in his eyes. Orba switched his body-weight to his heels, bent his knees and jumped two, three steps to the side.

''He’s…''

The real attack differed from that which was visible. Above all, the wind that now struck him from the front was one that carried a stench that Orba’s nose was familiar with – it was a wind created by a steel sword. To close his eyes for an instant and be able to grasp that correctly was thanks to his experience as a gladiator who had survived for six<ref>[sic]</ref> years.

''In that case'' – As he faced the demon that was leaping towards him, Orba pretended to stagger and lowered the tip of his sword. If the enemy was human, then it would attack the weak point that had been exposed. If his reading was off, it meant Orba’s death.

The demon swooped down from the side – that was what was visible but an unhurried bloodlust was blowing from right in front of Orba. It was something which had also radiated from the bodies and swords of the gladiators that Orba had fought one-on-one and was a sensation particular to a sword.

Orba dropped the tip of his blade downwards and put all his energy into bending his knees and sinking towards the surface of the ground. Above his head, a raging tempest swept down. At the same time, Orba’s sword leapt like lightning from the ground and plunged into something.

The demon should have been on the verge of leaping at him from the right. But at that moment, the demon’s figure vanished from sight and in its place appeared the black shadow of a person. Clad in black from head to toe was a swordsman with human limbs. The sword that Orba had thrust out was plunged deeply into its abdomen. Orba put all his strength into pulling it out.

“Guh!”

The swordsman gasped and fell forward. He was clearly dying. A cloth hung from his helmet so that his face couldn’t be seen, but there was no doubt that viscous, clotted blood was flowing from his abdomen and from the area around his mouth.

Breathing raggedly, Orba gazed at the blade that was smeared in blood and human fat then once more examined his surroundings. Black-winged demons were chasing after the figures of the people and soldiers who were running, trying to escape. It was a strange scene. But was that entire pack of demons black-clad swordsmen like the one he had just struck down?

''Is that the real nature of sorcery?''

Did it dazzle people’s eyes or trick their minds? Either way, it seemed certain that creatures such as these demons did not really exist. It looked like the aim was to plunge the soldiers who had entered Kadyne into chaos by having these soldiers who were cloaked in illusions commit repeated slaughter.

Orba considered exposing them one-by-one thanks to the sense that he had started to develop in the fight just now, but the number of enemies was unknown. If they realised that he had noticed their true shape, they would swarm around him alone.

''That being the case'' – he couldn’t go around breezily doing the right thing by saving the people and friendly soldiers who were about to get killed. In the current situation where only Orba had seen through the enemy, Kadyne seemed headed towards annihilation.

A man entered his field of vision, screaming and helpless to do anything as a demon’s claws attacked him. At a distance he might be able to cross in time if he ran, a woman was lying in the street, shielding a child.

Orba closed his eyes.

But after that one brief instant, he resolutely opened his eyes wide and burned into his retinas the moment in which that man and that mother, whose names he didn’t even know, lost their lives. Teeth tightly clenched, Orba turned back to the building he had come out from a little earlier. He intended to get Stan and leave the place at once. He needed to check whether Shique and the others had already entered Kadyne, then, if possible, he could give them his orders and they might be able to overturn the situation.

Stan had already raised himself on the bed.

“Orba.”

He raised his eyes feebly. Orba was about to tell him not to move but, “Outside, there’s an incredible amount of ether swirling about. Even just from here, my head feels like it’s about to split.”

“Ether? You can sense it?”

“Like this, it’s the first time. This isn’t normal. ……But, Orba,” even though Stan’s eyelids were trembling, his eyes were filled with strong purpose as he stared at Orba. “No matter how huge it is, there is only one will controlling it. Take me with you. I might be able to tell where the enemy is.”

Orba’s thoughts spun quickly. He didn’t really understand half of what Stan was saying. But however much sorcery lay outside the boundaries of common sense, even though it seemed like something out of a nightmare, if it was something that was handled through human skill,

''I can stop this massacre''.

If it could lead to that simple conclusion, he would consider any number of ways to fight.

If it came to it, he was a man who made decisions quickly. By nature, Orba believed that speed was of the essence in a fight.

“Right,” Orba decided promptly. At any rate, they needed to hurry; while things stayed as they were, the damage would increase.

Since Stan himself had decided to go, there was no point worrying about his health. Orba led him outside but then clicked his tongue. The horses were gone. They should have been tethered to a wooden post by the gate, but they had been frightened by the explosions and, violently tearing off the rope, had bolted.

Orba and Stan resolutely decided to run through the streets. While waiting for Stan, who tended to fall behind, Orba peered around the corner of the alleyways to check that there weren’t any demons – or rather, enemy swordsmen.

Engulfed in flames, screams still swept through Kadyne. The roads were filled with corpses that could no longer speak. Soldiers, women and children. Had it have been the work of demons, one could only tremble at the sight of such a scene. But now Orba knew. This wasn’t the doing of unfathomable monsters but was the result of living humans swinging their swords.

''Hoh''.

Looking up at the sky, his eyes widened slightly. The black dragon was flying in the air. But looking at it once more after having concluded that it couldn’t exist, he guessed that it must be some kind of air carrier. No doubt something that belonged to Garda. It would have been concealed in the outskirts of the town and once the sorcery was put into effect, it carried out an aerial bombing.

To burn to the ground from the sky a territory that should be under one’s own control. It was the same thing that Orba had done in Apta.

Stan showed the way as they went. It was unclear how he was sensing ether, but as they advanced further and further, his simple and unaffected face clearly revealed the pain he was in.

“They’re being sucked up,” now and then, he would groan as though in the grip of a feverish nightmare. “The ether and the hearts of the dead are being sucked up.”

Evading the enemy’s sight, grieving bitterly as they abandoned the hunted populace, the destination they eventually arrived at was the temple of the Dragon Gods faith that was near the castle buildings. ''I see'', thought Orba as he ran. It was a fitting place for the enemy leader to be.

“Wait,” unsurprisingly, Stan’s utterly exhausted frame sank down beside the staircase leading to the temple.

Orba firmly grasped the hilt of his sword and rushed in. He expected that there might be a large number of Garda’s troops, but instead, the inside was deserted and there was no sign of life. As he went further in, the staircase sloped downwards and across from it a hall lined with columns came into view.

A single man was inside. The hooded figure wore long robes and in his hand he brandished a staff. Encrusted within it was a jewel sparkling with the seven colours of the rainbow which was emitting some kind of wave. Although it was invisible to the eye, and although he couldn’t sense it as well as Stan could, ''that'' was undoubtedly ether.

Killing his presence and stifling his breathing, Orba slowly and quietly stepped out from the shadow of the columns.
Suddenly, without warning, the man turned around. Orba was prepared for that too and ran down the hall with his sword in one hand.

“Are you Garda?”

“Am I Garda?” The man who seemed like a sorcerer laughed in a hoarse voice that sounded as though his throat had been crushed. “In a sense, you poke at the true nature of things. Masked boy. But the likes of I am merely a passageway chosen by Lord Garda.”

“A passageway,” Orba parroted his words but in any case, he had no understanding of sorcery. “At any rate, if I kill you, it looks like this senseless bloodshed will end.”

“I congratulate you for having made it here. But that is all.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, the sorcerer took a leather bag that was tied at his waist and threw it towards Orba. As soon as it hit the ground, it gave off light and exploded. Orba had been about to cut him down but stepped back and instinctively shielded his face.

Thereupon, holding out his staff as though taking a stance with a sword, the sorcerer lunged at Orba. The distance between them was considerable. It shouldn’t have been able to reach him but it extended like a whip and coiled around Orba’s right arm.

“What!”

Just as he felt its cold touch on his skin, the staff effected a horrifying transformation. Before he realised what was happening, it had turned into a snake. Twisting its body that was speckled with black spots, it tried to sink its fangs into the nape of Orba’s neck. Orba frantically tried to bend his neck backwards out of reach but even as he was doing so, the snake coiled itself round repeatedly and slithered upwards. The part that corresponded to its tail stretched out an unnatural length, its tip clasped in the sorcerer’s hand.

“Kill him,” the sorcerer ordered, his voice filled with mocking scorn.

He was not talking to the snake he was using. A soldier clad entirely in black equipment stepped out from the other side of the shadows within the temple. It seemed that a single guard had been allotted to the sorcerer.

He held an axe in one hand and approached at a leisurely pace. As Orba’s right arm was blocked by the snake, he couldn’t use his sword to fight against him.

Breathing harshly while desperately turning his face away from the snake that was even now aiming for his neck, Orba tried to step back. But the sorcerer who was clutching the snake’s tail stood firm with unexpected strength and wouldn’t allow him to retreat.

The figure of the soldier approached to within striking distance. Behind the mask, Orba’s eyes glittered with impatience.

He seemed to try once more to retreat but instead staggered forward from the recoil and ended up in a posture that was all but presenting his neck to the enemy.

The enemy raised his axe and a wind signifying death rose before Orba to envelop him.

But this time, Orba hadn’t staggered but had stepped forward of his own accord. He had moved forward so as to create a range in which he could fall back and at the same time that the axe was about to strike, he retreated half a step backwards and lifted up his right arm.

Blood did not spill.

The head of the snake was struck off by the axe and it turned into the staff, whose two pieces were sent flying. At the same time, Orba smashed the soldier’s kneecap with his sword and as he sank to his knees groaning, he lost no time in swooping in to strike twice at his head.

Jumping over the soldier who was in his death throes, Orba advanced towards the sorcerer. Under the hood, his face showed an expression of astonishment. But he didn’t give up on victory and once again made as if to grope for something at his waist.

In that instant, Orba threw his sword with all his strength.

Struck unexpectedly, the sorcerer wasn’t able to dodge and could only yield as the steel tip penetrated his chest.

=== Part 3 ===

“Raswan Bazgan!”

A shaking voice reverberated around the audience chamber. In the hall, movement stopped with swords and spears still interlocked and a new wind blew with that person’s entrance. Toún and Raswan Bazgan, father and son, turned towards the same direction. A scornful smile appeared on Raswan’s face.
“Well, well.”

“Father!”

When the new arrival – Bouwen Tedos – saw Archduke Hirgo’s form lying in a pool of blood, his steps faltered for a moment. Bouwen was the son of one of the elite guards to the royal family but his father had died in battle when he was twelve years old. Recognising his quick wits, Archduke Hirgo has adopted him as a son shortly afterwards.

Having lost his second father, intense anger appeared in Bouwen’s face. He strode forward, forcefully pushing aside Toún’s subordinates. Normally he was a young man who loved flowers and birds, and now the figure of his manifested anger was so terrifying that Raswan's soldiers could not easily draw near him, even with his sword sheathed.

“It’s fine. Let him pass” as he spoke, Raswan unsheathed his own sword. “You have good reason to attack me. Like I have good reason for driving out my uncle and taking the throne. Once I become king, I will not be able to put my own affairs first. I’ll gladly take your heart.”

“You’ll have to rip it out, rebel.”

Bouwen’s face was suffused with blood but underneath it was still pale and he should have been resting in bed. In the battle at the Coldrin Hills, his shoulder had been smashed and he had taken bullets to the back. He had recovered considerably in the last month, but not to the point where he could wield a sword.

But Bouwen was unflinching as he stepped up to the centre of the hall to confront Raswan.

The two of them were often compared to one another. Not only were they close in age and of similar physique, they were alike in their knowledge of the martial arts and alike too in being quick-tempered, and time and time again, their names had come up as candidates for the succession. Although to be precise, that was the word on the street and Ax himself had never once alluded to it.

However, perhaps because that mood transmitted itself to them, it couldn’t be said that Bouwen and Raswan were habitually close. They never even spoke familiarly with each other.

If they fought head on, who would come out on top? Despite the current situation, their duel was attracting an interest that was much like curiosity.

The two of them slowly started to measure their distance. A number of eyes followed both their movements.

The first to move was Raswan. Propelling himself with his left foot, he jabbed at Bouwen’s throat. Bouwen repelled it, twisted left and hit back from the side.

After that, it turned into a battle of attack and defence that no one could take their eyes off. From across a fixed distance and while drawing a circle to the right, the two of them swung their swords as though they were mowing down large trees.

The people watching didn’t make a sound.

Their skill seemed roughly the same. But as their swords clashed five, six times – as was to be expected, Bouwen’s stance began to slip. It wasn’t only the soldiers who were watching but also Bouwen himself who felt that from there on he would only be able to push forward with brute force. For that reason, he lunged forward in a single, desperate blow. At the risk of getting injured, he closed the distance between them with reckless force. Right as Raswan performed a feint and was about to begin his next assault, he thrust at Raswan and miraculously slipped under his guard unharmed. Sword against sword, their guards locked together.

The force of the attack took Raswan by surprise. His footwork was thrown out of step. Bouwen applied his body weight and was about knock down the treacherous retainer.

“That’s as far as you go!”

The soldiers on Raswan’s side had been too caught up in the duel and had for a moment neglected to pay attention to themselves, allowing Toún Bazgan to make his move. But perhaps it was also because he didn’t want to see his son pierced by sword in front of his own eyes. Toún hurled himself at the nearby soldiers and cut across the hall, breaking into a run as he aimed at Raswan.

But it backfired. When he saw right in front of him the father of the man he was about to strike down, despite the murder of his own adoptive father, for an instant, Bouwen’s fervour weakened.

Taking advantage of that, Raswan swept at his opponent’s legs. As Bouwen pitched forward, the sword fell from his hand.

At the same moment, Raswan’s soldiers stopped Toún’s charge and pinioned his arms behind his back.

“It’s over,” Raswan smiled coldly. Bouwen was not moving from where he had fallen.

Having gotten to this point, the soldiers on both sides were suddenly seething murderously. It was looking more and more like Taúlia would be the scene of a fight in which blood would be washed for blood. At that moment,

“Please wait.”

Once more, someone had appeared in the hall.

Had it have been anyone else, they would not have been able to halt the surge of bloodlust within the room or caused everyone to look their way.

Had it not have been Ax Bazgan’s only daughter, Esmena Bazgan.

Everyone stared at her half dumbfounded. They understood that she must have come to the audience chamber through the passageway that led to the inner quarters. They understood it, but no one had expected that the usually gentle princess who wouldn’t so much as kill an insect would step alone and with her head held high into a hall where swords and spears glistened.

“Princess,” Toún’s subordinates called out.

“Please withdraw, Princess!” Raswan’s soldiers cried out as though entreating her. They had to drive Ax from the throne for having lost the sovereign’s seal and for having allied himself with Mephius, but even so, they felt neither hostility nor hatred towards his daughter. Rather, once Raswan was joined with Esmena in marriage, the inherited blood of the Bazgan House that once established Zer Tauran would run even thicker.

Trembling faintly, her wide-open eyes brimming with tears, Esmena ignored the soldiers on either side of her and looked straight at Raswan, as though their gazes were tied together with a string.

Who there could have known?

Back when Mephius and Garbera had concluded peace. At that time, Ryucown, a treacherous vassal who spoke out about his dissatisfaction, and his followers occupied Zaim Fortress. And Princess Vileena of Garbera had turned an inflexible gaze at Ryucown even as his soldiers pleaded with her.

Naturally he couldn’t know that this was a repeat of that situation and for a moment, Raswan’s face turned unpleasant. However, he immediately mended his expression.

“This is not a scene in which a princess should take the stage. This is a matter for a man who grieves for his country and who will stand to shoulder the responsibility of that country. Nor will your mother be harmed. Withdraw,” he ordered. Bouwen lay at his feet. Raswan’s sword was at his neck.

When she saw it, Esmena’s face turned even paler. She was a girl who had always kept away from quarrels and fights. Exposed to the bloodlust that had spread throughout the room, it would not have been surprising if she lost consciousness and collapsed.

“The one to withdraw will be you, Raswan Bazgan,” cried Esmena, lifting the corner of her eyes in an expression unlike her usual one.

“What are you saying?”

“Y-You are not qualified and dishonour the throne that legitimately belongs to the ruler, Ax Bazgan. Sheathe your sword immediately and leave.”

“What could you understand about government? Ax Bazgan has already lost the right to a legitimate claim over Zer Tauran. I did not take action because I coveted the throne. As proof of that, I would not immediately designate myself governor-general of Taúlia. I will personally take back the mark of being Zer Tauran’s king.”

“The mark?”

“Indeed, Princess.”

Raswan smiled, having regained his composure. He had certainly been startled when Esmena had appeared but after all, compared to the grimly resolved man in the prime of his youth that he was, she was just a young girl ignorant of the world. There was nothing she could do.

“Ax foolishly let himself be robbed of it by our old enemy, Mephius. Then without even regaining it, he bound himself into an alliance with them. If that isn’t a betrayal towards not only of Taúlians but also all Zerdians, then what is?”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v06 221.jpg|thumb]]
Armed as he was, Raswan looked every inch the young warrior. His features were well-ordered, his physique was also good and above all, he had a vigour that burst from him and overwhelmed his surroundings. It was no wonder that the soldiers who had pledged their loyalty to Ax were shaken.

Now that Bouwen had fallen and that Toún was being prevented from moving, the only one confronting Raswan was a single princess. He smiled contemptuously.

“I do not like blood. You should understand, Princess, the anguish it caused me to rise to action despite that. Once Ax has been expulsed, I intend to gather the entire army and attack Mephius,” he fired that remark.

There is such a thing as momentum. When big changes are about to occur, those who ride that momentum as though riding a wind blowing hard from the bottom of a gorge manifest a power that would normally be unthinkable, and give off a supernatural charm, almost as though they had been chosen by the gods. Right then, Raswan was displaying that pattern.

“This is as it were a holy war for all Zerdians. With these two hands, I will without fail reclaim the sovereign’s seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty and…”

“The sovereign’s seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty,” Esmena spoke up, interrupting him. Raswan drew his eyebrows together unpleasantly.

“So talkative.”

“Raswan, that seal,” Esmena took out the cloth-covered parcel that she held to her side and unwrapped it with one hand. “Is this it?”

For a moment, Raswan felt dizzy from shock and voices rose in confusion from the soldiers who were watching the development from behind Esmena. In her hand, she unmistakably held the war fan shaped like a dragon’s head that Ax always carried with him. As though it were shining with a clear and colourless light, a great number of people narrowed their eyes as though dazzled by its radiance illuminating their faces.

Only Raswan, his expression transformed, pointed at it. “I-It’s a fake,” he decreed. “It can’t be here. Ax took a fake fan to the battlefield. There’s nothing strange about that being another one!”

Esmena wordlessly took the fan in her hand. The grip was a bit wider than was usual. The reason for that was demonstrated by Esmena herself. She removed the bottom part of the grip to reveal a rectangular crystal. Within it, something could be seen to be glittering. It was the sovereign’s seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty, said to have been made from a fragment of a claw of a Dragon God.

Everyone in the hall held their breath.

“Impossible,” one of the soldier’s from Raswan’s group groaned. The muscles of his face were quivering violently. “Lord Raswan, what is this? Wasn’t the sovereign’s seal stolen by Mephius?”

“Don’t be fooled!” Raswan screamed, clearly unable to maintain his usual state of mind. He thrust out his finger. “T-That’s also a fake. Esmena, hand it over. It’s said that nothing in this world can damage the Dragon God’s claw. I’ll destroy it with my own hands.”

No sooner had he spoken than he was about to approach Esmena. But at that crucial moment, she mustered all of her strength to glare at Raswan.

“The sovereign’s seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty which is in the custody of the Bazgan House to which I belong. It was you yourself who said that it is the mark of the ruler of Zer Tauran. You who called it a fake and who was going to destroy it with your sword, does that not make you the enemy of all Zerdians? Everyone! Seize this fool.”

Raswan was beyond listening and was about to grab hold of Esmena. But instead, his own shoulder was caught from behind. Bouwen had risen with the speed of a tempest.

“Let go!”

As he struggled, the sword fell from Raswan’s hand. Seizing the opportunity, the soldiers made their move. The weapons carried by Raswan’s soldiers all sprang into action and there too fighting broke out. The soldiers who had risen in rebellion had clearly lost their fervour. Judging Ax to be cowardly, they had followed Raswan but that was because they were proud of their history and lineage as Zerdians.

It could be said that their defeat was determined the moment that none other than Raswan has been about to trample that pride underfoot. Among them, there were some who let go of their spears of their own accord.

Unable to comprehend the entire situation, Esmena was swaying where she stood and was on the verge of collapse. Esmena had a delicate and sensitive personality, and her body and mind had already been pushed to their limit. Somebody was supporting the princess’ shoulders.

“Princess, it’s dangerous. This way.”

Esmena was already more than half unconscious. A soldier clad in the armour of Toún’s troops held her by the shoulder to help her from falling and Esmena unresistingly followed him out of the hall.

The fighting in Taúlia’s audience chamber did not last for long. More than half of Raswan’s soldiers had lost their fighting spirit and fell to their knees; the remainder lost their lives. Raswan himself was captured by Bouwen and soldiers who had come as reinforcement.

“The princess?” Once he judged that the situation had been settled, Bouwen looked up.

“A while ago I noticed one of the troops leading her out but…”

“Is that right,” answered Bouwen, his face somewhat pale as the wounds in his back had reopened. He was overwrought after just losing his adoptive father then having barely been able to protect someone important to him, and so was surely feeling relieved. Thus he couldn’t realise.

As the battle in the hall was about to come to an end, the soldier who was with Esmena did not lead her to the detached living quarters but to a castle courtyard. For some reason, he waved his arms a few times in a movement that looked like he was dancing and a black airship unexpectedly materialised. It didn’t look as though it had simply been camouflaged and hidden beforehand and there was probably no one in Taúlia who would be able to understand how it came to be there.

The soldier slowly removed his helmet. Although his face had been youthful when he had called out to Esmena, now it was that of an elderly man. His breaths sounded like a snake slithering through the desert as he carried the swooning Esmena to sit in the airship’s seat. Taking off with a sound like claws on metal, the craft rose into the dark blue sky at a speed beyond what anyone in Tauran would ever have seen and disappeared into the western skies.

Meanwhile, Moldorf was stationed in Eimen. The enemy was steadily approaching. Within a few days, the army led by Ax would be planting their flags in Eimen’s territory. If they broke through this city, Garda would be in danger. Even so, they received the same orders as ever and Garda himself had not left Zer Illias. They had stationed the troops and after that,

“Do not block the enemy’s advance on Eimen,” was the sorcerer’s only order and he brooked no answer.

That was their usual way of doing things but what was even more incomprehensible was the report that his younger brother Nilgif’s troops would leave Kadyne. Since an enemy detached force was said to be nearing the city, they should be departing soon.

“What are they planning?”

Even if he asked, the sorcerers would give no answer.

If they were going to concentrate their military forces in Eimen, shouldn’t they have done so from the start? Tilting his thick neck, Moldorf nevertheless did what he had done until then and focused on things he could actually do. Once the troops from Kadyne, which included his brother, joined them, they would have to reorganise their battle formation.

''What a headache-inducing job this is'', his lips twisted as he spread out a map of Eimen’s surroundings. How was he supposed to go and inspire his men and his companions to fight a battle that he himself had no enthusiasm for?

Moldorf felt that at times like this, he wanted a drink. But because so many soldiers had been allotted to Eimen, the rations distributed were decreasing day-by-day. There was no longer any alcohol to be had.

''If this goes on and food runs out, the soldiers won’t keep their sanity''.

Resigned to the situation with the hostages and with his native city, what would see him launch the beacon of insurrection was remarkably down-to-earth: Moldorf was irritated that there was no alcohol. Gulping it down every night as though to drown in it was the custom – or better said, as far as Moldorf was concerned, it was a completely natural desire dictated by instinct in almost the same way as eating a meal or sleeping.

''Alcohol, huh?''

Yet even Moldorf had once stayed away from drink.

From the window of square, stone-built building, Moldorf looked up at the cloudy sky.

In Tauran were powers were constantly vying for supremacy, there had always existed a relationship between the three countries of Lakekish, Fugrum and Kadyne. At the western edge of Tauran, Lakekish had a fortress to defend against raids by the nomadic tribes of the western desert. Therefore, whenever the situation in the desert looked dangerous, those three countries would often form a cooperative alliance. At those times, it was a long-standing tradition that each of the countries would, for a short period, leave a son or daughter of the nobility in the custody of the others as a pledge.

Three years ago, a young prince of Lakekish was sent to Kadyne. His name was Yākin and he was seventeen years old. This was an exceptional case since those sent as pledges were often young children whose age was in the single digits. As in those days Kadyne’s princess Lima was fifteen, they were close in age. There was some thought of receiving him as a kinsman if the alliance were prolonged.

Going by appearances, Yākin was a fine figure of a man but one didn’t feel from him the ambition of a Zerdian warrior. Already from that alone, Moldorf and those like him unilaterally decided that he was worthless as a man and on top of that, after arriving in Kadyne, Yākin rarely left the living quarters that had been assigned to him. Even when the king himself planned to hold a banquet for his welcome, he turned it down on the grounds of poor physical health.

''Does he see us as enemies?'' It truly felt as though he was treating Kadyne with contempt and among the military men, Moldorf included, the antipathy towards Yākin grew stronger.

Sensing their mood, Lima Khadein chided Moldorf and the others.

“He is just shy. Why are you gentlemen immediately being so impatient?”

Even though she was a daughter of the royal family, she was a woman who noticed these small things between men. When the princess told them that, Moldorf and his companions couldn’t do anything other than take it into account but, after all, Princess Lima was still but a young girl. The question of whether there was something that interested Yākin was of no concern to the Kadyne warriors.

And like that, two months had passed since Yākin’s arrival. When the annual festival was to be held, this time, Lima organised it. Partly because she had always been attentive towards him, the prince from Lakekish seemed unable to refuse her invitation and had for the first time shown up to take his seat.

It was fine that he had put in an appearance but Yākin was as lacking in liveliness as he ever was. Continually downing his drinks, Moldorf watched him in irritation until, less than two hours after the start of the banquet, Yākin seemed about to excuse himself from the table. It looked to Moldorf like he was spitting on Princess Lima’s solicitude and, flying into a rage, and, before he even realised what he was doing, he had violently shoved Yākin’s thin chest. The prince had fallen backwards, taking a number of tables with him, and was bleeding slightly from the head.

Using violence against royalty from another country should of course have been treated as a serious crime. The ones who saved him by speaking up for him to the king were Lima and Yākin.

Speaking with him afterwards, he realised that Yākin actually did have a frail constitution and that even when he was in Lakekish he had rarely been able to go out.

“Because of this body, I am treated like a parasite within my own country,” the smile he gave was certainly meek but it was also somehow dazzling. It was easy to guess why, despite there being a younger brother, the eldest son himself had been sent as hostage.

From beginning to end, Moldorf’s huge body was hunched in on itself and his head was lowered.

“Moldorf, please stop.” He had done the same before Princess Lima and because he had been excessively prostrating himself, she had burst into laughter. “If a hero such as yourself stays like that, the people around us will wonder what kind of a monster of a princess I am. My chances at getting married will be pushed back because of it.”

Her flower-like smile had seemed to melt into Moldorf’s breast.

From that day onwards, Moldorf decided not to touch alcohol again. He had intended to be firm in his resolve but, in the end, he didn’t even last half a year. The reason being that Nilgif would drink with great relish and ostentation right in front of him. Eventually, the brothers got into a fight over it.

Seized by a strange feeling of nostalgia, Moldorf was about to break into a smile when his expression suddenly turned serious again.

''Princess Lima''.

It was impossible for him to believe that the princess had betrayed the country. No, even if it were true, it was all because of the strange magic arts Garda had at his command. Apart from Lima, Kadyne’s royal family had been annihilated. On top of having a duty to protect her, Moldorf was indebted to the princess for having saved his life.

''I will save you without fail.'' So Moldorf vowed to himself time and time again.

“Show true loyalty, Moldorf.”

When those words suddenly came to mind, Moldorf’s expression turned bitter. It was nothing more than bullshit from a brat who didn’t know the circumstances. And yet, why was it that it wouldn’t stop echoing deep inside his ears like this?

''If she saw me now, would the princess scold me? Like she did that time'', that thought welled up within him.

…And then, when the enemy was finally drawing near, the report came that the troops led by Nilgif had entered Eimen’s territory.

As he was preparing to go out and greet his little brother, Moldorf received fresh news. The information came from a scouting unit from Fugrum that had taken position in the mountains south of Eimen and that had been assigned to survey their surroundings. Moldorf thought it was suspicious how the messenger seemed hesitant to give the report, but he soon understood the reason why.

“With that, I have given my report,” he then left as though fleeing.

Moldorf stood there for a long time, completely still. He didn’t know how or what to think. A fierce rage that seemed to grill his body and a feeling of despair that made him just want to sit down and give everything up brushed against the surface of his heart.

At long last –

Moldorf abruptly raised his head.

''I need to hurry''.

His younger brother would receive the same report. In which case, he needed to hurry to him immediately. Because he was afraid that everything they had endured until that day would all be for nothing.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume6_Chapter4|Chapter 4]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume6_Chapter6|Chapter 6]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume6 Chapter4

2017-08-08T09:06:49Z

72.220.80.48: /* Part 2 */

==Chapter 4: Surūr’s Unit==

=== Part 1 ===

Before their departure to the front, the soldiers received a warm reception everywhere they went within the town. All of them were righteous martyrs about to embark on a holy crusade against Garda. With that, the west’s cooperation gained strength. Even those who had been enemies just yesterday stood shoulder to shoulder and sang the same songs, drinking the same wine together.

It had to be said however that this sense of solidarity was peculiar to the Zerdians and that Orba and the others, having come from Mephius, naturally didn’t receive the same warm welcome.

But instead, the night before leaving for the front, they were once more invited to Kay’s store. There was nothing luxurious but it was a feast prepared from the heart. Incidentally, Talcott wasn’t present. He had already found a new woman and was busy drawing her portrait and writing poetry.

Niels was also working at the eatery. He acted just as before, as though nothing had happened.

“But it would be great if this time could put an end to the fighting,” Kay, a better drinker than men, muttered with red cheeks. After that, her eyes suddenly started shining. “Say, this is just my idea but, once this fight is over, won’t Tauran definitely be more peaceful than in the past?”

“Oh, why’s that?” Gilliam asked.

“Well, so many countries are joining hands to beat back Garda. Won’t the higher-ups all realise how stupid it is to always be fighting among fellow Zerdians?”

“If that happens, we’ll be out of work. And after we got to the point of being mercenaries and thanks to Mr. Captain, the pay’s good.”

“It’s fine, isn’t it, you can think about it after it’s all over. You’re a strong guy, so you’ll have plenty of work. And that ladies’ man there looks like he’d have no trouble conning money out of lots of women.”

“W-Who would!?”

Shique nearly spat out his drink. When it came to romantic relationships, he was to the core a self-confessed misogynist, but on the other hand he commonly talked with women like Kay and he had been worried about her when Helio fell.

“As for the masked captain… Er…”

As Kay faltered, Gilliam laughed heartily.

“Ha ha ha. This guy isn’t good with anything except swords. He isn’t suited for any kind of job. Just imagine him listening to a boss and baking bread. Ah, no good, I’m laughing so much my stomach’s gonna burst.”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t work. Kind of like you when you’re whispering sweet words to women.”

“Whaat!”

As usual, Orba and Gilliam did not make good drinking partners. And even less so as Talcott wasn’t around today.

“Yes, yes,” Kay waded in to stop the two in his stead. “When it comes to you, I can’t tell whether you get on well or badly. Even if every single country stops fighting, you’ll definitely always be quarrelling. Without just going your separate ways.”

Kay certainly didn’t think that everything would be over just like that. Undoubtedly, the western countries were currently united to face a common threat, but this was no miraculous occurrence and the same thing had happened a little over a decade ago. At the time, when none other than Mephius had invaded from the east, Kay had lost her father to the fighting.

The various countries of Tauran had banded together for a while to keep Mephius’ aggression in check, but one only had to look at the current state of affairs to understand what had happened afterwards. By the very next month, the Zerdians who had raised cries of victory together and shared celebratory drinks in triumph had started getting into skirmishes with their neighbouring states.

Kay knew that Zerdian temperament all too well. But it was a woman’s role to see the men off to the battlefield and to prepare banquets with as cheerful a feel as possible.

''And yet…''

And yet this time, although Kay didn’t know if the atmosphere she sensed was the same throughout the west, the mood in Tauran was certainly different from what it had been during the war with Mephius. A major reason for that was probably that this wasn’t an outside aggression but something that presented the aspect of a civil war in which all Zerdians were caught up.

It couldn’t be denied that this was the result of the cycle that they themselves had repeated.

''Will the fighting still not end?''

It wasn’t only one woman managing a restaurant who held that thought, but also the soldiers who went out on a spree with their mates before leaving for the front in an attempt to forget their dread of the battlefield, the lovers who gazed up at the night sky even as the soldiers’ carousing reached their ears, the women who went to the temples of the Dragon Gods faith to buy protective charms for their husbands and sons, and even the officers who were even now working out strategies probably felt the same.

With his characteristically keen senses, Orba could feel the change carried on the western wind.

''But for that…
''
There was still something missing in Tauran. When he came to a conclusion about what it was that was missing, Orba felt as though he had betrayed his own self. So he didn’t say a word and he didn’t push forward with any concrete plans.

The soldiers led by Surūr Wyerim left Helio about two weeks after Orba was incorporated amongst them. After stopping for a while in Cherik and taking in the remaining soldiers to reach the allocated one thousand, they set their sights on Kadyne.

For two days, they marched and camped before finally arriving at the relay-station town that was located a little over a third of the way to Kadyne. An advance party had already surveyed the area.

Orba had heard about it before. That in order not to impede trade throughout the west, even for those who spent all of their time at war, it was practically a rule to safeguard the coming and going of travellers and merchant caravans along the highways from the Zer Tauran era. This relay-station town too seemed to have formerly prospered thanks to the incessant traffic of goods and people that were linked to trade with the coastal countries, as well as to Cherik exporting produce grown near Lake Soma to allied countries.

The “formerly” was because since Garda’s army had seized control of almost all of northern Tauran, trade had all but ceased to be carried out. Now all that could be seen were a few prostitutes and peddlers who followed after the soldiers.

The thousand soldiers occupied the town’s inns, the Dragon Gods temple and even the empty houses of the townspeople.

As they still had a long way to go, Surūr would normally have allowed the soldiers some degree of freedom, but the battle was close at hand.
Night had fallen when the various unit commanders were summoned to the temple-turned-headquarters. It was larger than the temples of the Dragon Gods faith found in Taúlia and in Helio, and it was filled to the brim with icons such as weren’t seen in Helio. It seemed that worshippers had been allowed to come and go as they pleased.
Advance parties had been sent out in every direction and the information from the scouts was then collected together.

“It appears that the second company’s vanguard unit was fired upon at a village near the highway.”

“The enemy seems to have soldiers lying in ambush in the villages.”

“Should we crush them systematically?”

Orba was at the edge of the temple and was looking around him thinking that it gave a strange impression how even if the location changed, the buildings of the Dragon Gods faith didn’t change.

Information was of course pivotal in war. Straining his ears hard, he stored ever detail in his chest.

There was a fortress at the border with Kadyne and eight hundred soldiers were said to be defending it. They exceeded them in numbers but if the Kadyne side gave their utmost in defence, two hundred soldiers couldn’t be considered much of a difference. For the offence, having twice the enemy’s numbers was desirable. The Eimen capture force should soon be leaving from Helio. One opinion held that as the distance between them was not yet so great, they should send a messenger on horseback to ask for reinforcements, but Surūr immediately rejected that proposal.

''Oh?''

Beneath his mask, Orba raised his eyebrows slightly. He glanced quickly at Surūr’s face. Then he turned his eyes to the company commander standing next to him, Bisham. He too was a Helian soldier. With his gentle personality and appearance, he had an atmosphere like that of a father who would make a good playmate for the neighbouring street kids.

“Orba-dono,” he called out after making an eye signal to Orba. “What is your opinion?”

It was probably just out of consideration for Orba who had enlisted with Lasvius’ endorsement. Bisham didn’t have any kind of hidden agenda but the eyes of every one of the Zerdians seated there turned to look at Orba.

''Right then''.

While keeping Surūr’s face at the edge of his field of vision, Orba deliberately stood up as though to say that he had indeed been waiting to make a statement during the meeting. The area fell silent.

“It’s one thing if we are only going to keep Kadyne in check, but if we intend to take it then I wonder if reinforcements aren’t necessary. If we take Kadyne, with Fugrum and Lakekish in check further north, we should be able to encircle Zer Illias.”

“The soldiers we have now are enough,” Surūr shook his head. A faint smile appeared on his lips. “Even in this town, there have been no less than a hundred youths and mercenaries who have begged to join us. As we liberate villages from here on, I imagine that our numbers will increase more and more. Even if they quarrel, Zerdians band together when the west is in danger. No doubt foreigners can’t understand the western temperament.”

Several of the people at the meeting laughed in agreement. Through his mask, Orba looked briefly at Surūr’s round face. ''He’s getting impatient'', he realised intuitively.

He had gotten quite a bit of information about Surūr Wyerim in Helio. His war record wasn’t bad. Or rather, he was man who was comparable to the dragoon commander Lasvius. Yet despite being that kind of man,

''Or better said, because he’s competing with Lasvius,''

He was eager to capture Kadyne. Overly so.

After all, to all appearances, the one who bore the sole merit of rescuing Helio from Greygun and Garda’s army was Lasvius. Of course, when Surūr received Lasvius’ call to rise to arms, he had single-handedly stirred up an impressive ruckus in town, but compared to Lasvius, who had defeated Greygun himself, his achievements appeared plain indeed. Needless to say, the one to receive immense support from the people was also Lasvius.

Moreover, during the time when he had lain hidden in the Belgana Summits waiting for his chance, he had safeguarded King Elargon’s orphan son, Rogier Helio. Rogier was still only nine years old but he was the royal family’s legitimate heir.

Surūr must have been feeling completely eclipsed by Lasvius. For that reason, having been appointed as the officer in charge of capturing Kadyne, he was eager to make a name for himself there. If a commander could work zealously in a good direction, the reverse was of course also true. Unfortunately, Surūr’s case was the latter.

“Lasvius said that you had the resourcefulness of a strategist. Where do you expect the enemy to attack from?”

Not only had he tossed his opinion aside, he was testing him. In that way, he was also showing his contempt for Lasvius who had recommended Orba.

Orba turned his eyes to the map on the table. After thinking for a moment, he pointed to a spot and Surūr flashed a broad smile.

“Good. We’ll place the vanguard on lookout there. If the enemy comes, they will immediately inform the main body of troops.”

The fifty-three mercenaries were sent out as scouts.

Orba’s judgement had not erred. Halfway along the route from the relay-station town, there was a mountain pass suitable for the enemy to prepare an ambush and they kept watch over it throughout the night.

But enemy soldiers did not appear. There were a number of people on the road, but they were a group of Zerdians who had come from the west to join Surūr’s unit and as such, they tended rather to validate his confident attitude. In the end, Orba’s unit had no choice but to return empty-handed, to which Surūr simply said “Good work”.

Orba had taken back Helio along with Lasvius and was, so to speak, a minor hero. When the story went around that the commander had taken the foreign hero down a peg, the effect rapidly spread and affected the general atmosphere. Although more than half of Orba’s mercenary unit were Zerdians, they were left isolated within the thousand soldiers.

It was the same even after the fighting started.

Two days later, the troops aiming for Kadyne momentarily veered west off the highway. From there on, the road leading to the border twisted and turned, and was deliberately built so as to be a detour. It was taboo throughout the west to blockade the highways, to attack merchant caravans or to hinder trade. Equally, there was an unwritten law to avoid building forts or castles along the highways. And so, using plausible excuses like “maintaining the trade routes”, the countries changed the layout of the highways to make the roads inconvenient for enemy soldiers on the march.

Two hundred enemy soldiers lay in ambush in a village along that bypass to the west and fighting broke out. Their plan was to attract attention with a highly manoeuvrable cavalry unit, then launch several medium-size dragons to disrupt the troops formation. Surūr however remained calm and, personally leading his soldiers, repelled the attack with almost no losses.

Thereafter, platoon leaders and company commanders were sent out from the relay-station town to crush the hostile forces posted all around. As Surūr’s troops were superior in vigour and in numbers, victory was assured.

“They’re probably sending out soldiers sporadically to dull our steps. But we are used to this kind of warfare.”

In western wars, there were often skirmishes involving several hundred units of soldiers. It was the first time that Surūr led a thousand men but he skilfully pulled together that large army corps.

After each battle, the captains returned to headquarters with war trophies as souvenirs. Some even included guns and cannons snatched from the enemy. Getting drunk on alcohol they had obtained from the villages’ storehouses – who knew whether they had received it or had plundered it – officers and men boasted every night about their own achievements.

Orba’s unit however did not join that circle. It wasn’t that they didn’t take part in the fighting. Far from it: Surūr actively incorporated them in the battle formations. However, they didn’t earn any war trophies. Or better said, they weren’t given a chance to.

“That Surūr really is a sly son of a bitch.”

It was no wonder that Talcott cursed him bitterly. The commanders of each company that Orba’s unit was integrated into must have received orders from Surūr since they rarely stood at the front and they were only put to use protecting bivouacs and acting as the rear guard.

Neither their swords nor their armour had been wetted in enemy blood and all fifty-three of them were uninjured. At headquarters, they felt increasingly humiliated.

“Yeah, I guess this is how whores who have to go on the tout without makeup feel,” Gilliam was also irritated. He was a heavy drinker but, obviously enough, he didn’t want to receive leftovers from the boastful, merry-making Zerdians.

Amongst it all, Orba didn’t display any emotions whatsoever. Instead, he galloped off every time with his subordinates to reconnoitre the villages that were under enemy control. Because it was a drab and dangerous duty that nobody wanted to undertake, he and his unit continued to take the lead in it.

“He’s desperate to curry favour because the other units have gotten all the glory.”

Orba was perfectly aware that that kind of malicious rumour was being whispered.

“That guy, what’s he thinking?” Talcott asked Shique as they were galloping along just as night was about to fall.

“Why?” Shique seemed amused.

“It’s normal that you can’t read his expression since he’s masked, but since he became captain, he’s even more taciturn than before.”

“That’s true. He is like ''that''.”

He received no other answer. Only Shique seemed satisfied while Orba, who was comparing the surrounding topography to the map in his hand, looked into the distance from horseback.

Just as Surūr had said, every time they pushed back Kadyne’s forces, volunteers from the villages flocked to join them. As Surūr’s troops continued their steady advance, the people of Kadyne started to hope that they might claim the city and recover their family members who had been taken hostage by Garda’s army. Although it no doubt gave them mixed feelings that the ones they were fighting were also soldiers from Kadyne.

Having finally subjugated the surroundings, Surūr’s troops moved their headquarters west. Although the new quarters were only slightly smaller than the previous relay station, they were barely able to house the thousand soldiers. The story went that Garda’s forces had also been posted there but, frightened by Surūr’s irresistible advance, they had fled three days earlier.

Instead of gunshots and the roars of dragons, what greeted Surūr’s troops was the people’s enthusiastic welcome. Some were already extolling Surūr as the west’s greatest hero. Delighted by this and in light of their overwhelming victory up to that point, Surūr allowed his men a certain amount of freedom in order to rest from their fatigue.

Surūr himself, his helmet removed, received a warm reception from the town’s leading figures. He was especially pleased when smoked fish was served by fishermen from Kadyne’s lake district. Fish was a rare treasure in Tauran.
Wine was also brought out. Surūr emptied his wine cup in great good humour but someone was coming towards him with rough footsteps. They were still wearing a cuirass and had a sword hanging from their waist.

“What is it, you’re being loud.”

“We need to get away from here at once.”

Orba spoke vigorously. Surūr’s eyebrows were as narrow as his eyes and he drew them into a frown.

“What?”

“In terms of defence, there are only the rocky hills to the south, everywhere else is exposed. If the enemy comes, we won’t be able to defend it.”

“A strict watch has been placed.” As there were local dignitaries present, Surūr did not raise his voice angrily but he appeared to be seething. “The enemy’s main force is at the border fortress. They probably intend to ambush us there. They won’t be foolish enough to come here when they are hopelessly outnumbered.”

Surūr spoke triumphantly so as to let those around them hear.

“However…”

“Unlike you, who hasn’t fought once, the soldiers and I need to rest.”

''This guy is absolutely desperate for glory'' – that thought was clearly written on the battalion commander’s face. As though he had been struck with a sudden idea, he said,

“If you’re that scared of an attack, I’m happy to leave the watch to you. Go and stand to attention with a spear all night.”

“I’ll do just that,” Orba turned away, looking furious.

Surūr had meant it as ridicule but Orba took him at his word and went to get involved in organising the watch. Only a hundred soldiers were on shift as lookouts but he increased these to two hundred to the north and fifty each to the east and west.

However, no matter how much he may have had the verbal consent of the battalion commander Surūr, nobody would be willing to take orders from an outsider. The soldiers who had suddenly been assigned to night watch voiced their displeasure and, in the end, more than half of the ones that Orba had newly assigned arbitrarily left their posts and were said to have gone drinking.

Feeling sorry for him, Company Commander Bisham took fifty of his own men and lent them to Orba, but their number was simply insufficient.

“What? Another hundred?”

“Spear-wielding infantrymen would be good. If we don’t gather at least that number, we can’t lead an assault.”

“An assault,” Bisham rubbed his chin a little agitatedly. In this situation, he didn’t know if should yell at the foreign newcomer or laugh him off.

But in the end, he added another hundred. With that, the defence stood at three hundred and fifty men. For some reason, Orba positioned half of them to the north and also had his own unit stand sentry there.

He himself, after making arrangements with Bisham, slipped secretly out of the town. Taking only a few of his men, he headed towards the rocky hills that protected the town to the south. They weren’t particularly tall but the slopes were steep whichever way one went.

Just as the sun was about to set,

“Here,” said Orba.

They were at a flat ledge that projected outwards and which commanded an unbroken view of the town.

The sun soon set and the town was faintly rimmed with the fires lit by the guardsmen. The laughter of soldiers rose incessantly from the town’s streets.

“To the Dragon Gods who rule over the protection of Tauran!”

“To the false Garda’s last moments!”

Each called out as they raised their wine cups together in a toast. Many other soldiers were making pillow talk with prostitutes by describing their own feats in battle.

Midnight was drawing near.

Just as the town was quieting down, the roar of artillery fire resounded. Cannonballs hit the trees, smashing several of them as fires started to spread. The flames were like living creatures as they extended further around them and while the soldiers on guard did their best to fight them back, the sound of cannons thundered again two then three more times.

All at once, the slumbering town was in uproar. There were those who were running around trying to extinguish the flames, those who, without taking their sword or spear, were escaping in a panic, believing that lightning was falling from the sky, and those who, although pulling their horses with their sword in hand, were at a loss not knowing where to go.

Surūr immediately rushed out into the street.

“What were the guards doing?”

“T-The attack seems to be coming from the south. From the rocky hills.”

Before he even had time to answer “What?”, more news came flying.

“It’s Nilgif!”

It took Surūr a long time to realise that the soldier who was shouting was from Orba’s mercenary unit. He simply opened his eyes wide.

“Nilgif is leading dragoons and cavalry, about five hundred are charging this way!”

=== Part 2 ===

Just as his name of Kadyne’s Blue Dragon indicated, Nilgif wore a helmet shaped like a dragon and donned blue armour. The difference with his brother wasn’t only the colour of his armour but also the fact that the top of his helmet only had a single horn.

He rode his horse at the head of the five hundred soldiers.

Up until then, he had given his companions the order to deliberately scatter during skirmishes. The plan was for them to seem thoroughly routed. They had even made sure to deliberately abandon valuable weapons like guns and cannons so that the enemy would not be able to see through their intentions. There were of course those who were killed in this warfare based on withdrawal. It was an honour for warriors to die in battles in which they had fought to the last, but in these battles they had known from the start that they would be running away.

''But even so, they obeyed my orders''.

Nilgif was by nature easily moved to tears. Even in the middle of an assault, he was prone to being unable to hold back the emotions that welled up within him.

''You won’t have died in vain. Here and now, we will deal a crushing blow to these one thousand soldiers''.

Nilgif had two mortars be transported beforehand to the southern hills. Since as expected, the enemy had completely disregarded caution to the south, the first shot was fired as the signal for the assault.

“Riiight. Let’s go!”

Once the soldiers standing guard at the west of the town came into sight, Nilgif raised his rough voice.

Abandoning the lit fires, they were about to swing their long spears from horseback or fix them under their arms.

Just then, the fourth cannon shot rang out.

“Urgh!”

Gravel flew up and hit Nilgif in the face. No, it wasn’t only gravel that flew. With it was the flesh and blood of his companions. As Nilgif halted before it, his now bloodshot eyes stared at the impact point from which white smoke was rising up and where his companions and their horses lay prone. He knew that the bombardment must have come from the rocky hills. He knew it, but –

“Impossible!”

At the same time,

“Right. Let’s go.”

Someone gave the same order as Nilgif had.

It was Orba, who at some point had arrived to defend the west side. Raising his spear high, he took the lead, galloping in the van. Following behind him were the fifty-three from his unit, the hundred and fifty pikemen that Bisham had loaned him and the hundred infantrymen who were originally on sentry duty.

“That bastard saw right through them, huh,” his battle-axe heaved over his shoulder, Gilliam gave a broad grin.

The Zerdians were completely unable to hide their surprise but with the enemy approaching before them, the fact that the commander was a foreigner was no longer important. Spears in hand, they drew up to the mounted enemy unit.

Gunshots sounded once again. The fight had become a mêlée but those who had brought the guns to the hills and those who had been targeted had had their allies and enemies completely switched around.

''If I were the enemy, I would definitely attack from the south''. It was because he thought so that Orba went to reconnoitre the hills. And there, as expected, he found a suitable ledge.

''Here?'' Orba found traces of several humans having been there recently. There was no mistaking that the soldiers of Kadyne had checked the place out before leaving the relay-station town. Realising that they intended to bring out mortars, Orba had left a few men there. All of them were outstanding swordsmen. Shique was among them. And naturally, he also left soldiers who were experienced at bombardment.

Orba’s plan proved to be right on the mark. In the dead of night, several dozen soldiers brought dismantled mortars. After waiting for them to assemble them, Shique and the other swordsmen leapt out. The enemy didn’t even have time to brace themselves against the swords before being cut down in one fell swoop.

“First fire at the outskirts of the town,” Orba had ordered them in advance. One reason was as a signal to lure the enemy troops, the other reason was to wake up their allies who were indulging in indolence. “If the enemy charges, fire another shot there. The rest is our job.”

From atop his horse, Orba crossed spears with the mounted warrior who was at the head of the enemy troops. Sparks flew from the tips and the two horses had passed by each other before they had finished fading.

A feeling of heaviness remained in Orba’s arm. His opponent was a master at the spear. And going by the shape and colour of his helmet and armour…

“Nilgif.”

He turned his horse back as he shouted. For his part, Nilgif was also surprised to recognise his adversary.

“A masked swordsman. It’s you!”

It was without a doubt the opponent his brother Moldorf had told him about. Every time the masked swordsman appeared, he had gotten in his brother’s way.

''So he’s the one who saw through my plan?''

Feeling as though his head would explode at any moment from his seething enthusiasm, Nilgif gave his horse’s flank a sharp kick.

Orba and Nilgif passed each other again. With an unpleasant sound, the spear in Orba’s hand broke. Taking heart, Nilgif turned back once more. Orba however was already galloping away without turning back.

“Are you running away, you bastard!”

Nilgif was about to spur his horse forward but on either side of him, the spears of the enemy pikemen were already driving him hard. Kadyne’s cavalry formation had been thrown out of order by that cannon shot. They were being polished off one-by-one.

“Ah, wait!” Nilgif unintentionally raised his voice in a childish cry. He realised now that the masked swordsman had deliberately lured him in.

“Ngh!” As Nilgif suddenly leaned his head to the side, a broken spear whirled past.

Orba, the one who had thrown it, was flanked on either side by spear-wielding foot soldiers and pulled out his sword while still on horseback.

“Aim for that one rider,” Nilgif shouted but,

“Nilgif, what’s the matter? Your older brother magnificently knew when to quit.”

“W-What!”

A pikeman brandished his spear. Nilgif jabbed left and right with his spear and was about to break free but Orba raced to follow after him. He barely managed to stop a blow from the longsword with the top of his shoulder.

Nilgif ground his teeth. He knew that the enemy already held the momentum. Since their mortars had been snatched from them, if they needlessly prolonged things the enemy would swarm at them from the gates.

''If you have to retreat, retreat. As long as you live, a day will surely come when you can wash away your disgrace''.

Those weren’t the words of the masked swordsman but the teachings he had received from his brother Moldorf and which had been thoroughly hammered into him. Nilgif was quick to work himself into a frenzy but he had made preparations for this night raid while fully aware of the risk for his allies. He couldn’t allow anymore of his men to lose their lives.

“Eei, retreat. Retreat,” Nilgif said in a gruff voice that was much like his brother’s then, brandishing his spear, he sent flying in one go the mass of spearheads rushing towards him. For a moment, Orba also chased after him but, just like his brother, Nilgif did not allow him to draw up to him from behind.

A pursuit battle in the dead of night was dangerous anyway. What lay ahead from the relay-station town was still in Kadyne’s sphere of influence. Orba reared his horse bolt upright and raised his sword to halt his allies’ steps.

The fifty-three from Orba’s unit lifted their swords and spears high to starry sky and gave a shout of victory.

Among them, Orba returned the sword to his waist and stared intently at his right hand which was clasping the hilt. It was still numb and his grip strength hadn’t returned at all.

''No doubt about it, his spear is as overwhelming as his brother’s''.

Their names were famed in the worn-torn west. Moldorf and Nilgif; it was fine as long as it was one or the other, but if from here on the twin Red and Blue Dragons appeared together on the battlefield, things would certainly become very difficult.

When they returned to the town, Surūr Wyerim was waiting at the gates. His armour seemed to have been hastily thrown on, the cords to attach it were undone and he was missing a shoulder pad. The soldiers lined up behind him were in a similar state.

“Will there be even a single word of praise?”

When Gilliam said that, Talcott, who was riding beside him, laughed quietly.

“Who knows. But looking at that face he’s pulling, don’t get your hopes up.”

And in truth, between the lit torches held by soldiers on either side of him, Surūr’s face was trembling with rage. At the same time, Shique’s party who had gained control of the hills also made it down. After giving them some words of appreciation, Orba nimbly jumped from his horse.

“Why,” Surūr spoke. Even the moustache of which he was so proud was swaying and trembling. “Why did you stay silent when you knew the enemy was coming?”

''Not upfront'', Orba thought for a second. Those were not words that should be spoken in front of the soldiers. At least in public, he should have praised him, saying “good work” or something. ''Then I could have answered that “I was just doing what you told me to, commander” and the merit would have become partly yours''.

In the same way as with Lasvius, when Orba couldn’t stand someone, there was a good chance that they hated him too. Surūr must also be capable, otherwise he wouldn’t have been entrusted with the command of the detached force. In this case, they probably just had poor affinity. When it came to Lasvius, he couldn’t tolerate Orba’s provocative way of doing things.

“I didn’t know it. I just had a hunch that they would come.”

He had had that hunch since that time when Surūr had ordered him to find where they would set an ambush. It was the perfect place to stage an attack, yet the enemy hadn’t despatched a single soldier there. Moreover, having taken part in the fights in various locations, Orba had thought it suspicious that the enemy was withdrawing so quickly. After carrying out thorough reconnaissance of the area, he had confirmed that the enemy had secured a path of retreat beforehand.

It looked like the enemy was deliberately using small numbers to entice them.

But Surūr didn’t want to listen.

“Were you in that much of a hurry to earn some merit? I have a thousand men to look out for. Did you not think that your selfish actions would endanger your comrades?”

“What!”

The previously calm and composed Talcott’s expression had changed. He started speaking faster than Shique could hold him back. “Is there anyone who can know for certain when the enemy will appear? When our captain was the only one to warn that they would probably come, didn’t you say you were handing over the soldiers to him? Except most of those bastards vanished without permission. In a hurry to earn some merit? You should try saying that when looking in a mirror.”

Talcott wasn’t the kind to bottle up what he wanted to say. He took this opportunity to let it all out. Attacked where it hurt, Surūr kept silent.

''This is an ugly atmosphere right after a victory'', Shique bit his lip while watching the nearby scene.

The difference in nationalities also looked likely to be a problem. The actions that Orba had taken had undoubtedly saved his allies from being routed and what Talcott had said was also entirely true, but – starting with Surūr – what was reflected in the eyes of the Zerdians who hadn’t had the chance to fight wasn’t so much admiration as anger. Talcott was from the coastal countries but to the Zerdians it would probably be the taken as “Those despicable Mephians defying the Battalion Commander.”

Both sides glared at each other for a moment, their eyes gleaming red in the torchlight. Then,

“Is there any liquor left?”

Orba spoke from behind his mask. Surūr’s eyebrows twitched.

“What? Liquor?”

“For the soldiers who were standing guard. Otherwise it’s unfair, since unlike you fuckers, they weren’t getting wasted.”

''Orba!''

To Shique’s horror, when Orba blithely threw oil on the fire, Surūr seemed for a moment to tilt towards the right then his fist sank into Orba’s jaw. Standing behind him, Stan hurriedly caught him as he seemed to fall over backwards.

A stir ran through the soldiers.

“Don’t get full of yourself, boy,” Surūr’s narrow eyes flared open. “Don’t think that Mephians can do whatever they like in Tauran. You’ll wield your sword the way I tell you to. Understand!?”

Surūr should probably have thought about the fact that at that instant, the commotion among the soldiers did not take the form of a shout of approval. About three hundred Zerdians had stood sentry with Orba and the others and had cooperated with them in the fight. Surūr’s fist had pulverised their joy over their victory and their pride in having accomplished such a feat.

“B-Bastard!”

“Stop. Stop it!”

Gilliam, Talcott and the short-tempered mercenaries started to step forward while Shique and the Zerdians they had fought alongside got between them to prevent it.

The night air mixed with the smell of the burning trees that had been hit by the cannonballs.

The next day, after Surūr had finished reorganising the troops, they finally set out on their march proper on Kadyne. Orba’s unit was of course removed from under Surūr’s direct command and was attached to Bisham’s company.

“That wasn’t like you.”

During the journey, Shique called out to Orba who was in front of him. Because their horses had been confiscated, all members of the unit were on foot. As Orba remained silent, he continued,

“This being you, I’d have thought you would handle it better. That said, it’s different if you’re intending to wrest the entire battalion away from Surūr.”

“A pain.”

“Me? Or you?”

“An incompetent commander is a worse pain than the enemy.”

Shique had to stop himself from bursting into laughter. It was rare for Orba to justify his own quick temper, be it by referencing second-hand knowledge gleaned from a book or by referring to something he had actually experienced.

“You’re riled up, huh. At any rate, both when you were a gladiator and when you were a prince, you were a genius at riling up your opponents.”

“Shut up.”

The boy’s real face showed through the mask.

That evening, one of the scouts came rushing up on horseback.

“Ho,” Surūr gave a slight smile upon receiving the news. The report stated that the border fortress was completely empty. Since Nilgif’s night raid had failed, he had pulled back the soldiers and they were probably planning on waiting in Kadyne itself.

However, the news that the scouts brought the next day left not only Surūr but all the soldiers completely baffled.
The soldiers had all vacated Kadyne, their own country.

=== Part 3 ===

When he heard the order, Nilgif wore an expression of complete incomprehension.

“Where are we withdrawing to?”

“You will proceed to Eimen and await the alliance’s main army there,” the sorcerer stated baldly and as usual his expression didn’t seem quite human. It was as though he was telling some fable that had nothing to do with reality.

“Ridiculous. If we do that, the troops that are advancing on us here will target us from behind.”

“Don’t worry about what you don’t need to worry about. We won’t just stand by and allow ourselves to lose manpower.”

“Wait. In the first place, wasn’t it ''your'' order to defend Kadyne to the death?”

As he spoke, Nilgif’s eyes went to the men standing behind the sorcerer. They had just been despatched from Zer Illias. They were every bit as eerie as the sorcerer. As they were all covered in black armour, they hardly had a single patch of exposed skin. Their faces were completely concealed by the black cloths that hung from their helmets.

''I wouldn’t be particularly surprised even if there were skeletons rather than living faces behind those cloths''.

Since earlier, they hadn’t spoken a word nor stirred a muscle. They were so stiff it impossible to tell if they were even breathing. Those black-clad swordsmen numbered about a hundred and fifty in all. He didn’t know how powerful they were, but it was obvious that they wouldn’t be able to defend Kadyne by themselves once Nilgif and the almost eight hundred soldiers under his command were gone.

The sorcerer however was the same as ever.

“The preparations have been completed. You did well stalling for time. Now do as I say. The enemy is approaching.”

The sorcerer gave absolutely no answer to the questions of what those preparations were or what kind of plan they had to repel the enemy. Nilgif scratched his nose with a bitter expression.

''Shit, I lost so many comrades just like that. Thinking to annihilate the enemy here, I returned to Kadyne. And now?''

Given that their orders were constantly changing, he was struck with the thought that something might have happened to make Garda feel shaken.

''With this timing, could it be…''

“As I told you before,” at that moment, the sorcerer gave a faint smile, causing Nilgif to shudder. Not because he read a human emotion in it. A doll which had been brought to life and which was imitating humans would smile exactly like that. “It’s best not to think about what you don’t need to worry about. We will stay here and guard the people. If you seem about to disobey your orders and return to the city, or join with the alliance, we will decapitate every last one of them.”

“You,” his teeth barred, Nilgif looked like some carnivorous animal. “Wait. You’re staying here? What are you fuckers going to do when the enemy gets here?”

“Die, of course.”

At the sorcerer’s response, Nilgif once more looked dumbfounded. He had always thought them baffling, but he hadn’t realised that it was to that extent. The sorcerer and the hundred and fifty newly despatched swordsmen were apparently going to await the enemy in Kadyne with the express intention of dying.

“Ah, but don’t think of waiting for that and then returning to Kadyne.”

“You’re going to bring up my family again, aren’t you? I get it!” Nilgif all but yelled before leaving, unable to bear that uncanny man any longer.

''But depending on how you think about it…''

It wasn’t a bad thing. Garda intended to relinquish Kadyne. The sorcerer and his group would remain here to prevent Nilgif and the others from seizing the opportunity to revolt. But setting their own situation aside, Kadyne would be freed. Even if the forces of the western alliance occupied it, they certainly wouldn’t massacre its population.

''And Garda will fall too''. He had a real sense that it was happening. That one by one, the layers were being peeled off from that terrifying, uncanny phantom not of this world, and that they were slowly drawing closer to the living human beneath.

“Then since your mind is made up, we’ll do as you say,” Nilgif said out loud. He believed that as long as the people of Kadyne were safely freed then the sacrifices made would not be in vain.

''And after that will be Zer Illias''.

The Kadynians there were not few in number. Among them was Nilgif’s family.

Would he live to see it again – his eyes blazed at the thought as gazed at his native land before turning to leave. There was no doubt that if the western alliance gained the upper hand, Garda would order him and his men to fight to the end. Even though they knew that nothing but ruin and death awaited them, they were unable to defy him and would only be able to obey.

''However,''

As they passed through the area of low-growing trees that characterized Kadyne, Nilgif urged the horses to go faster so as not to let his men grow mawkish – although he himself was the one most likely to indulge in sentimentalism. The soldiers knew their general’s temperament and didn’t say anything. They pretended not to see the large teardrops trickling like rain down his bearded face.

''However… Yes, however, we will not die in vain. In this war, there has not been a single pointless death. The future generations will surely think so. No, they will definitely think so.''

Surūr Wyerim’s expression was even more impatient than usual.

“Hurry the horses. We will liberate Kadyne then immediately set off in pursuit.”

What he feared the most was that the enemy forces that had left Kadyne would carry out a surprise attack on the main army sent to capture Eimen. Because that would be seen as a failure on his part.

''There are too many things that just don’t make sense about the enemy’s timing in leaving Kadyne. Having drawn our troop there, Garda’s army will use our delay to attack the main force in Eimen… But if that was their real plan, they would have left a few soldiers in Kadyne. By making us lay siege, they could slow us down, even if only by half a day, even if only by an hour''.

Orba was seized with unease. Yet it wasn’t the same kind of unease that he had experienced when he was the prince’s body double. He left his unit and ran forward. On the way, he borrowed a horse from one of the mounted warriors and rode up to Surūr who was in the leading party.

“Commander.”

“What,” Surūr irritably looked over his shoulder. “Mephian gladiator, do you feel like taking another blow from my fist?”

“The enemy situation is strange. You should consider setting up camp here for now and take the time to keep watch on Kadyne.”

“Idiot. The main force will soon be taking Eimen. What happens if they get attacked from behind by Kadyne’s troops? They’re the ones who want us to think that something is up so that we halt our pursuit.”

“But…”

“Shut up. Now go back to your position.”

''Shit''. The unknown unease that he had felt was exactly because of this. When he had been prince, he himself could move everything according to his own judgement. Of course, because of that the mental burden had been considerable, but now that he was in a situation where the commander was someone else and where he didn’t trust that other person’s judgement, his unease outstripped his former sense of strain.

''It’s just like I said to Shique. Actually no, isn’t it like Shique said?''

Orba bitterly regretted his childish revenge at the relay-station town. The man was uncongenial but if he had tried to get on with him, maybe he could have earned some credit which would have stood him in good stead in his current situation.

In a similar fashion, Noue, Garbera’s resourceful commander, and Lasvius, Helio’s commander of the dragoons had eventually joined forces with Orba in order to achieve their goals despite harbouring antipathy and irritation towards him, and they were able to reach a mutual trust. He couldn’t help but think that he had been very lucky in both those cases.

''This is where I stand as just a mercenary, huh?''

Orba’s brows creased in irritation while in his belly was an accumulated rage that didn’t seem likely to ever disappear.

He went straight back to his unit without returning the horse. There, he found Stan in a strange state.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Stan, I’m asking you what’s wrong,” Talcott was calling out to him while repeatedly shaking him by the shoulders but Stan wasn’t responding. His face had gone pale and his eyes drifted vacantly. As he was also walking unsteadily, Gilliam was supporting him.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” As their walking pace inevitably slowed down, they were overtaken by other infantry units and mocking voices called out to them. “Is he scared to fight? The famous gladiators are pretty useless.”

“Idiots,” Talcott yelled, completely enraged. “Stan isn’t a gladiator. And he’s survived far tougher wars than you have!”

Orba jumped off his horse and peered into Stan’s face which was glistening with sweat.

“Come on, get a hold of yourself. Do you need to lie down for a bit?”

He wondered if maybe he had been injured in the previous fight. Stan didn’t answer and simply murmured something repeatedly. Because his voice was husky and low, Orba couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Their unit was marching more and more slowly. When they were almost at the end of the line, Orba came to a decision and, with Gilliam’s help, got Stan onto the horse. He then jumped up behind him and, with an “I’m going ahead,” he galloped off.

Less than an hour later, the open gates of Kadyne came into sight. Supporting Stan, who was shaking so much he almost fell from the horse, he passed through the gates. The town was filled with cheering and joyous voices. The people of Kadyne had all come to greet Surūr’s troops. Many of them were crying as they embraced each other. They had been hostages until just now, not permitted to live freely.

''Did they really just abandon Kadyne?''

While thinking that this was completely at odds with his earlier hunch, for now, Orba had something that he needed to do. He caught hold of one of the townspeople and got the name and address of a doctor from them. Turning into one of the central streets, there was a building with a sign, just as he had been told, but the doctor was absent. He had probably gone out to the streets to celebrate along with the rest of the population.

Clicking his tongue, Orba barged in anyway and helped Stan onto the bed inside.

Stan started muttering something again so Orba brought his ear near the other’s mouth.

“What’s wrong? Do you need something?”

“It’s coming.”

“What?”

“It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming. Malice is wailing, the dead are screaming, the sky is burning.”

Stan’s mutters sounded like the delirium of a person gripped by fever and made absolutely no sense. Yet chills ran up Orba’s spine and his flesh started to crawl. Just as Stan was about to murmur something more, a shadow suddenly passed over the sun and the room was plunged into semi-darkness.

Startled, Orba was about to rush to the window but faster than he could do so, and even though he was still inside the building, he heard an ear-splitting scream.

“M-Monsters!”

The streets of Kadyne were still filled with wave after wave of cheers.

The soldier on guard in the watchtower was gazing down on them contentedly then looked up to the sky as though something had caught his attention.

''The clouds are moving fast''.

Although the skies had been a clear blue, from the corner of his eye, he could now see black clouds surging forward. At first nonchalantly watching them, the soldier’s eyes were suddenly nailed to them, as though unable to tear themselves away. They weren’t just moving fast. The clouds covered the sun in an instant and the entire sky turned black.

The people who had been dancing and singing all turned their heads to the sky. Then they too stared. The black clouds squirmed and throbbed like giant entrails then in an instant broke apart.

Their fragments rained down, one of them piercing the soldier’s breast. Shaking violently, his body slumped forward and fell from the watchtower.

It resembled a violent rain shower. But unlike simple raindrops, when the black shadows that were diving down fell upon the people, they tore their faces and limbs to shreds.

The streets of Kadyne that had been filled with merrymaking were now awash with blood.

“Monsters!”

That was the point at which Orba heard that strange cry.

There were winged creatures. They were about the size of a human child and their bodies were covered in black fur. They had fangs and their faces looked like those of monkeys. The strange, unknown creatures flapped their wings and relentlessly swooped down on the people below.

Their claws effortlessly tore through human flesh and easily drilled holes through armour and helmets. Those claws sliced through the backs of the people who ran screaming, their fangs bit through the heads of women who cradled their children protectively to their chests, and they swarmed the soldiers who tried to fight them off with spears. What they left in their wake were shredded corpses, unrecognisable from their original form.

''What is this?'' Orba had rushed out into the streets and for a moment, seeing the entire town coloured in black and red, he could only stare in shock.

While his eyes were completely riveted to the sight, two demons leapt towards him. Orba instinctively reached for his sword’s grip. The next instant, he swung the sword twice. It unerringly mowed through the two bristly bodies – or it should have.

''What!''

The sword cleaved through empty air. Conversely, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his hand and wrist, and staggered backwards.

There was no time to remain stunned. A roar from the sky overwhelmed his sense of hearing and just as he was trying to figure out what it was, a new black shadow made its appearance. Looking up, Orba finally doubted his own sanity.

A huge dragon had appeared in the skies over Kadyne. It must have been forty or fifty metres long. It flapped wings that were even larger than its gigantic body and calmly flew through the sky.

''Impossible''.

It wasn’t possible for that kind of dragon to exist. He had heard that there were flying dragons on a volcanic island in the south, but this creature with its huge body, its thick paws tightly covered in black scales, its two horns growing from their elongated head… this creature couldn’t be anything but a product of the imagination. A long time ago, Orba had seen something similar in a picture book that his brother Roan had brought home as a souvenir.

In front of Orba, who was starting up astounded, the huge black dragon opened its mouth. Just as he realised what was happening, light flashed from its maw.

His instinct ordered him to duck. Even lying on his belly, he watched as far-off rooftops were blown away and debris flew as the beast breathed fire. A great many of the citizens had surely lost their lives. The dragon turned to prowl the skies once more as though searching for its next target.

Screams and wails resounded in Orba’s ears and seemed to fill them completely, showing no sign of stopping. He used his sword to help himself stand back up.

''This is… sorcery?'' That thought struck him. There was no doubt that the black demons and the dragon were the sorcerer’s doing. This was why Garda’s army had pulled out its troops.

Faced with those supernatural phenomena, the hairs on Orba’s body stood on end and his mind seemed to go numb with fear. Despair flitted through his breast. If this was Garda’s power, what could a sword do against it?

Another explosion erupted and Orba dived down again. When he lifted his head, a black demon was coming straight towards him.

He quickly scrambled to his feet and jumped backwards. As he jumped, he seized his sword. The movement was a deeply ingrained habit hammered into his body. When he landed, his sword was at the ready. He had made in time. Like this, he should surely be able to defend against the demon’s claws.

But a sharp pain shot through the nape of his neck. The claws had effortlessly passed through his blade and their sharp tips brushed against him.

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