Baka-Tsuki - User contributions [en]

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter3

2014-10-05T21:51:52Z

98.22.74.156: /* Part 2 */

== Chapter 3: A New Mask ==
=== Part 1 ===

These past few days, Tarkas had indeed been busier than normal, bustling about all over the place. And the busier the busy man became, the livelier he got too. So light on his feet as if they’d grown wings, he showed them the peak of pride.

Whether it was building a stadium exclusively for the use of the Tarkas Gladiatorial Group, or planning to buy a dozen of a new dragon species, Tarkas had large-scale future plans for his sword-slaves. As usual, Orba wasn’t of the same mind.

“If you’re able to get appeal in front of the imperial families, I might think of rewarding you, Orba. The opponent will also be exceptionally prepared. Make it a good fight. Look, if you can’t get worked up, you’ll just have to do like you always do.”

Although he smacked his shoulder with an ear-to-ear smile, it honestly had a weird taste to it. Gowen, who heard it all, also gave a wry smile, but it immediately turned into a serious look.

“I have no doubt that the Tarkas Gladiatorial Group is a major company in this industry. Even so, I never heard of Tarkas having connections with the imperial family and other top brass. He’s only worked with nobles like Fedom, the Lord of Birac and director of the Gladiator’s Guild. Although Tarkas has apparently only met him face to face during meetings. Nevertheless, until now, he had never even received a single direct job from Fedom. But I think it’s such an enormous job, this. I constantly told him that it’s better to request the cooperation from other places, but Tarkas has refused them all.”

“You’re prone to worry, old man,” Shique said, shrugging his shoulders. “Isn’t it fine? Even if we get their disapproval, it won’t be our heads that roll. It only means we’ll have to find another place to fight as gladiators.”

Orba, too, shared the same sentiment. It made little difference where he was. The only way for a gladiator to secure his life was to earn gold. And if it meant his road to freedom got even one step closer, he would continue to fight wherever. That was all there was to it.

Several more days passed after that and the preparations for their departure to Seirin Valley had finally started. They loaded their weapons and armor onto carts and performed the arduous task of taking the dragons from their cages.

Inside the spacious dragon’s abode, Orba was wordlessly watching over Hou Ran guiding the dragons. Although he’d seen several animal trainers here, he didn’t know another human being who could handle dragons like this.

There had been one such expert trainer who could ‘make three Sozos’s dance to music” using a flute, who fed them every day at a fixed time, gently brushed their snouts, and kept doing just that as a daily routine. He was killed easily, eaten by the Sozos’ on a whim.

That was primarily a dragon’s nature.

A human showing affection and training them, could achieve results to some extent, but there was never something like complete certainty. Even dragons that should have been domesticated for a long time nested feelings within. In reality, they were not so sure about their intelligence, after being tricked by humans who’ve set up elaborate traps of, for example, pitfalls and collapsing walls.

But as far as he knew, among these dragons, Orba had never seen a time when Ran’s orders didn’t seem effective. And she didn’t use a whip or lure them with bait. Ran only blew them a low whistle and they stood in line like orderly trained soldiers, carrying their huge bodies one by one into the direction of Ran’s beckoning hand.

But, there seemed to be individual differences among them.

“Orba. Help me out without just looking.”

With slightly irritated words, Ran folded her arms near one medium-sized Baian dragon. Having dropped its waist in the corner of the cage, it didn’t seem to try to move at all. Although Orba didn’t think it was his place to blame him for ignoring Ran’s orders, as he turned to the corner, it looked like it wasn’t going to head the other way no matter what happened.

“What should I do? Tie a chain around its neck?”

A tranquilizing gun had hardly any effect on a Baian. However, it took a lot of manpower to pull it by the chains. The medium-sized Baian was quite short compared to a Sozos, but its shoulders were still at about the same height as the head of a grown man. It was about three metres long, and the rugged hide of its body was much like armour to the touch. Small angular comb-like scales sprang up in a line, giving it the appearance of an atrocious lizard.

“You should get on, Orba.”

“What do you mean?”

Orba was taken by surprise. It wasn’t like there weren’t any gladiator games where they rode atop Baians, but it took great pains to put someone who was not familiar with it on a Baian’s back. In short, you just didn’t know when the dragon was going to shake you off and trample you underneath, and in the meantime you had to try and kill your opponent. It was intended to entertain the audience with the thrill of the situation but, without magic or the efficacy of drugs, it was impossible to handle the heavy tank-like Baians.

“Dragons are different from beasts. Even if they’re degenerated, dragons have a dragon’s intellect. Humans simply cannot understand it. But you’ll be fine, Orba. They’ve surely opened their hearts.”

When the girl’s lips started to come apart, she spoke as if she was singing. However, because of the contents, virtually ordering Orba to ‘die’, it was incomprehensible even for a gladiator. But, as aforementioned, the truth was that he’d never seen someone more skilled in handling dragons than her. Besides, if he saw her characteristic defenseless smile, for some mysterious reason he was willing to believe any outrageous thing she said.

Orba slowly approached the Baian. The dragon started kicking his hind legs onto the floor, raising a single growl and pulling its tongue, which was split in two, in and out restlessly, as he looked down at Orba with eyes similar to glass beads.

Orba instantly gathered his courage. As he moved aside, he transmitted it to his legs and jumped towards its back. In an instant, he landed on the dragon’s backside. To avoid being thrown off, Orba swung both his arms around the thick neck. Although unexpectedly, it seemed almost as if the dragon’s hot blood got transmitted when he touched it, and Orba naturally didn’t know whether or not there was a change to the dragon’s mindset. However, the Baian sluggishly came to its feet, and started walking to the place guided by the young woman.

“This child was born only half a year ago,” Hou Ran said as she led the beast. “Even after half a year, its body is no longer outsized by an adult’s. However, they’re still children at heart. Even so, among animal trainers, there are those who can’t see the distinction.”

The four Baians were put into a new cage with a pulley. That cage could be pulled by either two Sozos’s or a single Houban. But, because Sozos’s were considered to be unpredictable – although Hou Ran said the Baian dragons were actually the most capricious variety because it was impossible to perfectly suppress one – they would spend the journey in a cage.

So, as everyone was pressed for a hurry on the preparations, when it was only one hour before departure, small-sized dragons suddenly rushed into the parade grounds.

They were three Tengo’s in a row. They were even one size smaller than the Baians and, because of their maneuverability in tight turns, often used on the battlefield instead of horses. Their big heads resembled that of a bird’s, its long neck nearly bent to the ground, and it bounced about running on two thin legs.

When the dragons suddenly made their stop, the lead dragonrider, nearly sent flying by the force, tumbled off.

“S-Shit, that’s why dragons—”

The man, spitting out sand that seemed to have entered his mouth, had his plump body covered with a purple robe. Judging from his appearance, he looked like a wealthy merchant making easy money. The two figures behind him, also sitting on their respective dragons, quickly got down and lent a hand to the man who seemed to be their employer as Hou Ran ran over to their position.

The front Tengo had bent its legs and was crouched down. It had probably been overworked, as white vomit came from its mouth. Ran was about to stroke the back of its neck when,

“Don’t come any closer to His Excellency, slave!”

There was the single blow of a whip. Although Ran immediately tried to jump back, she fell and skimmed her ankle. Ran didn’t run however, but glared at the armed soldier right in front of her. He was still a young soldier, and when he noticed Ran’s hair and skin, he got an even more furious expression.

“The tribe worshipping the Dragon God, huh? Damn impertinent savages…”

The tendency to look down on the nomads, who held no fixed territory, as an uncivilized people was strong in all lands. In that sense, as was the same for Orba’s case, Tarkas was thoroughly pragmatic.

The soldier once more brandished his whip.

But soon after, he raised a low groan and became rigid. Orba’s hand came from the side, grasped his wrist, and twisted it upwards. As he writhed in pain, bending his spine, he got kicked forward.

“I do not know where your ‘Excellency’ is, but we have our own ways here. If you say you hate having to mingle with the likes of slaves, you shouldn’t purposely set foot in a slave den. Please make your leave.”

He snatched away the soldier’s whip, and struck it to the ground.

“D-Do you bloody know your place!?”

The soldier was about to stand up and unsheathe the sword at his hip when,

“Wait! Wait, Orba!”

Tarkas was running up to them from behind. It took all his strength to spur on his stout body, which was evenly matched with that of the robed man.

“Y-You, utter moron! Basically, you’re not even supposed to speak out of turn. Hurry and get back to your preparations!! …Ohh, Fedom-sama, if there’s been any discourtesy, I humbly ask for forgiveness. Especially considering you’ve directly come to visit such a squalid place like this, I think—“

“Ahh, at ease. You don’t have to bow, Tarkas,” the robed man said, as he rubbed his hands and proceeded to shake hands with the slave trader. “I have business with this man here. Orba? Yes, it was Orba. You.”

He pointed his finger at the mask Orba, who was about to leave supporting Ran’s shoulder, was wearing.

Naturally, Tarkas was taken by surprise, but so was Orba himself. In the first place, it was quite rare for a person from the outside world to refer to a sword-slave by name.

Orba stopped in his tracks. When he tried to recall where he’d heard the name Fedom before, the face got bizarrely distorted, as it didn’t resemble the face of any person Orba had seen until now. Only much later did he notice that it was a smile, stifling the usual scorn for slaves as if to guess his overall mood.

At that time, he forgot all about that strange expression, for he started speaking unexpected words directed at Orba.

“Do you remember me? No, you may not remember it. At the time, you were hardly even conscious. I’m a council member of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, the Lord of Birac. I’m also acting as the head of the Gladiator’s Guild, and I’m the one who made you wear that mask.”

It was the first time he’d entered Tarkas’ office without the owner himself present. But of course, he didn’t care about something like that. Above all, Orba's devouring eyes were staring at the man before him – the one who called himself Fedom, a leading Mephian aristocrat.

“What’s with those eyes? It looks like you’d immediately draw a sword and cut off my head, if you had one.”

''I could even strangle you to death barehanded'', Orba thought, but of course he didn’t say those words out loud. Next to Fedom stood a boy who might be a page, a pallid-faced houseboy-like youth, and a soldier who was the only one armed. It would be really careless.

“Even if you bear a grudge against me, it’s like you’re barking up the wrong tree. It is not on my behalf that you were imprisoned, but because of your own crimes.”

“Then…”

It was the first time Orba opened his mouth since this man had called out his name.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 121.jpg|thumb]]

“Why did you make me wear this mask? Is this what you nobles call fun? Doesn’t it matter how much I suffer, because I’m just a slave!?”

“Mind your words, you!” the soldier angrily shouted.

But Fedom said, “I don’t mind.”

“I do not have the liberty to play around with slaves who aren’t certain of their tomorrows,” he continued. “However… Just because your days were uncertain, yes, how admirably it is that you survived to this day. Back then, you were nothing more than a child. Having survived as a gladiator for two years… can it be called luck? No. Rather than something like luck, this is, as ''you'' explained so well – the golden mean of fate<ref>A made-up term; "mean" as in "ratio" or "percentage"</ref>, that’s said to have decided all humans lives from the instant of the universe’s creation, right?”

He turned his head to the youth behind him. The young man gave a thin smile and slightly stroked his chin. Although, in a sense, it was more disrespectful than Orba’s attitude among the Mephian nobility, Fedom showed no signs that he was bothered by it.

“Besides, you were practically a child at the time, but your physique has also gotten considerably more adult-like in these two years. You wouldn’t be the same person if it weren’t for the mask… Hmph, the timing’s a bit off, though. Give it another year and your body would’ve developed more and more, but it could also have ended up badly.”

Of course, Orba had absolutely no idea what this man was talking about. Fedom was talking as if he’d met up with an old friend he’d missed, while it had been a curse for Orba, so to speak, due to the mask always separating his face and the outside with iron during those two years, in which it had continued to fiercely smolder his face for a period of time.

He’d floundered about, stained with blood because he’d tried to pry off the mask with his nails, and broke the ankles where the chain connected his feet because of his struggles. And each time, Orba had cursed everything for the fate he had lost, and the fate he had gotten in return.

Indeed, for two years that mask had been with Orba, who had yet to accept the hardships and deaths, and it had become the very symbol of his determination to take back that what was bereft of him from the same hand that took his mother, brother, and Alice.

And then, suddenly an unfamiliar noble came before him, saying he’s the one that made him wear it. It was as Fedom said. If he’d had a sword at hand… No, it could be a sword or a dagger, or just a very heavy vase – anything nearby that could be used to kill. The instant Fedom showed an opening, he would’ve jumped up and smashed it into the man’s face. Of course, even now, it still wasn’t too late for that.

But, whether or not Fedom knew about Orba’s potential double suicide, the man continued to stall.

“Very well, Orba. I’ll take off that mask, right here in this place.”

“What?”

“And that’s not all. From now on, you will also be released from your status as a slave. There’s no longer the need for you to pick up a sword and kill. However, this doesn’t mean you’ll be a free man. It’s simple. These are the conditions. In just a little while from now, Tarkas will leave you in my custody. But it’s no more than that.”

“Wait.”

“And during that time, you don’t go against my words and do as I say. There’s no need to be afraid. It’s much easier than being among slaves and killing each other. You will only obey me like a puppet. However—”

“Wait!”

Orba unintentionally let a shout escape his mouth. He shook his head in irritation before the tongue-tied Fedom in front of him.

“If you are the one who made me wear this mask, why do you now suddenly come to remove it? And why would you free me from slavery if I still have to follow your orders? Just what kind of joke is this!? What’s the reason you suddenly want to remove my mask here and now? How come you made me wear it in the first place? You bastards so easily manipulated a person’s fate to your own whimsical satisfactions. Just how much more entertainment do you seek!?”

While he was uninterested in the words themselves, probably because he couldn’t grasp how much anguish had been included in that two-year period, Fedom shrank away, startled. He changed places with the soldier, who stepped forward to protect his master. Orba was glaring at Fedom’s figure over the soldier’s shoulder, as a sharp glint lit up in his eyes behind the mask.

“What do you intend to do by taking off the mask, freeing me from being a slave, and buying me over? Are you raising some sort of child assassins!?”

“W-Wait. Wait, I tell you.”

This time it was Fedom’s turn to take over control. Hidden behind the soldier’s back, he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“I understand. However, we do not have enough time and this isn’t the place. Would it be better if I tell you that you’ll be killed if you don’t follow my orders?”

“Then you’d better hurry up and start talking. About what you intend to do with me.” 

The soldier’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Even though it was just an unarmed person in front of him, it looked like he was facing a carnivorous animal with those glistening, golden eyes glaring at him.

Noble and slave. Basically, the two weren’t even supposed to meet eye to eye, but the air of intimidation that reversed these positions between them was gradually occupying the room. Then,

“Fine, just wait a bit.”

The student-like youth cut into the conversation. He took one step forward, standing between Orba and Fedom.

“This is not an extremely complicated story. But to explain it from the beginning, surely takes precious time. What should I do in order to try and convince him first? Can I start by taking off the mask?”

“Once it is removed it cannot be used again,” Fedom said unhappily. “If this guy says he won’t obey afterwards, any leverage but killing him disappears.”

“There’s any number of ways in doing this. I’d like you to have faith in me.”

While he heard the strange exchange between the two, Orba noticed that the man, who looked like a youth, actually carried a considerable age. He had a somewhat hoarse voice, and his hair was mixed with white.

“I understand, Hermann. Go ahead.”

Receiving Fedom’s permission, the man called Hermann headed over to Orba’s side. Orba backed off by reflex and got surprised when he felt the man’s fingers fix closely on his mask.

Orba was able to ascertain the distance of his own sword and spear, and also instantly gauge his opponent’s attacking range. That was the talent Orba also had two years ago, and what made him live that long.

And yet, Hermann had quietly and easily been able to creep up to his chest.

“Don’t be afraid,” Hermann said with a grin. Having applied his fingers to the mask, he came even closer to his face.

“That mask does not come off even with superhuman strength. Also, there’s no such thing as a key to take it off. But I guess you know that best yourself after these two years, right?”

Orba doubted whether the one wearing the mask wasn’t Hermann instead. Was it because it looked like he’d stuck human skin onto his face and was in fact hiding his true face behind it? The skin was strangely stiff and, depending on the angle of light, he might not look like a young man after all.

But above all, it was those two eyes gazing his way. Unlike his facial expression, only the eyes gave a sharp light similar to that of a sword. The man resembled none of the many formidable opponents Orba had been confronted with, but he was struck with fear that surpassed all of them.

“Don’t touch me,” Orba said shivering, he did not want to admit to himself that he’d lost his fangs. “Besides, if you don’t have a key, how are you going to remove the mask?”

“The key was just something I made up. I told you not to be afraid. Now, after two years, I’m going to release you.”

Before Orba could retort, there were signs of fingers wriggling and touching. It seemed to come from within Orba's own body.

A fierce sound rang out. It sounded as if the world itself had started to crack, as Orba’s mask began to move. As he realized he felt no lingering feeling for being together these two years, while it slowly moved from the sides, it suddenly dropped down. It fell with a strangely sweet, clattering sound on the floor. Unable to move after that, Orba gently stroked his cheeks.

It was a dazzling feeling, giving no sound and he immediately covered his eyes with his hand. Although it felt like Hermann had used some kind of magical attack, truthfully, he already knew the answer. In some way, this was more shocking to him than someone aiming for his life at short range, which caused his body to shudder.

Orba – widely recognized as a top-class swordsman who, once he picked up a sword, was not afraid of anything, - got irritated with himself that he was now getting frightened like a child, and slowly opened his eyes.

There was the figure of Fedom standing stock still. No, it wasn’t only him. The soldier present and the page boy too, were staring blankly with their mouths open. They didn’t move a single muscle.

Then, suddenly the young soldier stirred. It looked like he had come back to his senses, when he suddenly kneeled down on the floor.

“C-Crown Prince!?” the young man said in a shivering voice. “This… e-excuse me for my rudeness. I didn’t know you were the prince at first. Please, I beg you for forgiveness!”

“Impossible,” Fedom said. His fat body was trembling all over. “It’s impossible! But… but, Hermann. The previous ones didn’t look nearly as much alike. Even taking two years into account, I never expected a mirror-image like this…”

“That’s why it’s called sorcery,” Hermann laughed with a muffled voice. “Didn’t I tell you? With luck at your side, this man will certainly become of use to the master.”

For a while, all sound ceased to come out of anyone’s mouth.

Orba had clearly lost awareness of his voice and body. He was timidly touching his flesh-and-blood cheeks. There was no touch of iron. That hard, cold mask was completely absent and replaced by a warm and tender skin. Half in a daze, Orba wondered whether this all might just be a dream.

“Do you want a mirror?”

The only calm one, Hermann, indiscreetly fumbled through Tarkas’s desk, took out a hand-mirror and tossed it over at Orba. As he caught it in his hands, Orba looked at it with bated breath.

A pale faced, slim-eyed man was staring back at him. These two years, whenever he looked into a mirror, only that iron mask mimicking a tiger appeared before him. He initially felt that there was no mistaking this as real, but soon, Orba had a certain uncomfortable feeling that obstructed his happiness.

It was definitely his own face. And yet, something was different. While his eyes, nose, and mouth had surely remained the same, he had a suspicion that certain subtle angles had changed.

Two years had passed. Was it possible he’d forgotten about his own face?

No… but he didn’t know the reason for this. After all, he had a feeling that his eyes were strangely sharp compared to before, his lips had become a little bit thin and his nose seemed to have gotten slightly bigger.

“Well then.”

Fedom awkwardly and abruptly broke the silence that was flowing so far.

“If it’s like this, your intentions will no longer pose a problem. It looks like you were decided on two years ago. By some power of the gods, demons, the Dragon God of old, or maybe even an existence we don’t know the name of. Without it, you could never be so much alike.”

The moment Orba felt like asking what he was talking about, Fedom immediately made a declaration.

“You are already no longer this Orba. Of course, you’re also no longer some sword-slave. From the moment the mask was removed, you were born anew as a different person. What’s more, you’re not even a common man one might find anywhere, either. Got it? From today on, you’ve graciously become the one known as the heir to the throne of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, Gil Mephius!”

=== Part 2 ===

Fedom immediately took Orba out of Tarkas’s sword-slave training grounds. Because it was carried out so quickly, for a while, it didn’t even look like he was released from sword-slavery. It looked like they had come to their agreement without informing Tarkas about it.

Because Orba obviously didn’t think that his sword slave hell would suddenly end like this, he didn’t actually experience it like that. More than that, he truly didn’t know in whose hands he’d ended up and whose intentions for the future he was going to roll into – as had always been the case from his childhood until now.

Fedom held several mansions here and there in Mephian territory. Although he brought Orba to one of them, for some reason he had been instructed to cover his face with a mantle in the meantime.

Fedom led Orba to a room with a carpet spread all over, locked the door, and told him he was finally allowed to take off the mantle. The soldier and the page who’d also come to the training grounds were the only others in the room. That magician named Herman had vanished.

After he took off the mantle, everyone present was once again closely peering onto his face.

“No matter how many times I see… this. I feel like someone is playing tricks on my mind. As if you’re actually Mephius’s imperial prince Gil, and testing me out.”

“I’m the one who doesn’t get this shit! Mephius’s imperial prince!? Just what the heck are you saying? Speak so that a gladiator like me will understand!”

Orba was getting considerably irritated. Not taking any offence from his insolent way of speaking, Fedom nodded his head.

“Naturally,” he said, and started from the beginning.

The tale went back to two years ago. From the day Orba got imprisoned.

Fedom, who was the Lord of Birac, originally wouldn't hear anything of the report when Orba was arrested because he was only a petty criminal, but for some reason he received an urgent message from the city guards.

But when he spared the figure of Orba lying down in his cell a single look, he couldn’t help but raise a surprised voice.

“You truly looked a lot like the crown prince of Mephius.”

Fedom thought on it for a while. Even at the best of times, the crown prince was rumored for his eccentric mannerism. Although no one would truly believe the prince would appear in the arena as a gladiator, doubts on his bloodline could sully the imperial family’s dignity and at most pose a problem in the distant future, which in turn could question Fedom’s loyalty.

So he’d decided on concealing Orba’s face. Which is why he’d made him wear that particular mask.

Of course, Orba believed that wasn’t all there was to it. Although he was surprised to hear he resembled the crown prince, it seemed a little exaggerated to request the assistance of a magician.

The pain that had seemed to completely burn his face with flames. The out-of-place feeling he had of himself when he touched his face after removing the mask. Hadn’t they taken all of those things into account from the very start?

His entire body once again seething with anger, Orba pretended to be calm.

“I understand the reason for having to wear the mask. So, what’s the reason you took it off?”

“It’s as I said earlier.”

“Become the prince? Do you mean to make me a body double?”

“Oh? It looks like you're thinking correctly. It's just like that. If you’re this similar to the prince, you should be able to serve the nation simply because of that. I think you should be honored. Moreover, it’ll all be in exchange for your release from slavery – and for your freedom. There’s certainly nothing more to tell you than that.”

“Isn’t Mephius supposed to sign peace with Garbera? Is another war about to happen?”

“A body double isn’t someone only useful on the battlefield. But if you know of the peace, do you also know about the prince’s wedding?”

“It’s because I was one of the sword-slaves.”

“Well, now you will proceed to Seirin Valley for a different matter.”

Fedom explained that there seemed to be many people in and out of the country who weren’t at ease with the wedding. By any chance, it might be possible that someone would try to interfere with the wedding by deliberately causing a commotion, and some of them might intend to assassinate the crown prince or the Garberan princess.

“The likelihood that the danger may reach the prince’s person is high. Naturally, we intend to carry out a flawless guard unit. However, because we wanted to build a mutual allied relationship as quickly as possible, we settled on this marriage in a hurry. We’ve decided to use you as an insurance if it turns out to be the worst case scenario.”

Orba spent a little time thinking. It seemed he had now been placed in this position on a very short notice. The wedding was in three days. Having only been a gladiator just a while ago, he had to act as a prince within three days’ time.

''What a bullshit story!''

Although he wanted to refuse, for the story didn’t seem to hold any grounds, if it was true that most of the currently mentioned circumstances were highly classified state secrets, it could already be a life-threatening matter for Orba. If he refused, it meant death.

Earlier, Orba had already bantered with threatening words, but his opponent had not been deterred. Sweat was vaguely forming on the skin of his face that was exposed to the air for the first time in two years. Up until now, it had been different from a gladiator match. This was not an opponent he could win against by fighting. That was the situation right now.

''The prince of Mephius, huh…?''

A fleeting thought popped into his head. His heart was throbbing violently on the other side of his thick chest.
Orba sucked in a small breath, and once again kept up a calm outward appearance as he enquired,

“If I have to take up being a double – for how long should I have to act like the prince? And what of the part at the end of the marriage ceremony?”

“Why? Do you wish to skip to that part so fast?” Fedom said, laughing satisfactorily. “Needless to say, you can’t afford to get sneaked into the princess’s bed at the bridal night. You will have to keep it up until we judge it’s been enough. It won’t be for such a long time.”

“Let me ask one more thing.”

“What is it? Speak up.”

“Where’s the guarantee that you won’t kill me when this business is over?”

“What?”

“If it turns out that you used a body double for a wedding between members of royalty, we can assume that it’ll scar Garbera’s pride and war might spread once more. Even the most insignificant person who knows about the body double can compromise the story. But they say dead men tell no tales, right?”

Orba gave a glance to the soldier and the page inside the room. The page-like boy already had a pale face, but the soldier too showed signs of shivering. Fedom clicked his tongue, his good mood taking a full turnaround.

“You’re just a slave, and yet you intend to strike a deal with me? There’s no need to worry about such unnecessary things. But you’re right, one might act as you say. Obviously, it’s out of the question to let you go because you share the prince’s face. However, and I say this because it does not contradict with what I said earlier, a body double isn’t useful only at the time of the wedding ceremony, right? Although there will usually be some inconveniences that may give reason for you to cover your face, I intend to let you spend a decent life as a person of my protégé.”

Orba sank into silence for a while again. His face resembled the crown prince so closely that it had surprised even this Fedom. So surely that hadn’t been part of his original plan. But of course, that would in no way lead to a perfect guarantee for everything.

“I understand,” Orba said, giving his consent. “It’s a deal. Those aren’t bad conditions. However, I don’t have the confidence anyone will be able to make me memorize the gestures appropriate for a crown prince.”

“It’s a deal then, from what I can tell. The negotiations are complete.”

Giving a smile, Fedom left his seat, as if he didn’t even come here to stand in place and stare at the fruits of his labor.

“Come over. That’s why I brought my page Dinn, who will, for starters, teach you the necessary etiquettes in the meantime.”

A hectic period of time passed for Orba in the three days after that. He did not have to clean the lodgings, look after the dragons, practice his sword, or be occupied with other work that wore down his mind and body. At the beginning, he assumed the only correction needed was to simply set his posture straight. To throw out his chest, straighten his back, and pull in his chin. But he also had to familiarize himself with a new manner of walking.

The page, Dinn, did not only sport charming features but also demonstrated his skills as an excellent trainer, as he gave Orba strict step-by-step orders in succession.

Using parts of his mind he usually did not use, he’d honestly gotten so exhausted that he was short for breath, but another type of training was waiting for him immediately after.

Dinn took out a hand-mirror. When Orba asked what was next, the boy handed him the mirror and said,

“How to laugh,” while giving him a smile of his own.

That congested schedule, within three days, didn’t seem to spare any time for him to rest his mind. While Orba never expected to suddenly become a crown prince – it felt just like a ridiculous notion, every time he happened to think of how he’d been thrown into this altogether – it reminded Orba of his time as a sword-slave.

''I've lived through these two years for what? I've been ordered like a stupid dog to risk my life, have other people killed, and for what?''

He continued to throw in the firewood to keep the blue will-of-the-wisp flame burning in the back of his heart.

''If I run away from here, I'll be killed immediately, or at best be doubled back as a sword-slave.''

It was hard to take notice of, because it had all happened so suddenly, but there was at least one bright side. And if even a single light shone into his life, for Orba had been walking and fumbling through the darkness all this time, it was unmistakably a sign of progress within this current drastic change in environment.

These past two years, he’d nearly lost himself amongst the blood, vomit, spinal fluids, and entrails, knowing that he couldn’t reach somewhere quiet. But there was no way he would stop reaching out his hand, even though what he aimed to take hold of was almost equal to trying to reach heaven.

At least, that was what Orba himself believed. And so, he continued to obediently receive the boy’s education.

When the sun set, although Dinn also instructed him to, he immersed himself in a tub of hot water and cleansed his body. He could stretch out his body as much as he wanted, and they cut a huge amount of his black unkempt hair that was bound on his back. They also shaved his face with a razor, and when he rose from the tub afterwards, fine linen underwear, a silk tunic, and velvet trousers were prepared for him.

To sleep in, he received a bed with so much space that he had room to spare, even if he excessively spread both his arms and legs. The bed reminded him of the touch of the fair-skinned women he'd spent several times with at night when he’d still been the leader of the boys.

''Where am I?''

While drowsily wandering between sleep and waking, Orba suddenly heard his own voice within himself.

''Brother… I can’t sleep.''

''Take hold of my hand…''

''Brother…''

Seirin Valley – the land where it was said they first set foot on this planet from the Space Immigrant Ship. It was a story from the mythological age, more than five hundred years ago. When you heard the tale, it indeed seemed a sacred, although quite exaggerated, plot of land, but there were virtually dozens of places with similar legends spread all over the world.

The valley lay in a secluded part to the south. Hollowed into the cliffs was a small palace built of wood and marble. There were shallow reliefs displayed on the passage walls that showed the many legendary events that had occurred from the time of the space ship’s ‘holy descent’ up to the founding of Mephius. Because they were decorated with many types of jewels, shadows wriggled to and fro whenever it was lit up by the fire from the iron braziers, making it look like it was alive and breathing.

And, the spacious open hall that lay even deeper inside had gathered a huge crowd of ladies and gentlemen. Although it was inside of the cliff, there was plenty of light, and the sparkling lights of hoisted glass scattered all over the place.

A group of master musicians had taken up place in the corner and played various songs, from old-style up to the currently popular high-tempo music, depending on the request. Several people began to improvise their dancing, and the laughter here and there didn't cease.

“Prince,” someone called out to him.

“Your Highness, congratulations.”

“Prince Gil!”

“Congratulations on your wedding.”

All the people mingled together, although they called him ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince Gil’, and greeted him with smiles. Orba did exactly what he was taught when he was faced with them, giving a generous smile and slightly raising his hand in response.

Fedom was walking perfectly close to Orba.

“Listen, Orba,” Fedom had said that morning, when he came to pick up Orba by coach. A tense air of a warrior ready to fight a battle to the death drifted around him.

“Naturally, the people attending the party from the Garberan side, but even those from Mephian side, have not been informed about your true identity. After all, I don’t know from where such information might get leaked. But the behavior and such of the imperial family is not something you can master within three days or so after all. You don’t do anything. You don’t think anything. You don’t look at anything. You move when I tell you to and talk when I tell you to. That’s all. Understand?”

Despite all, he felt like his body was in no way accustomed to his manner of walking. It felt to him as if it was hard to walk, even compared to having his feet in chains.

Above all, it was the people – the many people. They were dressed in such fine clothes his eyes were spinning, and not a single one was ignoring Orba. The ones that were nearby bowed, expressed their gratitude, or approached him with raised hands. And they all smiled, mouthing the word ‘congratulations’.

The ones in the distance pointed at Orba. Huddling together and chatting amongst each other as they stared at him.

No – it wasn’t about Orba. The person they saw in their eyes and greeted with their voice was not Orba. He understood as much. Although he’d known this for no more than three days, he still found it impossible to imagine himself as the crown prince.

Orba suddenly forgot even how to walk and was hardly able to return his greetings to one of his retainers. However, they only passed it off as a charming sight, apparently thinking the tension was caused because he was about to have his first meeting with his bride.

“Throw your chest out a little more,” Fedom obstinately whispered into his ear. “Aren’t you a gladiator? How can you be scared of a place like this?”

He wanted to call him a shithead, but could not, and the more he became aware of his awkward manner of walking, the more his face continued to cramp up. Far from having prince-like behavior, Orba hadn’t even gotten used to his real face after removing the iron mask.

He quickly turned his look to the table where there was so much food lined up that, no matter how many people were in this hall, they definitely wouldn’t be able to eat it all. To make matters worse, not a single plate was left empty, for if even a single empty plate stood out, it immediately got replaced by one fully loaded with cuisine.

If he would reach out to take an armful, it would probably be worth more than a sword-slave’s yearly amount of food. When he was a child he wasn’t able to see the shining colorful fruits hanging from the eaves, or have the fragrant aroma of grilled meat stimulating his appetite, unless they’d finished a very big job. But although it was only a small amount, even that was nothing compared to the mountain of high-priced foods piled up before him.

''Were the ones who eat these things every day the ones that burned down my village?''

Even thinking of it now, he couldn’t help but remember, as the Mephian noble families were carved in his heart as the target for his hatred for a long time,

''Our people were just able to manage our harvest for the year, but they took away the small amount of provisions we had left in stock, burned it down, and also went ahead and killed people…''

Orba tightly clenched his fist underneath the long sleeves of his ceremonial clothes.

''With proud faces they claim that something like this wasted amount of eating, drinking, dancing, and laughing is civilization and the noble way of life. They’re looking down on my people, laughing at us.''

''You can all drop dead!''

''You sons of bitches are man-eating barbarians. I’m going to set this place on fire. You can roast in the flames for all I care! I’ll praise you for your noble pride if you can still laugh while your limbs are being devoured!''

A wave of anger passed over for a while, but immediately after the fever got to a high, only coldness remained.

''Not yet.''

Orba struggled to put a smile on his face as he arduously gritted his molars. He would eventually roast and kill them, but right here right now was not the time or place to make his move.

Right now, Orba couldn’t do anything. This situation of Fedom using him here as the prince’s body double happened so fast, but someday he’d eventually find an opportunity. Until then, in a sense to conserve his strength and as a means to obtain information, he had to do what Fedom told him to…

Then, it got noisier around him, and Orba, understanding from experience that the atmosphere in the hall had changed, also raised his head. Up to now, the wind of their gazes had been blowing only against Orba, but now there was a crack in the lid.*

A single girl made her appearance at the other side of the hall, and naturally she also attracted Orba’s eyes. Accompanied by an older woman, she gracefully came walking in with her pale face bent down.

“The third princess of Garbera,” Fedom whispered.

Although Orba had expected this, he still couldn’t hide his surprise.

''Isn’t she still just a kid?''

Those were the honest thoughts Orba had. Even the arms coming out of her sleeves were thin, but although it seemed like he was likely to break them off if he only grabbed them, for some reason she didn’t give off a frail impression at all. He even felt the breathtaking dignity, with her spine straightened up and her long hair swaying faintly along her figure as she walked.

The dress that she held up at the hem had hardly any exquisite embroidery or decorations, but the lack of articles did not hinder or make it plain. The pure white silk material actually emphasized even more of the purity of her youthful and innocent beauty, and her womanly sensuality.

“Princess Vileena Owell. Indeed, she’s currently your fiancée. Go and greet her soon. Don’t be coarse, but do not abase yourself either. You’re the prince of Mephius after all.”

=== Part 3 ===

Pulling back the hands of time a bit, there was Garbera’s Third Princess Vileena Owell on the other side.

As she headed along the passage through the cliffs, the same as with Orba, many different people were directing their gazes at her. There were some among them who gave deep lamenting sighs. Vileena, who was almost girlishly indifferent to them, was lending her ears to the music that the musicians played as she walked the way leading up to the hall.

“Well, I suppose they show at least some signs of civilization,” Theresia, walking next to her, said as she bowed her head in assent.

Feeling the same, Vileena also slightly tucked her jaw and nodded slightly. And then, she added with an afterthought,

“But, princess. Please be discreet with what you say. At most, call them something like ‘troglodyte apes bearing wisdom’ or ‘remnants of ogres that love to kill each other’.”

“As long as Theresia’s close to me,” Vileena laughed, “If it’s Mephius, a remote snowfield, or anywhere, I’ll surely never get bored.”

Theresia, who had been close to her since she was born, had always acted as her guardian. Although her hair was beginning to get mixed with white, if she was in high spirits, she could also use this kind of dangerous jokes.

When they entered the hall, Vileena gave a tactful smile as several nobles of the Mephius Empire approached in order to greet her, and Theresia took an obligatory step backward, nestling up behind her mistress.

Although it was of course not the first time for her to exchange words with the Mephian nobility, it had always been of a belligerent nature. So the shallow manner at which they forcibly put on the air of cultured people sickened her. When the nobles took their leave, Vileena lethargically relaxed her shoulders.

“Even so, they seem to want strangely traditional types for their women. When the first delegation that did the marriage proposal mentioned my pleasure in riding airships, their eyes all became, well, big and round. In Mephius, they’re not allowed to ride horses or dragons, and it seems women can’t wear clothes that don’t cover their legs either.”

“Well, then I’m sure the princess looks quite manly to them. I feel sorry for your partner, Prince Gil of Mephius. They value ‘pride and history’ among the imperial family, but they must accept that Garbera’s tomboy princess – the person who will stand next to the heir of their imperial throne – must be made an empress of all people.”

“It’s mutual, we’re two of a kind,” Vileena said, giving a laugh that held no joy, as she fixed her hair ornament with her hand. “I may be such a manly tomboy, but the partner I have to keep company is the first prince Gil Mephius, of the Mephius Empire. I have never heard a single good word about him. Even though their delegation spoke well of him, trying to glorify their prince with frantic flattery, it was nothing but a pitiable sight. Because whatever they said sounded hypocritical to the ears, and because it looked like they didn’t believe any of it themselves.”

Gil Mephius. Although now a youth of seventeen, he was the first heir to the imperial throne, slated to take over the Mephius Empire. This person, who she’d only seen on portraits, was to be Vileena’s husband.

They would meet face to face for the first time now. And the next day, in accordance to the Mephian customs, the marriage ritual would be held on the altar atop the valley. Then, on the third day, they would head for the imperial capital of Mephius, where a grand reception was going to be held.

It wasn’t only the marriage that would be consummated. More importantly, with this, the peace and alliance between Mephius and Garbera would be established. The battles that had been flourishing over the span of ten years would finally come to an end.

Of course, even Vileena longed for that, but there weren’t any good rumours at all relating to the imperial prince that would be her partner. They said he was a coward, not even close to his father – the current emperor, Guhl Mephius – that he hung around with his young friends, partying about night after night, and that he exhibited some eccentric habits.

“They say he’s a ''fool'',” Vileena had declared in front of her father when he’d told her about the engagement.

Originally, a man named Ryucown was to be her fiancé. He was a general with an air carrier under his command. He had dauntless courage and was given credit for performing a most distinguished service in the war against Mephius. And so, his betrothal with the third princess Vileena had been decided during the times of war.

Vileena had also met the person in question. Although, frankly, their first encounter was something so dramatic that even now it was talked about in the country, she was only nine years old back then. When they met again four years later, when their engagement had been arranged, Vileena did not have a proper impression of what kind of man he was supposed to be.

And so, when they met again, Ryucown was an unbelievably shy person, compared to the fierce success stories from the battlefield. He couldn’t think of one story to tell the kingdom’s princess, and his smile, as if making a mockery of himself, was awkward. She didn’t know whether to like him or to hate him. Only that it seemed a suitable argument that their marriage would be for the sake of the whole nation.

However, for several months the war front had fallen into a stalemate. Mephius and Garbera were secretly making progress on peace negotiations. And only two months ago, they decided on betrothing the Crown Prince Gil and Princess Vileena.

Vileena held mixed feelings about it. For over ten years they’d fought with Mephius, and she knew from experience how much it had exhausted the soldiers and their people. Some citizens and local lords had appealed for a resistance to the bitter end but, although there were also some knights among them, they were a minority.

Vileena’s father, Ainn Owell the Second, didn’t have Guhl Mephius’s bold personality. In front of his daughter, he only said the single word, “Please.” Vileena had only replied with, “I accept.” But she’d known her mother and Theresia were quietly wiping their tears behind her back.

Then, a few days ago, feeling as though her mind and body were being split apart, she went to her favourite grandfather, Jeorg Owell, to say her goodbyes. The proud, commanding princess, who loved horse-riding and airships, whom he even permitted to handle a gun, and who never compromised, had become like a little child in front of her grandfather. She wanted to be forever lifted onto his lap and lean her body against him, so she could listen to the heroic stories he’d always told her.

However, that had been completely brushed aside, and she had to come to this place.

No, one could say it was good that she could protect the memories of her grandfather like this. It was for her country, for her father, and for her grandfather. For them, she had marched into the enemy territory with the fighting spirit of a knight.

''Enemy territory.''

Indeed, this was the enemy. Until just recently, this was the country they’d crossed swords with. Vileena was within that enemy’s territory.

They had killed many people, some of whom she’d even known by face. And of course the opponent thought much of the same thing, but Vileena was not yet mature enough to let bygones be bygones.

“We’ve arrived.”

When Theresia gently whispered into her ear, Vileena calmed down. There were many people of the Mephian nobility staring in their direction. In the middle, stood a young man, wearing white ceremonial clothes.

“That’s Mephius’s First Prince, Gil Mephius.”

“Yes,” Vileena said.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 149.jpg|thumb]]

Her cheeks were womanly pure, but she was still tense.

The other party also seemed to have noticed, and the fat noble at the prince’s side whispered something in his ear. After that, he approached them with a nervous look on his face.

At a glance, Prince Gil didn’t look like the feeble-minded man the rumours made him out to be. He had a slender face, but it looked like his body figure was unexpectedly sturdy. If he only proudly threw out his chest, he would look like a fearless, handsome man. However,

''That attending noble is sticking so close to him, it’s almost as if he has to lead him by the hand. Is he still just a kid?''

Of course, she didn’t have the slightest idea that he just had the same first impression of her. But to make matters worse, the prince didn’t seem to be able to calm down. His eyes wandered here, his eyes wandered there, as if he was indeed a lost child looking for his parents.

While Vileena was having her tendency to gaze at the other person as if fully appraising him, she received a stealthy elbow from Theresia, and hurriedly corrected her expression.

The prince halted his feet before Vileena’s presence. Vileena lowered her head, as expected of courtesy, and waited for his greeting. However, she clearly heard a single clearing of the throat, and it didn’t sound as if it came from the prince. The fat noble from earlier whispered in a low voice again, and it sounded like he instructed him how to greet her.

At such an occasion, it were the lady’s manners to pretend not to notice, of course, and at least not to make an embarrassment out of him, when meeting her marriage partner for the first time, and not just with the two of them.

“Pleased to meet you for the first time, Prince,” she said.

Theresia opened her mouth in surprise. Unconcerned, Vileena lightly picked up the hem of her dress with both hands and bowed before him.

“I am the daughter of King Ainn Owell the Second of Garbera, Third Princess Vileena. From here on, I’d love to be better acquainted.”

“Ah, yes.”

It was the first thing the prince said. And then he hesitantly, and in a small voice, introduced himself, with his words being more faltering than any kind of greeting Vileena had ever heard.

''Will this man become my husband?''

She had trained her smile, while painstakingly maintaining the slight inclination of her head, extra hard for this day, only to be seen as ‘modest’. An anger gushed forth within Vileena’s heart.

''But on the other hand,''

A colour of intense emotions began to flicker in her slightly lowered eyes.

''If he’s a man like that, I might possibly be able to bend him to my will.''

If she was able to manipulate the crown prince, she could eventually be the one pulling the strings in this country.

''It’s just like grandfather said. This too, is a battle. Without shedding blood, and without taking someone’s life.''

If it was possible to make him do her will, it might be more profitable to her homeland Garbera than if they’d won the war. Although this was far from a fight with airships or guns, which were her speciality, and she would have to fight in a field that she considered her weak point, Vileena believed that, if she was strongly committed to gain victory, she would certainly find a way.

Although this proved Vileena didn’t recognize herself that she would actually be fighting a ‘woman’s battle’, just like she couldn’t see the difference between this and a gunfire exchange, at that moment, there was only one emotion burning fiercely within her.

At that time, Theresia, who had been with her since she was a child, was probably the only one who had realized that the meaning behind the smile on Vileena’s face had changed. Not knowing the woman who would become his bride hid such frightening ideas within her, Prince Gil of Mephius, still filled with a look of tension, continued talking about irrelevant things.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter4|Chapter 4]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter1

2014-10-05T01:15:51Z

98.22.74.156: /* Part 2 */

==Chapter 1: Iron and Blood==

=== Part 1 ===

The outcome was decided.

The amphitheater of Ba Roux shook. The many spectators that were crowded together unanimously shouted out the victor’s name and stamped their feet, creating a racket that sounded much like a tidal wave.

While the winner was being bathed in the passionate and boisterous cheers, the one who had received the opposite fate lay motionless besides his feet. Eventually, the loser’s headless body was struck with a hook and dragged away by the hands of two slaves.

The sun was still glaring even though it was near evening. The spectators’ faces were covered with sweat and glittering brightly, as if someone smeared them with oil, and their eyes, too, were sparkling with bloodlust, as they anticipated the next fight to be yet another battle to the death. Whoever just won or lost didn’t stay on their minds for long. It was only the heat of battle that left an everlasting taste, stood in the air, and kept whirling around the arena.

“Go, go!”

“Do it, kill!”

Today was another success. Because the more virtuous people living in the city, for whom the admission fees were no more than about a child’s weekly allowance, were able to watch the games, over a thousand spectators were gathered.

The next match was a cavalry battle. Both men were armed with spears, emerging from the east and west gates, and crossed each other at a great speed. At the second charge, one of the men got flung off of his mount and, as he scrambled to get up again, the other swiftly jumped off his own horse to give the finishing blow.

Up next were two barely clothed men, who started to grapple each other with their bare hands.

They were sword-slaves, or so-called gladiators. In compensation for doing these public, life-threatening battles, these people were granted a few days of their lives and the minimum amount of food required to get by. Some of them were already born as slaves, some had been thrown into the arena for committing crimes, and there were even those who had personally applied to cast themselves into this living hell.

But if gladiators got well-known enough to become veterans, they received a different kind of popularity from the crowd. One of them, named Shique, was a handsome gladiator who was popular among women and had just won the brawling match. He was strangely pretentious, bowing in a way much like a nobleman would, and notably, shrill voices rose from the crowd.

“Did you see that, brother? Shique just won!”
<ref> She actually calls him お義兄様 ‘ogikei-sama’, which, in this case, means he’s her step-brother. However, she pronounces it as ‘onii-sama’.</ref>

It was the voice of a girl yet in the more tender years of age, who was sitting in one of the grandstands among the front row seats. High pillars, which rose from the corners in the left and right, supported a roof that covered the stand. Only those who were able to pay a large sum of money were able to view the match from these special seats.

From the looks of it, the young man resting his chin on his hands next to her, whom she called ‘brother’, seemed to be dissatisfied. With a long cloth wrapped around his head, the ends dangling from both the left and right just like a believer of Badyne, it looked like he was concealing his face from the glances of people around him.

“Ahh, it is as you say,” he said. “The gladiator you had your eye on won. Now, isn’t that enough? Can we hurry and get something to eat? This place is giving me a headache.”

"But it is only beginning, is it not? Did the smell of blood sicken you? You, the successor of the lands of Mephius?"

“Watch your mouth.”

Not at all worried about the youth’s clear jumpiness, the girl gave a fickle laugh.

The next fight had already started, so the young man was forced to stay after all and rested his cheeks on his hands again with a bitter look on his face. How much blood had to be splattered around, and how many sweaty muscles did she have to see before getting tired of it?

He occasionally stole a sidelong glance at the young girl’s white skin and beautiful face. She had an innocence that matched her age, but a strange sensual and mature beauty as well – it was a view much more charming than that of the savage fight below.

Then, after about two battles, a new stage was being set in the arena. One huge stake got established in the centr, and a single woman was fastened to the top. She was a beautiful woman. Purposely made to wear torn clothes, each time she writhed in pain, her breasts and thighs swayed about while whistles came from the heated male audience.

However, the woman was in no position to be bothered with their obscene looks, for at the same time the stake got put up, a big cage with approximately the same height was carried in.

Inside was a raging beast that was roughly seven or eight meters long. Its slimy, green scales were flickering in the sunlight. It was a large dragon. Bred through repeated selective breeding by humans, it was of a variety called ‘Sozos’ that Mephius also used in wars.

Its clenched, humongous teeth, and each of its claws extending from six legs, were just like sharp swords. Probably because it was drugged, it seemed to have a somewhat repressed ferociousness and dulled instincts, but being hit by that bulk would nevertheless cause serious injuries, and it looked like it could blow away the steel cage like a toy.

“Now then! Gathered ladies and gentlemen!”

Suddenly an orator standing on an elevation began to speak over a loudspeaker, eager to finish his speech before the beast broke out.

“Next, is the start of our program. The great dragons once roamed the earth and have likely established our culture, now they are no more than this bloodthirsty, simple beast we look down on. There is no need to fear. We are the brave souls, the purest of minds, that took over from an era of space voyage. Not even by the dragon’s tusks and claws – not to mention its fearsome, terrible breath! – will we be outdone. Please, take a look at the evidence. Behold the figures of these brave men who challenge this dragon of old, this beast of a terrifying false god!”

From the eastern gate, a single gladiator stepped forward. In the man’s hands, who sported a muscular body, was an iron ball connected to a chain.

“Ballchain Verne!”

The audience’s cheers became even louder, for he was a gladiator who could pride himself in being one of the most famous fighters in Ba Roux. The man was about in his mid-thirties with dark skin, and he responded by waving a hand to the ladies and gentlemen in the audience. Then,

“It’s the Tiger!”

“Look, Iron Tiger Orba!”

A swordsman, also alone, walked out, but from the western gate.

"How eccentric," the young man commented on the steel blue mask that was covering gladiator’s face. As if imitating a tiger, small fangs protruded up from the lips, leaving only a small space for the mouth of this man named Orba underneath. Cut out into two splits were openings where the tiger’s eyes would’ve been, but naturally it was only Orba’s eyes peeking through. And, despite a tiger normally having rounded ears, the mask had pointed ends at both sides instead – it was almost as if horns were coming out from the corners.

However, that was all; he had no other outstanding character features. In comparison with Verne, he had an almost feeble body build, and he only held a simple, common longsword in his hand.

The spectators started ridiculing him, saying,

“Look at his thin body. Just one hit of the ballchain will completely smash him up!”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 022.jpg|thumb]]

“They say he took off Meier the Baron’s head at the Arena of Tidan after only two strikes. Let’s see him do the same to our Verne. Go on then!”

“This Iron Tiger Orba,” the girl said, as her cheeks blushed with excitement. “Isn’t this his first appearance in Ba Roux? But he seems to be famous. Do you know of him, brother?”

“How should I know?”

“My, what a cold reply. Fine, if you’re so bored with being here, why don’t we have a little bet on this game? Maybe it’ll end up getting you a little interested.”

“A wager, is it? For what, and how?”

“Simple. Of those two about to fight, who do you expect to win?”

“That’s stupid. How’s that even a bet? Even I know the name of that Verne guy. And his physique is way better. Even an amateur can see that. You're just trying to rip me off, betting on the clear victor yourself, aren't you?”

“My, you’re a difficult customer! But that’s fine. You can just sulk away like that as long as you like. And I even thought of bringing you along so you could have a little distraction. But I got it, I understand – you hate spending time with Ineli. If that’s the case, I will never invite you again, don’t worry!”

The girl stiffly turned away her face, as the young man panickingly stopped resting his chin on his hands.

“W-Wait. I was wrong,” he said. “I’ll bet on that masked swordsman. That’s what you want, right?”

“No. Ineli decided to bet on that swordsman first. You can take Ballchain Verne, brother.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I like him.”

''Even though you can't see his face?'' – was what the young man was about to say, but he stopped himself in time. He couldn’t afford to displease her even more.

“Now then,” the orator said, raising his voice again. “Will Orba or will Verne take up the role of the hero and set that woman free? Or will these rivals be fighting in vain, as the cage breaks and this poor, beautiful lady ends up in the dragon’s stomach?”

From there on, the two swordsmen would battle, and the winner would rescue the woman – or, as the orator stated, ‘a certain princess from a ruined country’ – from the dragon’s clutches, and also earn a night of love-making. Or so the scene was set out to be.

The two men both stepped forward at the same time. As they approached each other, the lack in Orba’s physique became all the more apparent. Verne spoke in a voice that could be heard by those in the front row seats.

“So, you call yourself a tiger, huh? I’ve heard your name. But, there’s nothing more unreliable than a rumor. You can try to hide your face, but I can see the skin underneath. You’re still young, just a kid.”

Ballchain Verne’s thick lips, in proportion to the rest of him, bent into a smile.

“I’m sure the mask is just a bluff so people won’t make fun of you. You’re not a tiger, you’re just a mangy cur! I’ll teach you what a real man’s battle truly is all about!”

Facing Verne, who was loudly laughing at his shoulders, Orba didn’t reply. Probably assuming his nerves were blown away, Verne gave a sneering look, took up a defensive stance, and slung the ballchain over his shoulder.


“Start!”

There was a pointed signalling voice, but it halfway disappeared into the further increasing sound of the audience’s cheers. In an instant, Verne made his move.

He wielded the iron ballchain with all his strength. At first, the masked swordsman was about to rush in, but, as if panicked by his sheer force, he quickly stepped back. There was a small spark as the iron ball chafed against the mask. It was enough for Verne to take pursuit of the stumbling Orba. The huge iron ball, which was much larger than a human head, approached with the howling of the wind, and Orba continued to avoid it by stepping back.

He rolled over the ground, excessively jumped aside, and finally bustled about by making an evasive gesture – which invited laughter from the spectators.

“Look at that, it seems the swordsman you like can’t get out of a tight spot,” the same young man said. “Or could it be that this fight isn't so fair and square?”

“You think?” the girl said, looking straight ahead as she put a finger to her plump and florid lips. “If that’s so, then why hasn’t the match ended yet?”

“That’s because his opponent keeps pitifully running from place to place.”

“I wonder why Verne can’t corner an opponent who so clumsily keeps running away.”

The young man wanted to say something in return but kept his mouth shut. As he watched, he noticed that Orba wasn’t outright retreating, but kept circling around his opponent while maintaining a fixed distance. And it looked like Verne was no longer able to attack and pursue his opponent so hastily either.

Probably because he lost his temper, Verne put all of his strength into tossing another blow. The iron ball flew past Orba’s shoulder and – although it seemed obvious to the bystanders that this was like a golden opportunity – he only returned a slight thrust with his sword, while once again taking his distance.

“Get serious!”

“Stop messing around!”

The audience stopped laughing and started jeering down at the arena. Not only at Orba, but also at Verne who didn’t seem able to take down his constantly fleeing opponent.

“You bastard!” Verne howled.

When he tried to rush at Orba diagonally, the girl suddenly raised her voice, “Ah!”, in surprise.

Orba, who had until now only retreated backwards, suddenly started to pitch forward. Stopping in his tracks, Verne, too, took the opportunity to strike another blow.

Orba tilted his body wide to the right, avoiding the iron ball and, as he rotated on his left toe, flashed his sword in a diagonal uppercut. The moment the chain got cut apart, a strange, clear sound echoed throughout the arena, then Orba twisted his body again and swung his sword downward with the force of a thunderbolt.

Verne’s cranium was split in two and the giant collapsed soon after.

“M-Magnificent!” the orator cried.

However, because it had happened so swiftly and came with such an unexpected conclusion, the audience was looking rather flabbergasted. Although the awkward silence wrapped around the arena, the victor didn’t seem to care either way and headed up to the stake, and, borrowing the hands of a number of slaves to lift it from the ground, used his sword to cut the ropes that kept the woman bound.

With a shout of delight, she joyfully clung onto his neck, only to be pushed away with a confused look on her face as Orba immediately started to return to his gate.

The girl in the special seat – she had also been staring agape at the sudden fall of the curtain – slowly began to form her lips into a smile. That gladiator named Orba didn’t seem aware of the audience at all. As if stating the only reason he was here today was to fight, and to kill as he was told.

“He… took out Verne.”

“With one blow.”

After that moment of silence, voices praising Orba began to raise little by little. Now that the mood had grown uneasy for the visitors, slowly the clapping of hands, the awkward stamping of feet, and cheers appropriate for a victor started to fill the stands. Then, almost at the instant the arena had returned to the state it was supposed to be in, the air shook heavily.

It was the roar of the Sozos Dragon.

It might have been the drug wearing off, or an instinctive reaction to the smell of blood, but all of a sudden it started swaying its enormous body from right to left, shattering a portion of its cage. One of the slaves who’d been in the process of towing everything away, was caught and raised from the head by the dragon’s claw. Before he could resist, his torso disappeared into the Sozos’ mouth.

There was the sound of breaking bones. And at the same time as the awful sound of salivated chewing could be heard, the arena grounds were suddenly filled with screams. In the midst of all the fear and panic that rapidly swept over the area, the Sozos rather calmly stretched out its limbs further and emerged from the broken cage.

Being pulled along into the crowd that strived to be the first to escape, the young man from earlier almost fell to the floor. But then, he was pulled along by a hand from the side.

“This way. Hurry!”

It was one of the soldiers who’d been guarding the special seats. As he rattled around with a sword and gun, he tried to bring the young man back inside.

“W-Wait. Ineli’s…”

Although he tried to resist, he couldn’t move freely as he kept being jostled by the crowd of people trying to escape. Then, he heard a suspiciously familiar, high-pitched scream. Right in front of the Sozos’ forepaws beyond the dividing wall, was a figure that belonged to no one other than Ineli. The girl had turned a pale color as she had tumbled over from the gallery, and it looked like she was about to lose consciousness any minute.

The dragon’s long snout opened from top to bottom. As the rows of tusks, similar to sharp pointed swords, opened up, they formed long threads of slaver. The young man was about to involuntarily avert his eyes, when a thin streak of blood spouted from the Sozos’ neck. The gladiator arena’s employed guards had rushed in with guns. However, because they were close to the seats, they could only shoot at point-blank range, and from the way they stood, they hardly had the nerve. While they were conflicted at what to do while it approached, the Sozos turned around quickly and hit them with a single blow of its tail, fully sending several people flying.

The girl had sank down to the floor, her eyes opened wide looking at her surroundings.

Then, from those eyes, she saw.

There was a shadow that ran past the Sozos’ flank like a gust of wind. Just before it came up against the brick wall that divided the seats from the ring, the shadow kicked against it and soared up into the air. A man with a tiger-imitating iron mask jumped into the girl’s sight, the figure of Orba the gladiator landing on top of the Sozos’ head.

Even though she had just witnessed him running up to the Sozos from behind while the dragon was distracted by bullets, she couldn’t suddenly believe it.

Despite Orba’s slim body, his joints and muscles seemed to fortify his arms like steel as he grabbed a firm hold of the dragon’s neck. While further sandwiching its neck between his legs, he held on tight with one arm and, with his other, brought his sword down into the head.

It swung its long tail around and rocked the ground by stamping its feet, but the dragon still struggled, not able to shake off the gladiator. It shook off a second strike. But the third tore through its scales, as tough as iron armor, and pieces of flesh and blood got splattered about. However, the sword broke when it came to the fourth strike, but at that time the other gladiators rushed in.

“Orba!”

Receiving a thrown sword from a brown-skinned swordsman, Orba once again raised it for a fifth attack, following the exact same process as earlier, until he fully caved the middle of the blade into the crown of the dragon’s head.

Its golden eyes goggled longingly at the skies. Just before its huge body sunk from the neck, the swordsman had swooped down next to the guest seats.

The girl, still kneeling on the floor, was looking up at him. It was almost as if he came from a tale, for she felt like a princess caught by an evil wizard, and although she fixed her eyes on him with a throbbing heart, of all things, the would-be-hero gladiator continued his walk, completely ignoring her, and nimbly jumped off the dividing wall and back into the ring.

There was still a cloud of chaotic fear hanging over the arena as he showed her his back and took his leave, but rather than drifting the air of a victor, he looked more like a solitary figure that could hardly endure the stares on him.

“A-Are you okay?”

She turned her eyes to the young man she had brought with her, who came running up to her with bated breath, and suddenly got an odd sensation. She had only seen it with a passing glance earlier, but the eyes underneath that swordsman’s mask seemed to closely resemble those of the young man.

And there was yet another man who focused a long look at Orba’s back, surprised for another reason.

“No way, he is alive.”

He wiped the sweat from his slightly slacking chin with the back of his hand. Standing behind the young man’s back - he was also one of the men who’d been at the special seats - he was speaking to himself in wonder as the unique smell of blood drifted about.

“Orba was his name? Two years... Two entire years, huh.”

=== Part 2 ===

“Two years.”

The gladiator, Orba, staring up at the darkness surrounding him, suddenly murmured those words in his mouth.
Although only ‘two years’ into this line of work, it had been full of hardships, blood, and corpses. How many times had he struggled for his life only to have both his feet chained at the end, spend the night in the slave pens where his only pastime was to train all morning in order to keep living as a sword-slave? And then there would be another fight.

No one, except Orba himself, expected him to be able to live through more than five battles. Two years ago when Orba first set foot in the arena, he’d still been fourteen years old. His body had been even thinner than it was now, and he’d hardly been able to handle the weapons.

However, at the moment of truth, he’d survived. He brandished the weapon held in his hands, chosen from one of the few weapons he was able to wield, to the limits of his power. He only knew how to fight by recklessly charging in. As he gained experience, his skill, the thickness of each of his muscle fibers, the mastery of new weapons, as well as the opponent’s corpses he stepped over, increased every time he emerged from another fight.

And so, two years passed. Orba didn’t know whether that was a long or a short time. Sometimes, he thought he was a considerably old person, but he also felt like a youngster at times who still didn’t know anything at all about battles.

Anyway, maybe it simply had to do with the fact, that he had not been blessed with the opportunity to see his own face. Lying face up, he was still wearing the same iron mask he wore in the battle ring. Because it had never been removed those two years, the other sword-slaves belonging to the same Tarkas Gladiatorial Group had no way of knowing his true face.

“Get up, slaves! You hate wakin’ up? Then get ready for your worst day yet!”

When morning came, another day for the slaves began. The one in charge of training the sword-slaves, and the slaves’ main supervisor, was Gowen, who drove everyone from their bedrooms and made them start cleaning the accommodations.

When that was finished, taking care of the lions, serpents, boars, tigers and the like – the animals that were used in the arena – was waiting. In particular, taking care of the dragons was hard work. Even taking care of the small- and medium-sized dragons was too much for a single person to handle, but taking care of the large-sized Sozos dragons was far worse. While it was expected for slaves to die by the sword, many had also been crushed underfoot by these dragons that were purposefully trained not to grow accustomed to humans.

Orba set foot in the vast dragon’s abode, which was much larger than the slaves’ dwellings – far from it – and resembled a castle courtyard, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the back of a woman.

She was Hou Ran. Of all the other slaves ordered to feed the dragons, she was the only one who directly touched the dragons’ scales. Of course, the dragons’ legs and necks were wrapped in chains, as it was not necessary to carry out yesterday’s example, but that was by no means an absolute guarantee. At a distance that would even cause a gladiator to hesitate, greeting each dragon one by one, she gently touched their scales with her fingers.

“Orba.”

Calling out his name, she quickly turned around.

“So I’ve been found out.”

“I’ve been told by the ‘voice’ of the dragons.”

Ran smiled. She seemed truly unsuitable in an all-men, not to mention savage, sword-slave detention camp, and Orba still hadn’t gotten used to her defenseless smile.

Her skin like polished ebony, combined with hair that seemed to have turned pale, gave off a mysterious charm. Originating from the Dragon God worshiping nomads that roamed in the western mountains of Mephius, unlike her primarily reclusive kin, Ran had exceptionally been brimming with curiosity, secretly boarded one of her tribe’s caravan wagons and came over to the outside world. Because she never told him exactly what had happened after that, he did not know when Tarkas hired her, and how she could take care of the dragons single-handedly like this.

“Do these guys know my name?”

“Their ‘voices’ come like images into my head. They all know your face, Orba. You’re liked by the dragons.”

While it appeared idiotic, in fact, it seemed like her pupils, clearly giving the impression of being deep under the sea, held some kind of intelligence lost to civilized men. From the other side of the fence, the small-type dragons were poking out their snouts and snapping at him.

“It doesn’t look that way,” Orba said with a thin smile.

At the time Orba turned up two years ago, Hou Ran was already at the detention camp. Back then, although she didn’t make direct eye contact with the others employed by Tarkas, she didn’t even open her mouth to him. Whether they would see Orba’s face or hear Ran’s voice first, soon became the target of bets among the sword slaves short of entertainment.

But, one time, Ran was about to be roughed up by several new sword-slaves who’d recently come into the camp. Orba just happened to pass by and had beaten them up, and ever since then Ran had at least been able to speak to him a bit.

“I heard you were attacked by a Sozos at Ba Roux.”

“''I'' was the one who attacked the Sozos,” he emphasized. “It suddenly started getting violent.”

“Even with drugs, it’s useless to imprison its heart by force. If I had been the one supervising it, such a thing would have never happened.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 035.jpg|thumb]]

She bit her lips, but it was not because she was concerned about Orba or the visitors. With the figure of a girl patting the nape of a medium-sized Baian dragon in the corner of his eye, Orba finished his own work and left the dragon’s abode behind him.

After feeding the animals and cleaning was done, it was time to tend to their weapons. Because they left their own lives in their care, they carefully did them one by one. Whenever they handled weapons, about ten guards in full armor acted as supervisors. Naturally, they were there to make sure none of the sword-slaves tried to revolt.

Then, after finishing a meal with a sorry amount of bread and soup – the survivors of yesterday’s gladiator matches were treated to meat and fruit as a reward – they each began their training at the start of noon. Just like when they’d been tending the weapons, there were armed soldiers on the lookout, but this time, the chains that connected both feet were taken off.

Sword-slaves that lasted over two years like Orba were extremely rare. Lives were lost one after another, and new faces always appeared again on the next day. Gowen tirelessly taught them the step work of how to hold a sword or how to handle a gun, and trained them thoroughly until they were fully prepared.

Orba also had some of the newcomers as opponents. Sometimes they clashed swords, just like in an actual fight, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to part with a limb or lose his life in the midst of training..

Today, there weren’t any casualties. But that did not have to mean they were lucky. The next day may hold an even more miserable fate, and grislier deaths may be awaiting for these gladiators.

When all the faces of the sword-slaves had turned dark, their skin wet with sweat and covered in dust, Orba moved to the fence separating the training grounds from an aisle on the other side and caught sight of Tarkas’s figure.

Saying “At ease!” at the newcomer, Orba rushed up towards him.

Also noticing the masked man, Tarkas stopped in his tracks. There was a feeling of distrust slipping through his sagged cheeks.

“What is it, Iron Tiger? Ahh… good job yesterday.” He had a look on his face as if he just now remembered he forgot to feed his pet dog. “Verne was quickly becoming a well-known gladiator. The other gladiator troupe started talking about wanting to pit him against you. ‘Can’t we earn back all the money we invested in Verne that way?’ – don’t try that sarcastic bullshit on me. Well, I suppose I feel a bit grateful as well. And killing that Sozos—”

“Tarkas, how much longer do I have to continue winning?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s been two years already. I’ve kept winning all the time. How many times do I have to be the ‘main event’ like yesterday. Isn’t it about time you take these chains off of my feet?”

Sword-slaves, all of them, were each exchanged on a contract when bought by a merchant. Although Tarkas seemed to handle it quite vaguely.

“Don’t think I can’t read. Even a slave should have the right to look into my contract. I’ve been waiting here, Tarkas. I should’ve been allowed to leave a long time ago.”

As Orba spoke right in front of him, Tarkas sharply put a squinting look in his eyes.

“So, where do you plan to go? Surely you can be released from my hands, but you’ll still be a criminal. You don’t have the money to pay off your remaining prison term. Or maybe you want to work in the Tsaga Mines along the western border? Poisonous gases, wild man-eating beasts, human-hunting Geblin tribes, and – of course – extremely miserable and rigorous labor. If it’s the same hell, or if you think you may have it better off here, hurry up and get back to your training. And don’t ever speak to me like an equal, until you’ve become a full-fledged swordsman that earns his pay.”

Thrusting his thick finger in Orba’s face, Tarkas quickly took his leave, heading for his office. Behind him, unfamiliar faces followed suit. Considering this was a place where legs were tied up in chains, they were probably newly procured slaves.

Orba was silent. His eyes were teeming with rage however, but Tarkas’s words weren’t lies either. Concerning Mephian law, you can basically either sell your life or go to prison. Like the Mines of Tsaga that Tarkas spoke of – should he apply for the country’s public service, accompanied by dangers, and sell himself off as a slave there?

Grasping the fence tightly in his hands, he lost all sense of feeling in his fingers before he knew it, Orba remained there standing in place.

“What are you doing, Orba!? Get back here!”

After finally being rebuked by Gowen, he went back to practice. As always.

A few hours after that, after washing their bodies with a cupful of water, it was time for their second meal of the day. Orba, rounding up his body like a hunchback in the corner of the dining hall, was almost grasping at his food. As a habit, he couldn’t go through a meal without reading a book.

Then,

“Orba, good job yesterday.”

Another sword-slave, the one named Shique, nestled onto his back, and Orba roughly shook him off with his hand.

“That ballchain Verne chap. When the match was decided, I didn’t know what to do. If you seemed to get into a huge disadvantage, I considered shooting him down from the outside.”

“Go away. Unless you want me to wound that smug face of yours.”

“Ooh, scary. But I wouldn’t mind any wound you give me, for it’ll become a bond between me and you.”

Even though it was hard, despite Shique’s chuckling behavior, to make an accurate judgement on whether he was serious or making a joke, Orba didn’t socialize with him either way. The handsomely Shique had grown out his hair and even used make-up when it came to a gladiatorial battle. And just like that, because it seemed to further his degenerate good looks, he was tremendously popular among the female crowd. Even though the person himself was a self-styled, huge misogynist.

“However, I expected no less from you, Orba. Even without me lending you a hand, you managed to make a truly magnificent performance. Are you, both in name and reality, Tarkas’s top gladiator, I wonder?”

“I wouldn’t say it was magnificent.”

Gowen, the one in charge of training the gladiators, made his appearance. Although Orba showed plain the annoyance in his eyes as he sat down at the same table, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Although you did well, it’s a fact that it was also dangerous. When you broke in, your timing was still too hasty. It’s a bad habit of yours to take risks when you’re driven into a corner, only if even by a bit. You should spend more time putting an effort into ensuring your predominance. Although Verne was a brilliant swordsman, he wasn’t the type to target his opponent’s weak points. But a more observant opponent could easily see through your quick temper, and sweep you off your feet.”

He was a grey-haired man in his mid-fifties, but he still had a stout and tanned body, and the peering glances he gave the sword-slaves were filled with intensity.

“His opponent was that Verne, though. That guy was, curiously enough, in perfectly good shape,” a new voice called out, belonging to Tarkas Gladiatorial Group’s number one giant, Gilliam.

He had been in the same arena as Orba and Shique the day before, carrying a battle-ax on his shoulder, and with that the three strongest sword-slaves were gathered together. With long auburn hair in as much disorder as possible, his face, grinning with clenched teeth, had a look as intimidating as that of a wild lion.

“When I heard you had to go against Verne, I honestly thought you ran out of luck. Well, you don’t have bad skills. But, as usual, you still don’t know what it means to be a gladiator. It’s worthless if you win gracelessly. It won’t satisfy the guests. The way you carelessly kept running from place to place and then suddenly decided the match with one blow was just not entertaining at all. You’ve got to hit them up front.”

For someone like a sword-slave, it wasn’t just about winning the match. You had to be popular, in short, make sure that a lot of visitors come to see that gladiator alone. Plain gladiators, after finally having earned a pile of money, would be thrown before wild animals or dragons on their own, only to satisfy the sadistic tastes of their customers.

That was why the gladiators – every one of them – strove to hone their skills, and also tried to appeal to the audience with flashy personalities in order to survive. Some decorated their body with gaudy armors, some made a show out of dragging out their opponent’s heart after their demise, while others inked their bodies with mysterious tattoos.

As for Shique, he dramatically claimed to be ‘a descendant of an ancient royal dynasty’.

“This time, go against me, Orba. I’ll teach you what it is to fight for real.”

“Not interested.”

“Haha, are you afraid of me?”

“Oh, I am. I’m scared. So, get lost.”

“You bastard!”

As Orba continued eating his meal in his usual stooped behavior, Gilliam pushed him in the back.

“Stop it!” Gowen commanded.

If there was a disturbance, the soldiers belonging to the gladiatorial group would rush in, so for the time being Gilliam took his leave with a reddened face.

“Come to think of it, some strange newcomers have appeared,” Gowen said, after some time had passed, as if he suddenly remembered. It looked like he was talking about the ones Orba had seen too, trailing behind Tarkas back then.

“Strange? Like, with horns in their hair, and the bulge of a tail in the back of their pants?” a sword slave named Kain interfered.

He was a boy, the same age as Orba, who came to the detention facility a year ago and took after him. He wasn’t that great physically or with a sword, but he excelled in dexterity, especially when handling handguns or rifles.

“Or maybe a survivor from the Ryuujin<ref>Dragon people.</ref> Tribe, doesn’t that sound romantic?”

“Ryuujin, Geblin, or whatever type of person appears now, I probably wouldn’t even be surprised. This is a sword slave company after all, a trading place for all kinds of races.”

“It’s a much simpler story. I heard every last one of those guys hardly have any skill at the sword.”

“What…?”

Kain looked stretched out his arms, seemingly uninterested.

“I mostly can’t believe Tarkas would have bought a bunch of good-for-nothings without a grumpy face. But he seemed in an unusually good mood.”

“Oh?”

“Certainly. For a master like Tarkas, whose eyes are always dazzled by the shine of gold, it sounds really strange, right?”

“Good mood? That guy?” Orba said, remembering the situation with Tarkas during the day.

“I’ve known him longer than you. The only times I’ve seen Tarkas in a good mood was when he got the chance to earn a huge amount of money.”

“Then again, I wonder if it’s nobles who came to visit. About an exhibition match, or something like that. Those newcomers could’ve also been nobles who were asking to be bought. Or maybe they’re political offenders who opposed the Mephius Empire. Could there be a request for them to be gruesomely fed to dragons in public?”

“There’s a strange intensity to your words, because I can’t read your face.”

“Anyway, where’s the new book? It’s been three months since I’ve asked for it.”

Losing interest in the conversation, Orba inquired about something else. The other guys had all started raising different topics among themselves. By tomorrow, they were likely to fight as opponents even if they were gladiators working for the same firm. The idea of deepening a friendship more than necessary had never been in Orba’s mind from the start.

“Ahh, it’s been purchased. It’ll be here tomorrow. However… although it seems a little late to say this, you’re a bit unusual too. Of the guys here, even those that can read and write letters, I doubt they’ve ever read more than a hundred in their life.”

Plucking at a skin of chicken, Gowen glanced over at Orba.

“Sometimes, even I’m almost driven with the impulse to tear off that mask. What’s the true face that lies underneath? There are times I think you’re only a young wild brat, and there are times the cool-headedness of a man who has survived many battlefields peeks through. Yesterday was like that. You took the appropriate actions against a Sozos without flinching.”

“Are you praising me or not?”

“I’m praising you. Other than taking up a sword and fighting for yourself, you calmly consider the circumstances. Although I think you may actually be better suited as a leader, if not for that quick temper of yours. You like books about history and people, get absorbed reading them late into the night, and swallow their knowledge.”

When meeting him for the first time, basically from the time he was bought by the Tarkas company, Orba’s face had been covered by a mask. Ever since then, he hadn’t taken it off even once. Of course, everybody wanted to know why. They wanted to see his face. They wondered about his origins.

In the beginning, it worried Gowen that Orba met fists with them in response to their curiosity and suspicions. But when half a year had passed, he thought of the makeshift excuse that ‘a magician put a curse on it’ and after a year the teasing stopped, and soon nobody asked him about it anymore. Although some newcomers occasionally asked him about it, Orba was able to turn a blind eye.

“What do you gain from reading a book? At least, at the place where I was born and raised, you didn’t gain respect no matter how many books you owned.”

“It sounds like you’ve been raised by ape men or Geblin.”

“Watch your language, Orba. I think I’m especially kind to you considering the circumstances. If it doesn’t matter to you, I too can adopt that same attitude.”

Behaving like a man who couldn’t understand a joke was one of Gowen’s beloved habits. Orba revealed a stifled smile, but the deep-wrinkled sword-slave training official unexpectedly gave a serious look.

“As a sword-slave, normally, you only try your best to survive for the day. Some go back out into this corrupted world, but, because they can’t live without committing yet another crime, there are some people who are content being a sword-slave for the rest of their life, – although, for most, their ‘whole life’ would probably be very short – but, you’re different. You, at least, do not get absorbed in the killing and focus on the future. After that, I always think: Hey, what should I say to such a man? Should I tell him to throw away a future like that? When it’s only hard, even if you hold onto it with such devotion? Or should I tell him to seriously hold on to that hope? Because it will be the strength for him to live this through?”

“Did you secretly drink some alcohol, gramps? You’re talkative.”

“I’m being serious.”

Gowen stubbornly shook his head. Orba decided he had truly gotten drunk. Usually, Gowen wouldn’t have remained silent after being called ‘gramps’.

“Who is it that you fight for? The other sword-slaves, yourself, or do you have some other goal in mind?”

“I don’t know.”

Scuffing his words like a boy, Orba turned away his face. He didn’t want his inner feelings to be seen, where he was trembling like a child.

Finishing his meal, Orba quickly left the dining hall. Although the sword-slaves could walk about freely, there was nothing but the dining hall and the bedrooms at the detention camp. It was called a bedroom, but it wasn’t much different from a stable to keep livestock. As he lay down in a corner, Orba stared at his own hands.

It had been two years since then. Even today, he could remember it so well. And if he hadn’t confirmed it himself, those ‘two years’ would’ve been no more than a number. For two years, Orba had barely stayed alive, surrounded by the smell of blood, guts, and iron.

However, he killed, survived, did it all over again, and what was the point in all of that?

Orba turned over on the floor. He had already grown accustomed to the feel of his hard mask touching the ground. It was as Tarkas said. Even if he was freed from being a slave, he didn’t know more of how to live the ‘clever’ way of life, but it seemed that Gowen had misunderstood something – he was not waiting with hopes for a future like that. Supposing he did…

Under the thin shadow formed by fangs, Orba tightly gnashed his teeth.

''If I do live through this, then what do I do?''

It was decided. He was tired of doing things over and over in the arena, the massacres, the blood, the fights, killing each other. On the way back, he was never able to think of things like ‘it’s okay’ or ‘it’ll get easier’.

An inexplicable anger was stuck in the glitter of his eyes, on the other side of the mask.

''I’ll get it back. I’ll take it back. And for the ones who took it away from me, even though it is not enough, I will have them fully taste the pain of the agonizing cries from all the people I’ve killed these past two years.''

=== Part 3 ===

“So you were here, Orba.”

Roan suddenly showed his face.

Orba, who had been looking up at the night sky, rudely averted his eyes. As a punishment for neglecting to take care of the animals and play instead, his mother had taken away his supper, and now he was just outside the barn, sulking on his own. His face, as well as both knees he buried his face in, was full of scratches.

“Did you have another fight?”

“Not really.”

The quick-tempered Orba often quarrelled with the other children in the neighbourhood. Swinging around a wooden sword, he even went as far as the neighbouring village to pick fights. The villagers that caught sight of his figure, almost falling forward as he raced through the fields, half-jokingly said,

“Oh, Orba’s doing his best again,” as they waved their hands and watched over him.
Of course, after having his fights, his mother scolded him to no end.

“Why don’t you follow your brother’s example,” was what she would always say.

His older brother was able to do anything. In the old days, he looked through a single book their father brought back when coming from the city for several times, and from that alone he was able to memorize reading and writing letters by himself. He also learned how to do basic math at a very young age. Around the time he turned ten, after begging a merchant from the city to take him in as an assistant, he was also supporting his poor family’s living expenses.

Orba on the other hand, although he’d learned reading and writing letters from his older brother, was terrible at math, and above all, he didn’t know what to do with his boiling hot blood.

Almost every night, he spent sleepless hours staring at the ceiling. His blood was always screaming in the dark. After fist fights and such, the prickling pain of his injuries seemed to overflow with the hotter, more painful black blood from deeper inside, as if it would simply jump out into the open.

At those times, he’d jump to his feet and go outside. And he’d pick up his wooden sword that was leaning against the barn. No matter how many times it had been confiscated by his mother, he always made a new one from scratch. It wasn’t uncommon, either, for him to swing around his sword until the break of dawn.

“It’s okay if you get into fights,” Roan said, sitting down next to Orba. “But you have to help mother out properly. Working as a single woman is very hard. You know that too, right?”

Along the southern border of the Mephius Empire, was a place commonly known as Drought Valley. While a valley where the river had dried up was quite common terrain in Mephius, this poor village in barren lands, whose name was not even written down on any maps, was where Orba had grown up.

Orba didn’t have many memories of his father. He passed away when he was two or three. While he’d been engaged in additional construction work for the Apta Fortress that protected the border south of the village, his father had unluckily fallen victim to a cave-in while he’d been digging through the cliff. Cutting through the valley’s steep cliffs instead of creating houses or buildings was often the case in Mephius, and his father had been such a construction worker.

“Father was a man born only to dig a dark hole in the ground.”

He remembered that, one day, his mother had said those words in a tone that was neither complaining nor at grief. With that said, his mother too, was a person who had no pleasure in always working hard from morning till evening, every day. She ploughed the barren fields, sold native clothes and towels she made at the City of Apta once every month, and made the nearly tasteless stew for the young brothers every day without ever getting tired of it.

Orba too, also passed through life without change or colour, but his only pleasure was when his brother came back home for a break, two or three times a month, and brought along many different books.

Books written about the Old World where humankind once left its nest, books about Magic King Zodias, and, above all, historical novels with colourful illustrations or heroic stories, got Orba fully absorbed into them. Brave heroes swinging their swords to rescue a country full of dangers, beautiful maidens in thin clothes that were imprisoned in tall towers, vicious dragons revived from ancient ruins — things he’d never experience in a lifetime and the many dazzling adventures in those worlds made Orba engrossed, and whenever he closed a book, being back in that small, miserable reality surrounding him only made him despair.

He longed for the olden days, like the age where longsword-wielding barbarians were once kings. But the truth was, from the moment he was born, it was decided Orba would live his life sipping muddy waters, and if he wanted to do more in the future, it would be be much more difficult than bringing the dead back to life.

“You know, aniki<ref>Familiar/honorific way of saying ‘older brother’.</ref>,” Orba said, burying his head between his arm-wrapped knees. “I feel like doing something more.”

“You’re not even ten years old, are you? Worrying about such things doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m being serious. Look at all the adults here. Even I’ll become like that within another few years. Day after day, you work and work, but life won’t get any easier. I’ll marry someone sooner or later, a child gets born, and if the child’s an ‘unruly boy’ like me, one day he’ll surely say he wants to go to the city, be a soldier for Mephius, or ride a Garberan airship, and I’ll say something like, ‘Oh, in the old days, your father also held onto dreams like that’, and then I’ll probably laugh along with the other adults while drinking my tea.”

“Everyone’s like that,” Roan laughed, bathing in the pale moonlight.

Around this time, you could always hear singing voices coming from the house on the other side of the road. Listening to the cheerful voices of men who got drunk, although he wasn’t really paying attention, he said,

“Nobody knows what kind of person he’ll be. There are people who can’t live without working hard every day, people who sail over violent waves by boat, old philosophers who’ve buried themselves in thousand-year-old books, priests of Badyne who will preach their truth to numerous believers, many renowned generals who soar through the skies in dragonstone ships, and even country leaders who’ve subdued many territories at their feet. What they do in a day may be surprisingly different, whether they soak their swords with blood, drown in the letters of the alphabet, or even chant the name of God, but I think even they can’t provide you with an answer.”

“They don’t ever think about our living conditions. Even the king, who’s surrounded by luxuries I wouldn’t have the money for within a lifetime, and stuffing his stomach with delicious food every night. He sometimes takes a large army on a campaign, or gets shocked by betrayal, but every day he’s alive. I can’t even think of living such a life. I’ll never be able to. Neither the king nor the nobles, can even imagine what’s inside our dreams. Those people… Yes, take this night for example, they don’t even consider themselves to be looking up at the same moon as I am.”

“I wonder. It could be that, exactly because the king spends every day like that, he may sometimes feel a yearning to spending his life out in town. Maybe, to get away from the constraining life in the imperial court, he wants to go out to a sour-smelling bar sometimes and drown in cheap wine, listening to ridiculous stories, disgusted that, every day, he cannot relax his guard, not even for blood relatives. And he’ll probably think, ‘Ahh, wouldn’t it be easy to just go through life breaking a sweat', with no more worries about being targeted?’”


“That’s just a delusion. You mean he’s yearning for a life like ours? Just because he doesn’t know the difficulties and insecurities of such a life, he’ll only think of it on a whim.”

“Exactly. Isn’t that what I said? There isn’t a human being anywhere who understands everything, knows what he really wants, or knows who he truly is. I think everybody longs for what they don’t know, what they have not experienced, and they’re also looking for wherever there their true course may lie. In this sense, they’re no different from us.”

“I don’t know. Then, you mean even the king, even the great priest, is someone who’s not completely satisfied?”

But when his brother was about to answer,

“Why are you talking about such difficult things?”

Suddenly Alice appeared, swaying her dark brown hair slightly. It was then that they noticed the singing voices from the house across had completely stopped. It looked like the girl had finally come to put them to sleep.

While she seemed to have overheard just a little, Alice showed a dimpled smile,

“In the end, it’s nothing but pointless stuff. In this world, no matter where you’re from, first of all, Orba, you have to start by taking care of your mother and work earnestly, so that you can get to eat tomorrow.”

“Hear that, aniki? When they’re not interested in the conversation, women immediately find it difficult, insignificant, or have more important things to do.”

“That, too, is the truth,” Roan laughed merrily.

Alice was two years younger than his brother and three years older than Orba. And when Orba was even younger, they played as if Alice was a sister among the three.

Soon after, they enjoyed talking about memories of those days. When, by Alice’s suggestion, they went fishing at the river, and that same Alice nearly drowned as she slipped on the rocks. Or the time they went to see the caravan’s horses as it arrived at their village, and Orba got into trouble secretly trying to mount one, causing it to go berserk. Or when, because a boy from the nearby village said he ‘saw a wild dragon’, the three went to the rumoured place and got completely lost on the canyon’s intricate path. Although they finally did come home late, all three had to suffer though a good scolding…

“Anyway, wasn’t it because Doug from that village deceived us? Ever since that time, you’ve had a bad relationship, right? Even your opponent from today’s fight……”

“Shut it.”

The nail hitting him right on the head, Orba turned away his face. Although the reason he picked a fight with Doug was all because of Alice, he never spoke of it.

However, as they laughed and reminisced together like that for the entire evening, it was the last time he spoke with his brother in peace.

In those days, the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius and the Kingdom of Garbera were already at war with each other. It was said the Garberan cavalry recently crossed their border, although the two countries had a history of repeated conflict for some time, concerning the very definition of that border. The southern Apta Fortress, which was close to Orba’s village, had also suffered from attacks by Garbera’s mounted troops on many occasions.

Eventually, Garbera temporarily gave up on capturing Apta Fortress, and aimed for striking them by another route. And that was by setting up a trap. Targeting them when the majority of the troops stationed in Apta had been pulled back to the imperial capital, they immediately drove them into a siege.

Naturally, Apta Fortress was forced to a desperate, defensive battle. As it soon turned into holding out until the reinforcements came from the imperial capital, the Mephian army forcibly commandeered soldiers from the surrounding villages. And Orba’s older brother Roan was also one of them.

Of course, his mother screamed, crying. If there was only one hope his mother worked for within her nearly colourless life, it was probably his brother. Although she clung onto the soldier that tried to take away his brother, Roan gently placed a hand on her shoulder and said,

“It’s okay. Help will come from the imperial capital soon enough, so be patient until then.”

Besides, the pay was much better than that of a merchant’s assistant, he added with a laugh.

Orba, standing next to Alice, was seeing him off, watching the backs of several of the village’s youths crossing over the layers of rock.

''If I were just a little bigger'', Orba thought. ''I could go to the fortress instead of my brother. Then, mother would not have to be so sad either, and I may even receive a distinguished service among the soldiers.''

After his brother disappeared, his mother, who had always been so devoted to work, spent almost entire days in prayer, as if something inside her completely snapped. Although she sometimes remembered to stand in the kitchen and prepare a meal, when it came to the menu, she acted as if his brother Roan was about to return from the city, making only his favourite food. But when she recalled that he wouldn’t be at the dining table after all, his mother threw it all away in the backyard.

Meanwhile, Orba ploughed the neglected fields, and also took care of their few animals on his own. During the evenings, Orba would climb up a narrow road carved into the cliffs and always stare at the direction of the imperial capital, looking for rows of gorgeous armours, vast dust clouds from military dragons during their march, and the majestic figures of dragonstone battleships – but he never saw the sight he was hoping for.

And, when about three weeks had passed since his brother left, residents from a village beyond the valley, which was closer to the fortress than theirs, were bounding in, out of breath.

“The fortress has fallen!”

They came with the worst news.

Apta Fortress had fallen before the approaching Garbera forces. They said the commanders and main staff who guarded the fortress had started on the escape, leaving their soldiers behind. There were no reinforcements from the imperial capital at Apta, for they’d been sent to the natural stronghold of Birac, next to the ravine further to the north. So it seemed the imperial capital had already decided that that would be heart of the southern border’s line of defence. Apta had only been used to buy time.

And, concerning the land in between, the Garberan forces that were camped at the fortress, started ravaging the surrounding villages. There were acts of plunder and assault – raiding, so to speak.

The people of the village were in a hurry to gather their few belongings, although there was hardly any food with the harvest being near and they were limited to holding their own crops, and left the village in a rush. Those who had acquaintances in the vicinity hurried over there, while the people who did not, took a temporary refuge in the valley, until the Garberan soldiers left their village.

Obviously, Orba followed them, but in the midst of his escape, he noticed that his mother wasn’t around.

Startled out of his wits, Orba turned back to the village. Beyond the rocks towering over the area like hills, he could see the complete panorama of his village sinking behind the evening mists. Surely, she was still there. She was waiting for his brother to come back. For his brother, who may possibly never come back again.

“Orba, where are you going? Orba!”

As Alice’s voice called out behind him, he pushed the crowd aside and headed back in a hurry.

And when he managed to arrive at his destination, there wasn’t a single soul, the village had become as silent as death. Because he was familiar with the scenery, there was an eeriness as if he had wandered into another dimension instead.

From the other side of the valley, he could see a group of men and horses approaching, and Orba ran towards his house in a hurry. When he opened the back door, his mother was there. She was trying to prepare a meal as usual.

“Roan?” his mother said, turning around, but when her eyes fixed on Orba’s sweaty figure, she, miraculously, shrugged her shoulders. “Were you still playing, Orba? Just help me out a little, your brother will be coming home soon.”

Outside, sounds could slightly be heard of the voices of soldiers, chasing the animals that were left behind. Afraid of the smoke rising up, he hurriedly tried to stop his mother. However,

“What’s this, there’s nothing!”

“What a measly village. Even though those guys at Gascon had it better. It seemed they slept with all of the girls.”

“Isn’t there at least any alcohol? Go and look!”

As soon as he thought he heard those voices coming closer, the door was violently kicked down.

Three soldiers came in noisily, each of them equipped with a simple chainmail, lance, and sword. On their faces, blackened by dust clouds, only the eyes casted a unique white light.

“Oh, there’s a woman!”

“What, isn’t she too old? Besides, isn’t there any alcohol? Or something to eat?”

After staring at his mother, who was protectively holding the crouched Orba in her hands, they started vandalizing the house, doing as they pleased. Orba was crouching down completely, concealing his breath like a herbivore trying not to attract the attention of wild beasts.

When the Garberan soldiers smashed through the door, his eyes had caught sight of the wooden sword, which had been resting against it, rolling over the floor. But in the end, it was nothing more than a child’s toy. He hated being told that more than anything, and was more than eager to stare back at those kind of people, but now he understood it painfully.

Then, as the soldiers were ransacking through to the shelves, they grabbed the crude ceramic tableware from inside and carelessly tossed them aside. Making a loud sound, the broken pieces scattered over the floor. It took Orba by surprise, as they were the things his brother Roan used, and his mother, who had been submissive until now, rose up with such force that Orba got pushed aside. From there, she started clinging onto one of the soldiers’ back.

“Hey, what? What?”

“It looks like she wants to play with me!”

A red-faced soldier unwrapped his mother, turned her around, and pushed her down in place. He placed his hand in front of her mouth when she tried to raise a piercing cry, then took out a pointed knife hidden inside his chainmail, and thrust it before his mother’s pale face.

“Stop it, you’d take any woman, wouldn’t you?”

“The taste of a young lass is nice, but an old flower like her ain’t bad either.”

As he spoke his red face showed a vulgar smile, and the thread holding Orba’s tensed up feelings snapped. Raising an awkward cry, he charged in. It was a desperate assault, however, and he was easily blown back by a single arm.

Knocking the back of his head against the shelves, although stunned for a moment, Orba gnashed his teeth and immediately faced forward again. And, from the top of the shelf, there was something that fell down with a loud crash. It was something long and narrow wrapped in a bundle and, with the front part of it torn, it was emitting a silver shine before Orba’s eyes.

''This is…''

Hiding it by reflex, Orba hurriedly tore apart the bundle. As he’d expected, it was a shortsword about sixty centimetres long. The round pommel had Mephian-made characteristics. Matching its slender blade, the handle was also a little thin, fitting nicely into a child’s hand.

As he took a hold of it, several letters carved into the blade jumped into his eyes.

''O, R, B, A...''

It was only for an instant – with his mother’s screams, the sound of the red-faced soldier disorderedly throwing off his chainmail, and the noise of the soldiers laying waste to the house. Although the frightening surge of black blood boiled in his body, he drove it far away and, in that instant, the thoughts squeezed together guided him to an explanation.

The blade was engraved only with ‘Orba’. Of course, he hadn’t known such a thing was in his house. He didn’t think his mother or other acquaintances would’ve especially prepared it for him. For all he knew, couldn’t this be anything but a present from his brother Roan?

But Roan should’ve handed over the money he got for his services to his mother. Besides, a blade like this could not be purchased in ordinary towns. Most likely, after going to Apta Fortress, he got provided with weapons as a soldier, and he’d asked the blacksmith stationed at the fort to engrave his name.

And then, he left it with the caravan that went circled the fortress and the towns. But when it arrived at his house, his mother must have accepted it. Thinking, afterwards, that it shouldn’t be crossed over into Orba’s hands, she most likely intended to keep it from her son’s sight. She probably thought that it was too dangerous for Orba, or maybe she was afraid that Orba would go away like Roan if he had a sword in hand.

At any rate…

“Hey, what’s that you’re holding?” a soldier called out from Orba’s crouched back. “It looks like you’re holding something valuable. Hey, why don’t you show me?”

“This is mine!”

“That’s not for you decide, but for me. Now, give it here.”

The soldier ridiculing Orba put a hand on his shoulder trying to get him out of the way with force. It was more than enough.

''That’s right, Orba'', he responded to his own inner voice.

“I said, show me — gyahh!”

Turning around, Orba swung his sword downward. With blood spraying from the man’s shoulder, Orba slipped under the staggered soldier’s arm and raced towards the man who was bent over his mother.

The red-faced man tore his eyes away from his mother and jumped back. Quickly picking up his hand-axe, he then received Orba’s blow that was coming at him. Orba stood firm on both his legs and somehow tried to get his sword through, but still, the blade was short, and a child’s strength couldn’t push a hand-axe aside like that. However, instead of easily getting overmatched, Orba made himself fall to the side.

“That brat…”

He swung down another blow with murderous intent. Orba rolled over to the side. After doing one rotation, the axe’s edge bit down there, right in front of his eyes. In that very instant, his blood froze up,

“Stop!”

His mother was clinging onto the red-faced man’s feet. Flying into a rage, the man kicked at her hands, turned around, and raised his axe even higher. When Orba saw it, the tension of his black blood – the anxiety, irritation, rage and other various emotions that had simmering in the boy’s body for such a long time – was about to be released from one single point, as if it had only now taken its final shape.

He stood up. Holding his sword with both hands, he forced it under his arm and slammed it, along with the rest of his body, into the soldier’s defenceless back.

The man’s back, as he’d taken off his armour, first received the blade considerably easy. Then there was a little firm resistance, but it also went through smoothly as Orba’s pushed it through with both hands, until, in the blink of an eye, the point of his sword finally pierced through the man’s chest.

Because Orba was also being dragged while the red-faced man staggered, he hurriedly let go of the sword. The man clashed with his back against the wall. After turning around to face the triumphant Orba, he made his mouth flap open and close, probably trying to say some sort of grudge, and threw up a huge amount of blood as he sank to the floor, until his bright red tongue drooped out and he no longer moved.

“You bastard!” the soldier who had his shoulder cut shouted, grimacing in pain.

“You killed Douga. You lowly brat.”

The other also shouted in a loud voice, and came rushing over at Orba. No longer holding a sword, Orba received a full body blow and rolled over on the floor again. He got kicked in the stomach, and stepped on his back.

“Mother and child both, I’ll hang your heads under the eaves.”

Crawling on all fours, the tip of the sword was thrust before the nape of Orba’s neck. His mother too, was lifted up, twisted by the hand, and placed in the same position next to Orba. No matter how much he wrested his body with all his strength, he couldn’t get rid of the weight of the man standing on his back.

“Let me go!”

“Ahh, right away. After you’ve turned into a corpse, that is!”

Orba, raising a bestial cry, was suddenly hovering in the moment that came between life and death. With a whishing sound of wind being cut as it was brought straight down. Finally, he shouted out his brother Roan’s name, when,

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly, the wind-cutting sound ceased. Orba, scrambled thoughts mulling in his head, realized it wasn’t his brother who’d appeared though.

The one who had newly come inside the house, was a Garberan soldier after all. However, unlike the soldiers that had broken in, he was armed all over his body, with not a single part untouched, and his armour too was shining in silver. He still had a young face.

For a short time the soldiers could be seen flinching from the intruder, but then,

“It is as you can see, Knight Apprentice Sir.”

“We’ve come to receive our fair reward after winning the battle. Just because you stood in distinguished service for a while, you’re clad as a knight after all, surely you haven’t come to stop such unrefined things like these, right?” the two explained grimly.

Feigning a courteous manner, there was clearly an air that they were making light of the man.

“Besides, look. Our comrade was killed. There’s no way soldiers with Garberan pride can let this go by without getting vengeance, right?”

The soldier who spoke tipped Orba’s body over at his foot, and established the sword’s aim with his other hand. What Orba’s eyes saw as he looked up at the ceiling, was the point of the sword, but then a single string of light came flashing from the side.

“What are you doing!”

“How pitiable. Vengeance, is it? You mean to say there’s any pride in that against a child?”

The armoured youth had drawn his sword. It seemed like the man had felled that one soldier, for Orba realized the sword that should’ve pierced through his heart had somehow been repelled the to the side. The other roared something in a hoarse voice nearby. It sounded like he’d called out the armoured man’s name, but Orba didn’t catch it at the time.

“Y-Your comrade… how dare you, bastard!”

“I don’t want to be called a comrade or such by inferior people like you.”

As he thrust out the blooded tip of his sword, the soldier stepped back.

“Inferior, you say? Even though you’ve got the same history. Just because you were blessed with the opportunity to make a distinguished service, you get carried away. Always chanting, knight, knight as if it’s your favourite word, but did you become a real knight? You don’t share a bloodline with the Garberan royal family, you’ll be an ‘apprentice’ your whole life. Know your place!”

Soon, the solider who seemed to be stepping back, quickly pulled something out from behind his back and brought it in front of him. It was a crossbow, fixed with a long and slender pedestal, and he released the trigger.

That instant, the armoured youth nimbly turned aside. Making a single spin, as if dancing, he narrowly avoided the arrow and decapitated the soldier’s head. There wasn’t the slightest hesitation. The decapitated head whirled through the air, struck the house’s wall and rolled over the floor.

“Garbera is a country of knights. Instead of further defiling its name, receive the honour of being killed in action.”

His handsome looks, his way of fighting, and those words he murmured – it was all as if a hero had emerged from the books Orba read all the time.

“Commander, what’s the commotion!?”

A voice was raised from the outside, but he replied with “It’s nothing,” as he wiped the blood from his sword.

“You’re a child of Mephius?”

Orba didn’t immediately know what was a good answer to the question raised. It was not that he was especially conscious of the name of the country called Mephius, either. The people of Orba’s village, generally living in a world of only about ten kilometres surrounding the village, weren’t very interested in the country or its territorial disputes.

The man gave Orba a thin smile when he gave no answer, and glanced over at the soldier who’d sunk in a puddle of blood. Orba, his body suddenly freezing up, tightly held onto his mother’s shoulders. He started looking if there was any weapon within reach, when,

“Hurry and get away from here,” the young man said. “It was to protect your mother – right? You truly hold the spirit of a knight inside of you. Much more than the people of Garbera, who seem to have forgotten all about the knight’s way. Now, you may get out of here. I’ll try to stop the plunder and assaults as much as possible, but I can’t catch a hold on all of them.”

Those eyes, for some reason, resembled those of his brother Roan. Supporting the shoulder of his sobbing mother, Orba slowly faced the back door, then, pulling his mother by the hand, he ran away at full speed. A wintry wind blowing through the streets after sunset, struck his cheeks. Urging his mother, who kept muttering ‘Roan, Roan’, sometimes even shouting at her, they finally united with Alice and the village people after an hour.

After that, they followed behind Alice’s father and headed for a village that was fifteen kilometres upriver to the north.

Orba didn’t know if the young armoured man had been true to his words, but at least from there on the random plundering was no longer carried out around Apta, which later became the territory of Garbera.

However, the flames were still approaching the village that Orba and the rest had succeeded in running away to earlier.

There were hardly any signs. Suddenly, ‘they’ came at them in full force and immediately started plundering. They were men who were completely harnessed in black. Provisions, clothes, and of course money and goods, all the things of possible value were taken by force. The people, too, were no exception. As soon as they arrived at the village they took the women, and impaled any man who tried to resist with spears from atop their horses, decapitated their heads with swords, and exposed them to gunfire.

Amidst all of the confusion, Orba lost sight of his mother. Just when he stumbled forward with impatience and fright,

“Alice!”

He spotted Alice getting bound by a soldier with her arms behind her back. Even though she was about to be dragged away, Alice was still screaming at him to run away. Completely losing himself, Orba leapt forward. The feeling of killing that one person still remained in his hands. And now he’d decided to do the same thing. He reached out his hand for the sword the soldier was carrying.

But, the moment he took a hold of the handle, he received a strong blow to the back of his head. The sight flickered before his eyes, and his consciousness was soon about to fade. Just before it did, he had a feeling he heard Alice’s voice calling out his name.

When he came to, Orba was lying on his back, spread-eagled, on the ground. His head was throbbing painfully. His consciousness was still a little dim, and he wasn’t even sure if he was dreaming or not.

“General Oubary , what do you want to do?”

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard that voice. Amongst the screams of men and women nearby, and firing in the distance, Orba secretly peeked through half-opened eyes at the one who had been called out to earlier.

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 069.jpg|thumb]]
It was a man atop a horse, holding a bottle of liquor which he’d most likely stolen. He was lightly and stylishly dressed in armour, bald, and had the majestic air of a giant. Even though he had such an serious appearance, there was violet lipstick on his thin lips, giving the elevated, sneering figure a strange kind of look.

“If all the valuables are gone, set fire to the lot. Leave not a single grain of wheat behind for Garbera.”

Saying those words, the man called general threw away his bottle of wine. It splashed against Orba’s cheeks.

“Very well, this village was burned by Garbera. Let the soldiers be thorough. They can have the women, but kill them when they’re done with them. Don’t even sell them off. You will supervise.”

Shortly after that, the screams and shouts died out. Instead, a hot wind roasted his skin, and an acrid stench started filling the air. When he finally managed to stand up, his surroundings had turned into a sea of flames.

There wasn’t a single person left alive. Orba roamed about the village, calling his mother and Alice’s name in a loud voice, while brushing away sparks of fire at his hands. But the only things that came into his sight were the slaughtered bodies of the village people. The bodies of the elderly, women, and children.

''That Oubary…''

With the place scorched all over, Orba’s whole body had become dark red with the blood and soot falling from overhead.

''Isn’t that Oubary… Apta Fortress’s…''

He remembered hearing about it. When the fortress had urgently been recruiting soldiers, he was sure the military men that appeared in the village had spoken the name. He was the veteran general who had been entrusted with the protection of the fort.

So that meant this had been the Mephian army. After the fortress fell, the troops including Oubary went north, ahead of Garbera’s pursuing troops, and burned down the village where Orba and the others had escaped to earlier. And they’d taken all spoils of wars before going back to the capital, so that Garbera couldn’t make use of it.

''I’ll kill them'', Orba vowed.

Mustering up the strength from somewhere in his body, although there had not even been one drop left behind earlier, the power that kept him going forward, it came from his unrelenting vow with the intent to kill.

Although he had no clear answers on whether to kill Oubary, the Garberan soldiers, or the Emperor, and on how to achieve those ends, for now, he just kept on walking.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>